Cassie’s Diary — Duskrun 31, 20231

I haven’t written in this since Solrest.

Since Elliot got sick again.

Since the hospital started calling us by our first names at the front desk.

I thought if I didn’t write it down, maybe it wouldn’t be real.

Like not saying it out loud could make the universe forget.

It didn’t.

So now I’m here, pen in hand, because if I don’t put this somewhere, it’s going to slip out where it shouldn’t.

And then Mira Quinveil will stop looking at me like I’m a secret she almost wants to keep.

Because I know what I saw on that bus.

I know what I saw in that boutique.

And I know what I see when she looks at me like that.

Not like a rival.

Not even like a threat.

Like I’m the edge of a cliff she’s trying not to admit she’s standing on.

Gods, she was blushing.

Flustered, pretending she wasn’t picking a couples costume with me.

Pretending she didn’t like the way I looked in velvet and fangs.

(For the record: she liked it. A lot.)

She’s still lying.

But it’s shaking her hands now.

And me?

I keep telling myself I have bigger things to worry about. That I can’t get tangled in someone like her—not when Elliot’s fever still spikes in the middle of the night, not when every beep in that hospital room sounds like it’s counting down to something I don’t want to face.

But then she smiles at me, and for a heartbeat I forget every chart, every prescription, every shadow in those doctors’ eyes.

I forget the smell of antiseptic and loss.

I forget everything except the heat in her cheeks and the way my name sounds sharp in her mouth.

She lets me close, then backs away like I’m the fire.

Which is funny.

Because I think she’s the one who could burn the world down.

And part of me wants her to try.

Part of me wants to shove her until she admits it—that she wants me just as much as she hates me.

Veilwake’s tonight.

I’m bringing the necklace.

I don’t know why, but it feels… important. Like it’s humming in my bones, like it knows where it’s supposed to be. Like it knows something I don’t. Like it’s daring me to put it on and see what happens.

Maybe it’s just the festival getting to me. Maybe it’s the thought of seeing her there, in whatever ridiculous, perfect thing she’s wearing next. Maybe it’s the way I already know I’ll find her in the crowd without even looking.

I’ll see her there.

In whatever castle they’ve conjured.

In whatever costume she hides behind this time.

But I won’t be fooled.

Because I’ve seen her magic.

And I think she’s starting to see mine.

—C

The Veil always thinned in Duskrun, but tonight it breathed.

Not like a door creaking open, but like lungs expanding—pulling in shadow and starlight, exhaling something sharp and honey-sweet that clung to the tongue. Magic layered the crumbling ruins where the Summer and Autumn Court lands met, ivy-lit spires stretching jagged fingers into a sky strung with Veilfire lanterns. The air shimmered with a living pulse. Stone glowed faintly underfoot, warm through the moss as if holding the memory of sun.

The scent was everywhere—burned apples, wet leaves, the faint floral bite of Veil-bloom—and underneath, the metallic tang of old magic saturating the night.

I stepped into it wearing gold.

Not court robes. Not formal silks stitched by someone else’s hand. Just… me. A sun-priestess costume that showed more skin than my mother would allow and more runes than she could control. No glamour, no disguise—just the truth, radiant and undeniable. Fire-gold hair braided with sunthreads. Starlit brown eyes flecked with silver beneath the illusion light. My bare feet pressed into the moss-laced stone, the earth humming faintly up my calves.

Cassie Fairborn was already waiting.

She stood at the edge of the central ruin, half-cast in orange Veilfire and shadows so deep they looked like velvet. Her dress—black velvet corset, thigh slit, crimson gems at her throat and crown—wasn’t a costume. It was a challenge wrapped in beauty. The blood-gem tiara caught every spark like it wanted to drink them.

And gods help me, she looked perfect.

Too perfect. It was unfair, the kind of beauty that hollowed me out just by standing in it. She looked carved for the throne of every storybook villainess and yet real enough that my stomach turned with wanting. I hated myself for the thought, hated that my first instinct was to kiss her just to see if the velvet and jewels would melt under my hands.

