Elara's POV
I don't go to the Obsidian Tower.
For three days after Prince Cassian's midnight invitation, I avoid him completely. I arrive at the library early, leave late, and spend every moment in the basement where he won't find me.
Because meeting him alone in a tower sounds like a terrible way to die.
"You're being ridiculous," I mutter to myself on the third night, shelving books with shaking hands. "He remembers the resets. He's like you. He's not dangerous."
Except he is dangerous. He's the Crown Prince. Cold. Ruthless. Feared by everyone.
And Iris saw him in her vision, standing over my body.
My hands freeze on a book spine.
What if the dark man from Iris's dream isn't just someone who remembers? What if it's a warning? What if Prince Cassian is the threat, not the ally?
I shake my head, forcing the thought away. He said we need to stop our murders. That means he's in danger too. We're in this together.
Aren't we?
The library closes at nine. Master Theron leaves, muttering about my "acceptable work for once." Sara and Mina disappeared hours ago. I'm alone.
I climb the stairs to my apartment, exhaustion pulling at every muscle. Three sleepless nights have left me hollow and jittery.
Tonight is the full moon.
The thought sends ice through my veins. Another reset. Another hour of watching crimes that will be erased. Another night of being the only one who remembers.
Except now I know Prince Cassian remembers too.
The knowledge should comfort me. Instead, it terrifies me.
I check my pocket watch. 10:47 PM. Thirteen minutes until the reset hour begins.
I should eat something. Sleep. Prepare for whatever I'll witness tonight.
But I can't stop thinking about Cassian's words: In exactly four weeks, something terrible is going to happen.
Four weeks from three days ago means twenty-five days left.
Twenty-five days until what?
I pace my tiny apartment, too anxious to sit still. The full moon shines through my cracked window, bloated and silver. It looks angry tonight. Hungry.
Just like Iris said.
10:58 PM.
Two minutes.
I grab my journal out of habit, pen ready to document whatever horror tonight's reset brings. Five years of this routine. Five years of being a witness to crimes nobody else remembers.
But tonight feels different.
The air feels wrong. Too thick. Too charged with something I can't name.
One minute.
I sit on my bed, journal open on my lap, and wait for the familiar pull of time rewinding.
Thirty seconds.
My chest tightens. My hands start shaking for no reason I can explain.
Fifteen seconds.
Something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones, in the way the moonlight seems to pulse against my window.
Five seconds.
The reset is coming, but this time it feels like a wave about to crash down and drown me.
Three. Two. One.
Midnight.
The world doesn't just rewind.
It explodes.
Light slams into me—silver, blinding, searing. I scream, but no sound comes out. My body locks in place as the reset pulls harder than it ever has before.
This isn't normal. This isn't how resets feel.
Then the vision hits.
I'm standing in a temple made of white stone and silver. Moonlight pours through broken windows like liquid mercury. The air smells like copper and something ancient. Wrong.
And there, in the center of the temple floor, I see myself.
My own body lies on a stone altar, arms spread wide, eyes open but empty. Blood pools beneath me, dark and spreading, soaking into my pale dress. So much blood. Too much blood.
I'm dead.
I try to scream, but I'm frozen, forced to watch my own corpse like a ghost haunting my future.
Then he steps into view.
Prince Cassian Noctis stands over my body, his hands dripping red. Blood runs down his fingers, pools in his palms, stains his sleeves. In his right hand, he holds a knife—silver, curved, glowing with moon magic.
The murder weapon.
His face is twisted with anguish. Tears stream down his cheeks as he stares at what he's done. At me. At my body.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I tried to stop it. I tried—"
But the apology doesn't change the fact that I'm dead.
That he killed me.
The vision zooms closer, forcing me to see every detail. The knife in his hand. The blood on his clothes. My lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Then I see the date carved into the altar beneath my body.
One month from tonight.
The next full moon.
"No," I try to scream. "No, no, no—"
The vision shatters.
I slam back into my body with enough force to knock me off my bed. I hit the floor hard, gasping for air, my heart trying to break through my ribs.
My pocket watch reads 11:00 PM.
The reset happened. Time rewound.
But the vision remains burned into my mind like a brand.
I'm going to die in one month.
And Prince Cassian is going to kill me.
I curl into a ball on the floor, shaking so hard my teeth chatter. It's not real. It can't be real. Visions aren't the same as memories. They're just—
But I know better.
The resets show truth. They show what happens, what will happen, what must happen.
Iris saw the same thing. The white temple. The dark man standing over me. My body not waking up.
It's real.
I'm going to die.
I don't know how long I lie there, drowning in terror. Minutes. Hours. Time loses meaning.
Eventually, I force myself to sit up. My hands won't stop shaking as I grab my journal and write with desperate, jagged letters:
Vision during reset. Lunar temple. My body on altar. Prince Cassian standing over me with bloody knife. One month from tonight. He kills me. He KILLS me.
