Camille’s room was chaos.
Blood sprayed the wall near the window fresh and bright, still wet enough to gleam under the lanterns. The guard lay in a heap near the dresser, his throat torn open. His claws were still half-shifted, fingers frozen in a death grip around the dagger he’d never had ti to use.
Magnolia stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning every inch of the room.
Camille was gone.
The bed was unmade, blankets thrown to the floor, one of the drapes sliced clean through like soone had bolted through it mid-shift. The scent of her wolf lingered, muddled and wild, but it wasn’t alone.
Another scent.
Ash.
And underneath it... sothing colder. Older.
Magnolia walked to the dresser, her hand hovering above the edge where blood had splattered. Her fingers didn’t shake, but her heart did.
This wasn’t an escape.
It was a release.
Camille hadn’t been taken.
She’d been claid.
"Don’t touch anything," Rhett’s voice ca from the door, sharp, commanding.
Magnolia didn’t turn. "You’re late."
"I was at the southern border. Ivy called a eting."
"Convenient timing."
He stepped inside and gestured to the fallen guard. "His na was Lyle. Served my family for eight years."
"She tore his throat out."
"We don’t know that it was her."
"I can sll her."
"So can I," he said quietly. "But she wasn’t the only one here."
Magnolia turned. "Ashriel."
The na hit the air like a curse. Rhett flinched.
"You believe it now?" she asked.
"I’ve always believed it. I just hoped it would never matter."
He moved to the window, eyes scanning the tree line. "There’s no sign of forced entry. The patrols didn’t see anyone. Which ans whoever helped her... knew the blind spots."
"An insider."
He nodded.
She stepped closer. "What aren’t you telling ?"
He didn’t answer. Just held out a sealed envelope.
Magnolia took it, broke the wax, and read the letter inside.
It was written in Camille’s hand. But the handwriting was wrong. The loops too perfect. The lines too sharp.
I see the truth now, Maggie. I see what they took from us, and what they buried to protect their bloodline. I’m going where I belong. Do not follow .
You were always the light. But I was always the gate.
Tell him I forgive him. And tell her I rember everything now.
Even the drowning.
Magnolia lowered the letter slowly. "She’s fully awakened."
"She’s not Camille anymore," Rhett said.
"Not entirely."
They stood in silence for a long mont.
Then Magnolia whispered, "She said she rembers drowning. That night... she fell in first. I tried to pull her back up. But sothing pulled her under."
"You told it was the river current."
"It wasn’t."
Her voice cracked.
"I saw sothing in the water, Rhett. A shadow. With eyes. It looked at . And it smiled."
He turned sharply. "You never said that before."
"Would you have believed ?"
His silence was answer enough.
She turned away.
"I need to go to the western crypt," she said.
He frowned. "What’s there?"
"The original pact. The one signed in Camille’s blood. Sterling locked it away."
"I’ll go with you."
"No."
She faced him. "If this is what I think it is, you can’t be near it. Your bloodline is tied too closely. If you so much as touch it "
"You think it’ll control ?"
"I think it already is."
The words hung heavy in the air.
He took a slow breath, then nodded. "Take Beckett."
"I will."
"And Magnolia " he paused, searching her face. "If she calls to you... don’t answer."
"I don’t have a choice."
"You do," he said softly. "You always do."
She didn’t reply.
Not because he was wrong.
But because he wasn’t.
The crypt was colder than she rembered.
Stone stairs twisted deep beneath the elder shrine, spiraling past dead roots and frost-covered walls. Beckett followed behind her, holding a lantern in one hand and a blade in the other.
They reached the final door iron-bound wood, sealed with three Luna runes.
Magnolia stepped forward and placed her palm to the center rune.
It burned white.
The lock clicked.
Inside, the chamber slled of old paper and fire-warped stone. Shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls and tos bound in animal hide. And in the center on a pedestal of black granite rested a silver box.
The original Ashriel pact.
Magnolia stepped toward it.
But Beckett grabbed her arm. "Are you sure?"
"No," she said. "But we’re out of ti."
She opened the box.
Inside, written in blood on ancient vellum, was the pact.
She read it once.
Then again.
And every word sliced deeper than the last.
The bloodline of Camille Blake, bound willingly to the spirit of Ashriel, in exchange for power, vision, and eternal mory.
Her vessel shall be the gate. Her pain shall be the price.
And when the bond awakens, the gate shall open.
Beckett whispered, "She didn’t fall into the river."
"No," Magnolia said, voice shaking. "She was sacrificed into it."
Footsteps echoed behind them.
Both turned too late.
A figure stepped into the light.
Ivy.
But her eyes weren’t her own.
They glowed.
Not gold.
Not silver.
But black.
And the voice that spoke wasn’t hers.
It was older.
Deeper.
"The gate is open."
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