Her eyes found mine the moment I stepped into the open, and they didn’t move. I felt that stare like a physical thing—hot against my skin, lingering, cataloging every detail. The way her gaze lingered on the line of my shoulders, slid down the braid heavy with sunthread, traced the golden runes at my hips before coming back up like she was memorizing me. The noise of the festival dulled—no music, no voices, just the air between us pulling tight, making my pulse trip.

But she wasn’t the only one staring.

I let my eyes rake over her—corset hugging too close, the slit dragging my attention where it shouldn’t, blood-gems glowing like they’d been lit from the inside. My mouth went dry, fury and awe tangling together until I didn’t know which burned worse. She was devastating, and I despised how much I wanted her.

My cheeks warmed before I could stop it. I wasn’t used to this—someone seeing me and not looking away, not glancing past me, not comparing me to who they thought I should be. Cassie was just… looking.

Her lips curved, the faintest twitch, like she’d just won a game I didn’t know we were playing. She didn’t comment on the blush—didn’t need to. She just kept drinking me in like it was her right. And even as I glared, my gaze kept betraying me—snagging on the curve of her throat, the way the crown tilted in her hair.

From the corner of my vision, a flicker of movement—three Small Folk perched on the curve of a lantern’s metal frame, wings catching the gold light like fragments of broken glass. They leaned forward in unison, tiny hands pressed to their mouths, watching me with the same wide-eyed reverence they always had when they thought I wasn’t looking. One of them whispered something I couldn’t catch, and another mischievously tugged a petal-thread between my braid and Cassie’s wrist before scattering into the ivy with the others giggling.

Cassie’s gaze didn’t leave mine, but I caught the flick of her eyes toward the lantern as the Small Folk vanished. She didn’t ask. Didn’t break the moment. Just filed it away like another piece of the Mira puzzle she intended to solve.

Cassie didn’t smirk.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t toss some biting comment about “dressing to impress.”

She just looked at me like I was something real. Something rare.

“You look like a goddess,” she said, voice low and steady, cutting through the magic-hum in the air.

The words hit harder than they should’ve. My throat burned for a second, and not from power. From the fact that Cassie Fairborn—the bane of my existence, the rival who never let me breathe—was looking at me like she was already ruined.

“I’m not,” I said, glancing away, furious at the crack in my voice.

Cassie took a step closer, the blood gems around her collarbone catching the Veilfire glow. Her eyes were wrecked—hungry, reverent, terrified all at once.

“Didn’t say you had to be a good one.”

Her gaze eventually tore from mine—but not because she was overwhelmed.

She was enchanted.

And so was I.

The ruins around us pulsed with life, woven with ancient glamor and unspoken history. Twisting vines of ember-lit ivy crept along broken pillars. Wildflowers bloomed between shattered stones, glowing softly in impossible colors. A carved statue of a long-dead High Lord blinked when no one was looking.

Everywhere she turned, the world whispered: You are not in Kansas anymore, sweetheart.

And she didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask if it was fake. Didn’t pull out her phone to record it for proof. She just stepped forward, taking it in like the golden-haired heroine of some cursed fairytale—chin high, eyes sharp, movements deliberate, like she was daring the magic to test her.

It was… unsettling.

And maybe a little exhilarating.

Because I was used to hiding this.

Used to glamoring away everything that made me different. Masking my eyes, my voice, my light. I’d spent years convincing the human world I was normal.

But Cassie was here. In my world.

And instead of looking for the strings behind the magic trick, she was walking straight into the performance like she belonged center stage.

A flicker of movement caught my eye—Small Folk, maybe half a dozen, darting along the ruined walls at the path’s edge. Their petal-stitched cloaks shimmered in the lanternlight as they trailed us like shadows that had learned to breathe. One braver than the rest fluttered down, landing just ahead of Cassie’s boot. It tilted its head back, staring up at her like she was worth bowing to.

