The attic door creaked shut behind them, sealing the air like a vault.

It always smelled like spellwork up here — wood dust, old pages, the faint tang of something scorched. Tonight, it clung thicker than usual. Residue from the fight. From the flare of Sable’s magic cracking mid-cast. From everything they still didn’t know.

Selene crossed the room in silence.

Sable was perched on the trunk near the old herb shelves, one boot braced against the floor, the other loosely swinging. She held her wrist like it might bite her back.

“Let me see,” Selene said.

Sable hesitated. Then slowly extended her arm.

Selene took it gently.

The skin was raw — angry red streaks blooming from palm to elbow, where the sigil’s energy had rebounded hard. Magic backlash. A bad one. Not deep, but reckless. She must’ve pushed through the recoil anyway.

“Sable,” Selene muttered, her voice a mix of worry and something like exasperated awe.

This is what they did, wasn’t it?
Broke themselves open for each other.
Without asking. Without pause.

She ghosted her thumb near the wound — her own gold light flickering low, instinctual — but it wasn’t enough. Not for this.

She turned her head.

“Elias.”

He didn’t answer aloud, just moved — already halfway up the attic steps behind them. She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Of course she hadn’t.

He crossed the room in a few strides, gaze flicking from Sable’s arm to Selene’s face without needing explanation. Selene stepped back as he knelt, letting his hands hover over Sable’s wrist.

The light that bloomed was soft silver. Moonlit. Familiar.

Sable didn’t flinch — but she didn’t look up, either.

Selene’s jaw ticked once.

Then—

Footsteps on the stairs.

Wet ones.

She turned just in time to see Sylvie slip inside, curls damp, sleeves rolled, jaw set. She looked like someone trying too hard not to look shaken. Or maybe like someone trying to wash something off her skin and failing.

“You’re late,” Selene said, not sharply. Just… watching

“You’re late,” Selene said, not sharply. Just… watching.

Sylvie didn’t answer right away. The words sat on her tongue, too many of them, none quite right. She could still feel the rooftop under her feet — the crackle of unstable magic, the breath she hadn’t taken, the shimmer that hadn’t come fast enough.

She crossed the threshold like it cost her.

“I had to rinse off the circle soot,” she said. It wasn’t a lie. Just not the truth she meant.

Selene nodded once but didn’t press. Sable hissed softly — not from words, but from Elias shifting the angle of her arm — and Sylvie flinched like it was her own skin burning.

The attic felt hotter now. Close. Like the air hadn’t moved since they left.

Sylvie stayed near the wall.

Not too far. Not too close.

She didn’t look at Elias. Not yet. Because he’d see it. He always did. The way her hands still trembled faintly. The way she couldn’t quite meet Sable’s eyes. The way her magic felt like it was curled up inside her ribs, refusing to come out.

Not after that dream.

Not after seeing Vael — burning — reaching for her in the nightmare like it wasn’t a memory but a promise. Flames licking his coat, his mouth moving around something she couldn’t hear, couldn’t stop. Then the rooftop. That moment. If Selene’s shield hadn’t caught—if Sylvie’s anchor had broken—if Elias hadn’t—

She leaned back against the edge of the worktable, pretending the tremor in her shoulders was from the draft and not the vision replaying on loop behind her eyes.

Selene murmured something to Sable too low to catch. Elias’s magic pulsed again — gentler now, a steadying tide.

Sylvie folded her arms.

“I’m fine,” she said suddenly, to no one in particular.

Elias’s head tipped slightly — not disbelief, not challenge. Just seeing.

It made her stomach twist.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, quieter. Then added, “Just tired.”

And that part was true. Bone-deep. Like her magic was tired too. Like it had seen something she hadn’t meant it to.

She looked down at her hands.

Still clean. Still hers.

But it hadn’t taken much, had it? One wrong second on the roof. One flare of emotion. If she’d miscalculated, if her timing had slipped, if Selene hadn’t countered…

The fire would’ve come from her.

Not the demon.

And she wasn’t sure who it would’ve hit first.

Her throat tightened.

No one noticed. Or if they did, they let her have the silence.

So she stayed there. In the half-light, near the flickering candle stubs and the scent of old spellwork, her fingers twitching faintly like they still wanted to cast something they didn’t have a name for.

And across the room, the air still held the taste of burnt sigils and almost.

Selene didn’t move when Sylvie entered.

She just watched.

No anger. No judgment. Just that deep, bone-level awareness she always carried — like she was cataloging every shift in the room, every breath that didn’t land right.

“You’re late,” she said. Not sharp. Just… watching.

And Sylvie flinched under it.

Not visibly. Not to most. But Selene saw it — the way she crossed the threshold like the floor might bite her. The way her voice came out too smooth to be unshaken.

“I had to rinse off the circle soot.”