The words blur as tears fill my eyes.
For three days, I avoided him because I was afraid. Turns out my fear was justified.
Prince Cassian Noctis—the only other person who remembers the resets, the only person who might understand me—is going to murder me in thirty days.
A knock on my door makes me jump so violently I drop my pen.
No. Not now. Not tonight.
"Miss Thorne." Cassian's voice cuts through the wood. "I know you're in there. And I know you saw it too."
My blood turns to ice.
He knows about the vision.
Which means he saw the same thing I did.
"Go away," I manage, my voice cracking.
"I can't. We need to talk. Now."
"You're going to kill me!" The words rip out of me. "I saw it! One month from now, you murder me in the lunar temple!"
Silence.
Then: "I know. I saw the exact same vision. My hands covered in your blood. You dead on that altar." His voice drops to something raw and desperate. "But Elara, I swear on everything I am—I don't want to kill you. I would never hurt you. That vision is a lie. A manipulation. Someone is framing me."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"Because if I wanted you dead, why would I warn you three days ago? Why would I tell you we need to stop our murders? Why would I be standing outside your door begging you to trust me?"
My mind spins. He has a point. If he planned to kill me, why reveal himself? Why ask for my help?
Unless it's all part of some sick game.
"Please," Cassian says, and the word sounds like it costs him everything. "Let me in. Let me explain. I've been researching for months. I know what's happening to us. I know who's behind this. And I know how to stop it. But I can't do it alone."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because you're going to die if you don't."
The blunt truth hits like a slap.
He's right. If the vision is real—if I'm going to die in thirty days—then hiding in my apartment won't save me.
My only chance is understanding what's happening. And the only person who might have answers is standing outside my door.
The man who's going to kill me.
I stand on shaking legs and cross to the door. My hand hovers over the lock.
This is insane. I'm insane.
But what choice do I have?
I open the door.
Prince Cassian stands in the dark hallway, and he looks as wrecked as I feel. His hair is disheveled. His clothes are rumpled. His eyes are wild with the same terror I saw in my mirror.
"Thank you," he breathes.
"Don't thank me yet." I step back to let him in. "You have one chance to convince me you're not going to murder me. One."
He nods and enters my tiny apartment. The space feels impossibly small with him in it.
"The vision we saw isn't the future," he says immediately. "It's a prophecy. A spell designed to make us believe it's inevitable."
"What's the difference?"
"The future can be changed. A prophecy is a trap—it makes you so afraid that you make the very choices that cause it to come true." He runs a hand through his hair. "Someone sent us that vision to separate us. To make you fear me. To make me doubt myself. Because together, we're dangerous to them."
"Who's them?"
"I don't know yet. But I have theories." He pulls out a folded paper from his coat. "I've been documenting patterns. People who disappeared during resets. Memory keepers like us who vanished without a trace."
He hands me the paper. I unfold it with shaking hands.
Seventeen names. Seventeen dates. All during full moons over the past five years.
"What is this?"
"A list of murders," Cassian says grimly. "People killed during resets. Their deaths erased from time. And all of them had one thing in common—they remembered the resets like we do."
The room tilts. "Someone is hunting memory keepers?"
"Yes. And they've been doing it for years." His eyes meet mine. "You and I are next on the list. That's why we saw the vision. Whoever is behind this wants us dead. And they're powerful enough to manipulate the moon magic itself to make it happen."
I sink onto my bed, overwhelmed. "This can't be real."
"It is. And it gets worse." Cassian crouches in front of me so we're eye level. "The vision showed you dying in exactly one month. Do you know what happens during the next full moon?"
I shake my head.
"The Lunar Ceremony. When the High Priestess renews the moon magic for another year." His voice goes deadly serious. "It's the one night when the temple is open. When the magic is at its strongest. And when a sacrifice would have the most power."
Understanding crashes over me like a wave.
"Someone is planning to sacrifice me during the ceremony."
"Yes. And frame me for it." His jaw clenches. "We have thirty days to find out who and stop them. Thirty days to break whatever spell is trying to force me to kill you. Thirty days to survive."
"How? How do we fight moon magic?"
"By working together. By trusting each other. By—"
He stops mid-sentence, his eyes going wide.
"What?" I ask. "What's wrong?"
"Your daughter." His voice drops to a horrified whisper. "You said she's a memory keeper too. She's four years old."
"Yes. Why?"
Cassian's face goes pale. "Check the list. The last name."
I look down at the paper in my hands. At the bottom of the seventeen names, written in darker ink like it was added recently:
Iris Thorne. Age 4. Target date: Next full moon.
The paper falls from my numb fingers.
"No," I breathe.
"They're not just coming for you," Cassian says, his voice tight with urgency. "They're coming for your daughter too. And if we don't stop them, you'll both die in thirty days."