The storm raged outside the high arched windows of Jevan's study, each clap of thunder a reminder of the tempest both within and without. The room itself was an imposing work of architecture—dark wood paneling carved with ancient symbols of power, a roaring fireplace that filled the air with the scent of burning cedar, and a massive desk of polished ebony at its heart. Everything about it screamed wealth and influence, an extension of the man who owned it.
Jevan stood behind the desk, his lean frame draped in an impeccably tailored black suit that fit like a second skin. His icy blue eyes sparkled with amusement as Verita entered, escorted by two guards. Her defiance was palpable, a contrast to the uncertainty that flickered behind her golden-brown eyes.
"Verita Winslow," Jevan said, his voice rich and smooth, as though he were savoring the syllables of her name. "How kind of you to grace me with your presence."
She didn't reply. Her fists clenched at her sides, her gaze locked on him with the kind of sharpness that could cut stone. But Jevan thrived on defiance—it was a flavor he enjoyed bending to his will.
He gestured to a chair across from him, but Verita didn't move. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, her auburn hair falling in loose waves around her face. The firelight cast golden highlights against her delicate features, but there was nothing fragile about her stance.
"What do you want?" she asked, her tone clipped. She wasn't here to play games.
Jevan smiled, a predator savoring its prey. "Straight to the point. Admirable, if not entirely wise." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You've felt it, haven't you? The pull of the relic. It's calling to you, Verita. It's tied to your magic in ways even you can't begin to understand."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't respond. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Jevan rose from his chair, his movements fluid, calculated. He circled the desk, closing the distance between them with deliberate slowness. "This doesn't have to be unpleasant," he continued. "You have power beyond anything this world has seen in centuries. Together, we could do extraordinary things."
"And what's in it for me?" she shot back, her voice steady despite the quickening of her pulse.
His smile widened. "Freedom. Security. The chance to live without fear of your own magic."
She scoffed, stepping back as he moved closer. "I wasn't born yesterday, Jevan. You don't offer freedom—you offer chains wrapped in pretty words."
The smile faded, and for the first time, his expression hardened. "Careful, Verita. I've been patient with you. Don't mistake that for weakness."
"Then stop pretending," she snapped. "You're not here to help me. You're here to use me."
Silence stretched between them, charged with tension. Jevan studied her, his gaze sharp enough to cut, but then he smiled again, a colder, more dangerous curve of his lips.
"Perhaps," he said, stepping back. "But know this—your magic isn't the only thing I can take from you." He glanced toward the door. "Your dear friend Esira, for example. He's loyal… for now. But loyalty has its limits."
Verita's breath caught, but she quickly masked her reaction. Jevan's smile deepened as he turned away, returning to his desk as though the conversation had been a casual affair.
"Think about it," he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "You'll see I'm right eventually."
Verita stormed into Esira quarters, her fury radiating off her in waves. The room was dimly lit, a single lantern casting shadows against the bare stone walls. It was a stark contrast to the grandeur of Jevan's study—functional, unadorned, and utterly impersonal.
Esira stood by the small wooden desk, his tall frame silhouetted against the faint glow of the lantern. His gray eyes flicked to her as she entered, his expression unreadable.
"What did Jevan say to you?" she demanded, her voice sharp.
Esira brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms. "You shouldn't be here."
She ignored him, taking a step closer. "He's playing games, and you're part of them. I need to know where you stand."
"I stand where I've always stood," he replied evenly. "Between you and Jevan."
Her laugh was bitter, her golden-brown eyes narrowing. "That's not good enough. I need answers, Esira. I need to know why you're helping me."
He sighed, running a hand through his dark, tousled hair. "You think I have a choice? Jevan controls everything—this manor, this city, me. Do you think I enjoy serving him?"
"I think you're too scared to stop," she shot back.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might lash out. But instead, he turned away, his shoulders stiff. "You don't know what I've done. The lives I've taken. The people I've betrayed."
"Then tell me," she said, her voice softer now. "Help me understand."
He turned to face her, his gray eyes stormy. "There's nothing to understand. I've made mistakes—mistakes I can't undo. But if helping you means I can save one person instead of destroying them, then maybe it's worth it."
The words hung heavy in the air, their weight pressing down on both of them. For the first time, Verita saw the cracks in his armor, the guilt and pain he tried so hard to hide.
"You don't have to do this alone," she said quietly. "We can fight him. Together."
Esira expression softened, but the walls didn't completely come down. "It's not that simple."
"Maybe not," she admitted. "But it's a start."
The dim corridor was suffocating, its narrow walls lined with faintly glowing runes. Verita's footsteps echoed softly as she followed Duneven, her instincts screaming at her to turn back.
"You wanted answers, didn't you?" Duneven said over his shoulder, his smirk audible in his tone. "Well, here they are."
The air grew heavier as they walked, the hum of magic thickening until it vibrated in her chest. Something was wrong. She could feel it.
