The tear in the sky did not close.
It widened.
Not quickly.
Not violently.
Inevitably.
Like a wound that had decided it no longer wished to pretend it could heal.
Silver fire bled downward in slow streams, dripping from the Veil like molten starlight. Each drop that struck the ground didn't splash.
It hissed.
Reality rejecting what didn't belong.
The courtyard had gone completely silent.
No wolves spoke.
No wind moved.
Even the air felt suspended between heartbeats.
Aria stood beneath the rupture, silver light still wrapped around her like a living crown that had learned to breathe.
And she felt it.
The pull.
Not outward.
Upward.
Something on the other side of the Veil was aware of her now.
Not curious.
Not cautious.
Interested.
That was worse.
"Aria," Damien said again, quieter this time.
Closer.
He had moved beside her without her noticing.
Not because she was distracted.
Because the Crown had begun rearranging the way she felt the world.