Cassie didn’t gasp or startle.

She glanced down, gaze lingering on the tiny figure for a fraction of a second before it vanished into the ivy, then looked back at me with that maddening calm curiosity—like she was already adding it to the list of questions I’d eventually have to answer.

She reached for a Veilfire lantern, fingers hovering just beneath its soft orange glow. She didn’t touch it, but the shimmer painted her skin—cheekbones, the hollow of her throat—like the night itself was daring me to look longer.

“Is this all real?” she asked, voice low.

I hesitated. Then nodded.

Cassie didn’t laugh. Didn’t accuse me of theater.

Instead, she whispered, “It’s beautiful.”

And for a second, something cracked open inside me—because she wasn’t talking about the ruins.

We walked on, leaves crunching underfoot, lanterns shifting from violet to gold to green as the Veil breathed around us. The festival’s music bled through in fractured echoes, edged like broken glass.

Cassie slowed, head tipping back toward the stars.

“Is it always like this?”

“No,” I said. “Only when the Veil’s thin enough to notice. One night a year, everything forgets to lie.”

She shivered—not from cold, but hunger. The kind that scared me because it matched something in my own chest.

At the edge of my vision, Small Folk perched near a cluster of lanterns. One tilted its head like it was listening, then darted away into the ivy. Cassie’s gaze followed the movement before landing squarely on me.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she said, lips curving into a smug little blade. “Pretending you’re not the hottest person here.”

I snorted, but the words caught awkward in my throat. Cassie’s expression shifted—micro-tightening around the eyes, her attention sliding past my shoulder before I even sensed the shift.

And then I felt it.

The air temperature changed.

And not from me.

“Sunfire,” came the drawl behind us—aristocratic, practiced, and laced with something that made my skin crawl.

I turned. Slowly. Because I already knew who it was.

Daevan Nightvine stood framed by an arch of gold-thorn ivy, wearing a tunic that probably cost more than a city block. Wine-dark velvet clung to his lean frame, etched with shifting autumn sigils that shimmered when he moved. His eyes were rust and rot and amber, like a forest about to fall.

“Didn’t realize the Summer Court was sending sacrificial firelight this year,” he said with a grin meant to be charming.

I smiled. Court-perfect. Sharp enough to bleed.

“And I didn’t realize the Autumn Court was lowering its standards. Must be a rough harvest.”

Cassie choked on a laugh beside me, but her stance stayed squared—reading him like he was a puzzle she didn’t trust. I noticed the way she subtly shifted half a step in front of me, not enough to be obvious, but enough to put herself between us if things turned.

Daevan’s eyes flicked to her.

“Ah,” he said, lingering. “The mortal.”

Cassie stepped forward, chin tilted just enough to radiate try me. “Cassie Fairborn,” she said coolly. “And you are?”

Daevan’s smile curled at the edges. “Irrelevant. Unless you’re planning to be part of the family.”

Cassie’s brows shot up. “Wow,” she drawled, voice sharp as glass. “That’s your opening line? I’ve heard better from drunk freshmen at after prom parties.”

My stomach flipped. My magic twitched—silent, warning, close.

Cassie opened her mouth to throw another barb, but I cut in first. “Walk away, Nightvine.”

He looked back at me. Really looked this time.

And leaned in.

“You wear the priestess act well, Firebrand,” he murmured. “But we both know what’s underneath. And I look forward to unwrapping it—piece by piece.”

I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just smiled wider.

“If you ever speak to me like that again, I’ll burn the marrow from your bones and serve the ashes at your next engagement dinner.”

The moment snapped like a thread.

Daevan straightened, clapped once—mocking.

“Delightful. No wonder Mother’s so fond of you.” He cast a final glance at Cassie, a leer hidden inside a bow. “Enjoy the party. While it lasts.”

He vanished into the crowd like smoke through a sieve.