It was deflection. Selene didn’t press.

She turned instead, murmuring something low to Sable — something about her wrist, about how Elias’s magic would hold, but to ice it again in a few hours. Sable grunted but didn’t argue. She just rolled her eyes like the pain was beneath her and hissed when Elias adjusted her arm.

“Don’t mind me,” Sable muttered, dry as ever. “Just having my joints rearranged like a cursed Barbie.”

Selene gave her a look. “Hold still or I’ll ask him to start over.”

Sable smirked — thin and tired, but real — and leaned back against the shelf. “Then I want a better pose this time.”

But Selene wasn’t looking at Sable anymore.

She was watching Sylvie.

Watching her hug the wall like it might shield her. Watching the way she wouldn’t meet Elias’s eyes. Watching the way her hands wouldn’t stay still.

She wanted to ask.

She wanted to call it out, dig past the lies, force Sylvie to name whatever nightmare was clawing at her spine.

But she didn’t.

Because something about the way Sylvie stood — tense, folded in, too small for herself — made Selene hesitate.

And then Sylvie said it. That quiet lie dressed up as dismissal.

“I’m fine.”

No one moved.

Elias didn’t argue, but his silence pressed into the corners of the room like fog.

Selene didn’t speak either.

Because what could she say?

They all knew the difference between tired and scorched. And Sylvie—Sylvie was ash with a heartbeat right now. Burned through and still pretending to glow.

Sable cut the silence instead.

“Cool. Then when you’re done being totally, completely fine,” she said, “maybe explain why your magic sparked sideways on that rooftop like it was having an existential crisis.”

Sylvie didn’t respond.

Didn’t have to.

Selene stepped in, voice low. “Sab—”

“What?” Sable pushed off the shelf. “I’m serious. I almost slipped on that flare. Like, literally. Burned boot rubber. What even was that?”

Selene didn’t answer either.

Because part of her wanted to ask too.

Not out of blame. But out of fear.

Because for half a second on that roof — right before the shield, right before Elias — Selene felt it. That surge. That pull. Not demonic, not dark, but ancient. Wild. Like something inside Sylvie had stepped forward before she could stop it.

And Selene didn’t know what it was.

She just knew it wasn’t her sister’s usual magic.

She crossed the attic slowly and stopped beside Sylvie. Not touching. Just close enough to be felt.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said quietly. “But don’t lie either.”

Sylvie’s throat worked. No reply.

Selene waited another beat, then turned away—back to the candlelit circle, to the sigils still smoldering faintly on the floor.

Her voice came softer this time.

“Whatever that was… we’ll face it. Together. When you’re ready.”

And behind her, she heard Sable exhale. Less teasing now. Just tired. Just real.

“I mean… preferably not on a rooftop next time.”

The air crackled softly, as if agreeing.

And in the silence that followed, Selene didn’t ask again.

Because some truths had to be offered.

Not taken.

Sylvie didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe, for a second.

Sable’s words hit closer than she’d meant them to. Maybe closer than anyone realized.
Because Sable was right.

Her magic had sparked sideways. Not because of exhaustion or interference — but because it had bucked her. Because for one long second, it hadn’t listened. Or worse — had listened to something else.

“One touched what it shouldn’t.”

The demon’s voice still rang in her skull. Not loud. Not sharp. Just true in a way that made her skin itch and her ribs ache like something had been rearranged inside them.

What did he mean?

What had she touched?

Or — gods help her — who?

The image of Vael wouldn’t leave her. Not the real one. The dream one. The one burning. Reaching for her through the smoke, mouthing her name like it meant something. Like she could’ve saved him. Like she hadn’t already failed.

What if that wasn’t a warning? What if it was a memory waiting to happen?

What if the reason he ended up like that was… her?

Her magic pulsed once under her skin — a nervous twitch. A spark with nowhere to go.

She hated it.
Hated the doubt.
Hated how saying it out loud would make it real.
But keeping it in…

Keeping it in was fraying her at the edges.

And everyone in the room could feel it.

Selene’s voice pulled her halfway back.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said quietly. “But don’t lie either.”

Sylvie’s mouth opened — just slightly — then shut again. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t trust what might come out.

She wanted to say I’m sorry.
She wanted to say I don’t know what’s happening to me.
She wanted to say I think something’s wrong.

Instead, she stood there.
Hands still. Jaw tight. Magic wound like thread too close to snapping.

And Selene… didn’t push.

Just turned. Stepped away. Gave her the space to unravel or stay stitched — her choice.

“Whatever that was,” Selene said, “we’ll face it. Together. When you’re ready.”

And gods, Sylvie almost wasn’t.
But she was close.
Close to cracking.
Close to saying something she couldn’t unsay.

Behind her, Sable muttered, “I mean… preferably not on a rooftop next time.”

