Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“What was that?” Delphine stood abruptly, her sudden movement scattering Charlotte’s careful documentation across the floor like fallen leaves.
Bastien closed his eyes, extending his awareness beyond the Archive walls. The magical signature was familiar but stronger than before, as though whatever force had been stalking them was growing bolder. Another manifestation of the pattern that had begun with the first glyph activation, the chain of events that would ultimately force Delphine to remember everything or destroy them both in the attempt.
“I have to go.” He was already moving toward the door, hating the necessity of leaving her with questions half-answered, truths half-spoken. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“But the fragments—what were you trying to tell me?”
“Keep them.” He paused at the threshold, drinking in the sight of her standing among the scattered evidence of their love. Her hair had come partially loose from its bun, and her cheeks were flushed with emotion and confusion. She looked so much like Charlotte in that moment that his chest ached with the force of memory. “Study them. When I return, we’ll finish this conversation. And Delphine—”
“Yes?”
“When you dream tonight, pay attention to what you see. Sometimes our souls remember what our minds have forgotten.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone with the binding ledger and Charlotte's documented proof that love could indeed transcend death—if one was brave enough to pay the price such permanence demanded.
Behind him, scattered across the Archive floor, Charlotte’s words waited to reveal the rest of their story—if Delphine was brave enough to keep reading, and strong enough to handle what she might learn about herself.
Fifteen
The stench of burned sage and copper pennies led Bastien through the labyrinthine back alleys of the Meridian District, past shuttered storefronts and graffitied brick walls that leaned inward like conspirators sharing secrets. Voss’s scent trail wound through narrow passages where light barely penetrated, creating pockets of shadow dense enough to hide a dozen sins.
He found her three blocks from the ash-marked building, crouched beside a makeshift stall constructed from salvaged metal sheeting and threadbare tarps. Her pale hair caught what light existed like spun glass. She arranged small vials filled with luminescent liquids on a rickety wooden table, each one pulsing with its own internal rhythm.
“Bastien Durand,” she said without looking up, her voice carrying that same musical quality that made his teeth ache. “I wondered when you’d find me.”
He stepped from the shadows, letting his boots announce his presence on the cracked asphalt. “Your scent was all over that building. The one marked with ash sigils.”
Her fingers paused over a particularly bright vial, its contents swirling like captured starlight. “Was it now? How unfortunate for me.”
“Cut the games, Voss. You’ve been trafficking more than just soul fragments.”
She raised her head, and those unsettling violet eyes fixed on his with predatory amusement. “Have I? What an interesting accusation.” She straightened, and he noticed the new additions to her appearance since their last encounter—silver chains wound around her wrists, each link inscribed with symbols that hurt to look at directly. “Tell me, Detective, what exactly do you think you’ve discovered?”
The alley felt smaller, as if the walls were creeping closer. He could smell ozone and sulfur, the telltale signs of active magical workings. Whatever Voss had been up to, it was bigger than simple black market dealings.
“I know you’ve been selling to someone with deep pockets and deeper knowledge. Someone who understands what these fragments really are.”
A laugh bubbled up from her throat, sharp and crystalline. “Oh, Bastien. Sweet, predictable, Bastien. Always chasing flames, aren’t you? Even when you know they’ll burn you alive.”
The words hit something raw inside his chest, a wound that never quite healed. Images flashed unbidden—Delia’s face twisted with hurt and accusation, her voice breaking as she threw his badge at his feet, the sound of their apartment door slamming with such finality it might as well have been a coffin lid closing.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, but the words felt hollow.
Voss tilted her head, studying him with the intensity of a scientist examining a particularly fascinating specimen. “Don’t I? You have such a distinctive pattern, Bastien Durand. Such a . . . harvested recurrence of behavior. Some souls are born to repeat their mistakes across lifetimes, you know. We have a name for your particular affliction.”
The air around them grew thick, oppressive. He could feel power building in the space between them, crackling along his skin like static electricity before a storm.
“What name?” he asked, though every instinct screamed at him not to give her the satisfaction.
Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “Tether Widow.”
The words landed cold, piercing him. Something cold settled in his chest, a recognition that came from deeper than conscious memory.
“A soul born to love completely and lose catastrophically,” she continued, her voice taking on the cadence of someone reciting sacred text. “Doomed to watch their beloved die again and again, lifetime after lifetime, always because of choices they make in the name of protection. Always because they think their secrets are shields instead of poison.”