The library felt alive, every breath Verita took weighted with the energy that thrummed in the air. It wasn't just the magic—though that was undeniable—but the centuries of knowledge encased within the towering shelves. The dim glow of magical lanterns illuminated the faded leather spines of the books, their titles etched in languages long forgotten. The massive stained-glass window cast fractured colors onto the stone floor, adding an otherworldly glow to the space.
Verita stood at the center of it all, her gaze fixed on an open book lying on the desk before her. The symbols on the page pulsed faintly, as though reacting to her presence. She reached out, her fingers hovering just above the parchment, the air between her hand and the page sparking faintly.
"It reacts to you," Esira said quietly from behind her. His deep voice carried a note of tension, a warning that seemed to hang in the air. He stood with his arms crossed, his tall frame exuding an air of quiet authority. The faint light caught on the sharp angles of his face, his gray eyes shadowed but watchful.
"Why?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Why does it feel like it's… calling to me?"
Esira hesitated, his jaw tightening. He looked away for a moment, as though searching for the right words. "The relic isn't just tied to your magic. It's tied to you—your bloodline, your essence. Jevan knows this. That's why he's so obsessed with controlling it."
Verita turned back to the book, her stomach twisting with unease. The symbols on the page seemed to shift under her gaze, forming patterns she couldn't quite understand. "What happens if he gets it?" she asked softly.
Esira stepped closer, his boots echoing faintly against the stone floor. He stopped beside her, his presence a steady weight in the chaos swirling around her. "If Jevan gets the relic, he'll use it to bind your magic to his will. You won't just be a weapon—you'll be his weapon."
The words hit her like a physical blow, and she staggered back, her breath catching in her throat. "I can't let that happen."
"No," Esira agreed, his voice firm. "You can't."
For a moment, they stood in silence, the gravity of the situation pressing down on them. Then, Verita's gaze hardened, and she turned back to the book. "There has to be something in here. Something that can stop him."
Esira watched her for a long moment before nodding. Together, they began sifting through the texts, their movements quick but methodical. The tension between them remained, but it was tempered by a growing sense of urgency. They worked side by side, their breaths mingling in the still air, the faint sparks of unspoken connection simmering beneath the surface.
Just as Verita began to piece together a possible answer, a faint noise from the hallway made her freeze. She glanced at Esira, her eyes wide. "Someone's coming."
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing louder with each passing second. Verita's heart raced as she glanced toward the library door, her mind scrambling for a plan. "What do we do?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Esira didn't hesitate. He grabbed her arm, his grip firm but not harsh, and pulled her toward a shadowed alcove near the far wall. "Stay quiet," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.
They pressed themselves against the wall, the cool stone biting into Verita's back as she tried to steady her breathing. Esira stood close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, his presence a strange comfort despite the danger. His gray eyes were sharp, scanning the room for any sign of movement.
The library door creaked open, and Verita's breath hitched. A figure stepped inside, their silhouette framed by the dim light of the corridor. It was Duneven. His dark eyes gleamed with malice as he scanned the room, his smirk widening as though he could sense their presence.
"I know you're in here," Duneven drawled, his voice carrying an edge of cruel amusement. "You might as well come out. It'll save us all some time."
Verita tensed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. She could feel her magic stirring, a faint pulse that threatened to break free. Esira glanced at her, his expression a warning. "Don't," he mouthed.
Duneven took a few steps further into the room, his boots echoing against the stone floor. He paused near the desk, his gaze lingering on the open book. His smirk deepened. "Ah, so you've been digging into the relic's secrets. Clever little witch."
Verita's pulse quickened, fear and anger warring within her. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay still. Esira hand brushed hers, a subtle gesture that grounded her, reminding her she wasn't alone.
After a moment, Duneven turned away from the desk, his gaze sweeping the room one last time. "You can hide for now," he said, his tone mocking. "But Jevan will find you. And when he does, there won't be anywhere left to run."
He left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Verita exhaled a shaky breath, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. Esira released her arm, stepping back to give her space.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low.
She nodded, though her hands still trembled. "We have to get out of here. Now."
Esira jaw tightened, and he glanced toward the door. "It won't be easy. Duneven will be watching."
"I don't care," Verita said, her voice firm despite the fear lingering in her chest. "I'm not going to let Jevan win."
For a moment, Esira simply stared at her, his gray eyes unreadable. Then, he nodded. "All right. Let's move."
They slipped out of the library, their steps silent as they navigated the darkened corridors. The shadows seemed to press in around them, the faint hum of the manor's wards a constant reminder of the danger they faced.
But despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, Verita felt a spark of hope. She wasn't alone. And as long as she had that, she wouldn't stop fighting.
They rounded a corner, only to come face to face with Jevan. He stood at the end of the hallway, his icy blue eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Going somewhere?" he asked, his voice deceptively light.
Verita's heart sank as she realized the trap had Vivienne Already been set.