The room exhaled with her. Like the magic itself knew it had come too close.

Sylvie didn’t move from the wall.
Didn’t speak.

But her fingers curled tighter against her sides.
And the guilt in her chest — the fear — stayed exactly where it was.

Waiting.

Waiting for the moment she'd stop lying.

Even to herself.

Selene turned back slowly, eyes sharpening—not with suspicion, but with something older. Wiser. The kind of focus born from having seen too much and still choosing to look again.

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t need to.

“You were touched,” she said plainly. “That’s what it said. Not threatened. Not marked. Touched.”

The word landed heavy between them.

She stepped a little closer—just close enough that Sylvie would hear her clearly, but not enough to crowd her.

“And I felt it, Sylvie,” Selene went on. “Up there. On that roof. When you cast—it wasn’t just a slip. Something else pulled at you. Like your magic wasn’t sure who to listen to.”

Her tone didn’t accuse. It steadied.

“You’ve always been strong, but this felt… directed. From somewhere else.”

She watched Sylvie’s fingers clench again, subtle and small—but telling.

“I didn’t see the whole thing,” she admitted. “But I know what I saw when I threw up that shield. You weren’t just reacting. You were resonating. With something that wanted to burn.”

Selene’s jaw flexed.

“That demon didn’t lie. It didn’t need to. It knew you’d feel it.”

She didn’t say Vael’s name.

Didn’t need to.

Instead, she let the pause stretch just long enough to land before saying, quietly:

“I think whoever—or whatever—that was… left something behind.”

She met her sister’s eyes, even if Sylvie didn’t want to hold it.

“You can’t fight it alone. And you can’t protect us by staying quiet. Not from this.”

Behind her, Sable let out a breath like she’d been holding it through the whole rooftop sequence.

“Look, we all saw you go full ‘glow mode’ and nearly take down a water tower with your brain. It was very cool, also mildly horrifying. I vote we do that again never.”

Selene didn’t react to the joke.

She just stepped in one more pace and added, gently:

“When you’re ready… I want to know what you saw.”

A beat.

“What he showed you.”

And that—finally—that was the name she was willing to speak without saying it.

Vael.

Not spoken aloud, but undeniable.

Because Sylvie hadn’t flinched from the fight.

But something inside her still was.

It broke in her chest before it broke in her voice.

Not all at once. Not a sob. Just… a breath that didn’t land right. One that caught and dragged like it didn’t belong to her body anymore.

Sylvie blinked too fast. She hated crying in front of them. She hated needing to.

But Selene’s words hit something raw. Something buried.

“I tried,” she said. Quiet. Brittle.

She wasn’t even sure which part she meant — I tried to tell you, or I tried to keep it together, or I tried not to let him in.

They were all true.

“I was gonna say something earlier,” she added, eyes locked somewhere near the floorboards. “In the kitchen. Before Elias came in about the kid.”

Her throat burned, like the words had claws.
Like dragging them out meant bleeding for them.

“There was a nightmare. I thought it was just that—a dream. Or a warning. But now I don’t—”
She stopped. Jaw clenched. Magic twitching again beneath her skin like it wanted out, like it was sick of waiting too.

“I saw him,” she said. “Vael.”

The name fractured something in her chest.

She didn’t dare look at Selene. Not even at Sable. Because she knew. If she saw the way they saw her, she’d fall apart.

“He was on fire,” she continued, voice low and shaking. “Everything was burning. And he—he was reaching for me. Like he needed help. Like I could stop it.”

She finally looked up, and the ache behind her eyes was clear now. Wet, heavy, edged with fear she didn’t know how to name.

“But I didn’t,” Sylvie whispered. “I just watched. I felt it, Selene. Like it was mine. Like it was because of me.”

A beat passed.

Then she stepped back, like the truth had weight. Like speaking it had cost her inches.

“I thought I was just overthinking. I thought—maybe it was my guilt. Or my feelings or whatever the hell this is.”
She gestured vaguely, not daring to say how much Vael meant.
Not daring to confess how close she'd let herself get before he pulled away. Before he made her question whether she'd imagined it all.

“But now I can’t stop thinking…” Her voice broke again. “What if that vision wasn’t a warning? What if it’s a future I make happen?”

She scrubbed at her eyes angrily, like the tears were a betrayal.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to believe it. I thought if I didn’t speak it, it couldn’t be real.”

Another breath.
This one steadier.
Fractured, but standing.

“I don’t know what he left behind. Or what that demon felt in me. But something’s changed. I feel it. Like I’m not just me anymore.”
Her hands curled into fists.
“And I’m scared if I let it out... it won’t stop.”

That was the truth she’d been hiding.

Not just the dream. Not just the guilt.

The fear.

That whatever was shifting inside her wasn’t finished.
And that when it was—it might not leave anything of her behind.