Cassie turned to me. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

“What. The fuck.”

“I told you,” I muttered, already searching for something—anything—solid to focus on. “You haven’t even seen weird yet.”

But even I knew this wasn’t weird.

This was war.

And the battlefield was dressed in silk and shadow.

The music shifted—minor key, slower tempo. Like someone had whispered poison into the strings. That was the only warning I got.

Then I saw her.

Zyrella Thornsflame glided down the central stairway like she owned the ruin, gown trailing behind her like spilled ink and rot. Cursed ivy twisted along her bodice, blooming into flame-thorns at her shoulders and wrists. Every step shimmered with court-forged malice. Her glamour didn’t conceal—it weaponized. Each illusion sharpened what was already cruel.

Around her, whispers bloomed like toxic flowers.

She didn’t look at me right away. She didn’t have to.

Her gaze took the long way around—through the crowd, through Cassie—before landing on me like a branding iron.

"Well," Zyrella purred, "isn’t this festive.”

I held her gaze. Didn’t flinch.

She took another step, then another, circling. “The Firebrand halfling, gracing us with her… unconventional choice of company.”

Cassie stood straighter at my side.

Overhead, half-hidden in the ivy-wrapped lanterns, Small Folk peered down — bright eyes unblinking. One, bolder than the rest, tilted its tiny chin in perfect mimicry of Cassie’s stance, as if silently daring Zyrella to continue.

Zyrella’s eyes flicked toward her, sharp as splintered glass. “Half-bloods and humans. Seara truly has lowered the bar.”

The words sliced clean.

But before I could react, Cassie was already moving.

She stepped forward—heels biting into ancient stone—and said, too sweetly, “You want to say that again where I can hear it?”

Zyrella blinked. Just once. Then smiled like something carnivorous.

“Oh, darling,” she said. “I meant every word.”

Cassie tilted her head, one brow arching. “Good. Then next time you can say them while looking me in the eyes.”

Tension snapped taut.

Zyrella's smile thinned. “Careful, little mortal. You don’t know the rules here.”

“No,” Cassie said, eyes glittering. “But I know how to spot a scared girl hiding behind couture.”

I didn’t know who looked more shocked—Zyrella, or me.

Cassie’s hand found mine—not in a brush or accident, but with full intent. Her fingers threaded through mine and stayed, firm and sure, heat bleeding into my skin. The pressure was protective, yes, but it lingered just long enough to turn into something else. Something that made my pulse kick hard in my throat.

I didn’t look at her.

I didn’t have to.

The faint squeeze she gave before leading me away told me she’d felt it too.

“Let’s go,” she said, chin high. “This place is full of ghosts.”

We walked away together, hand-in-hand through veiled lanternlight, leaving Zyrella fuming behind us in her thorn-laced inferno.

And for once, I didn’t feel like a mistake.

I felt like someone worth defending.

We slipped past the last archway—stone weathered with age and tangled in crimson ivy—and stepped into the garden like it was a secret we were never meant to find. Veilfire flickers above us in floating lanterns, gold and icy blue tongues of flame suspended midair. The night hummed with quiet magic. Even the breeze tasted different out here. Earthy, electric, faintly sweet with something floral that didn’t exist in the human world.

Cassie exhaled like she’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “This place is… insane.”

Something tiny stirred in the ivy above us. A Small Folk with hair like frost-tipped moss leaned forward, eyes bright as topaz, watching Cassie with unblinking curiosity. Another, perched on a lantern string, tilted their head in the exact same way Cassie just had — a perfect mimic. Cassie startled when the tiny echo registered, her lips curling into a grin.

“Friends of yours?” she murmured.

I shrugged, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me. “They… hang around.”

The first one dropped from the ivy, light as a drifting petal, and landed in my hair. They sniffed, tiny nose twitching, then hopped to Cassie’s shoulder like they owned the place. Cassie froze, eyes crossing slightly as she tried to see them without moving her head.

“They’re… adorable,” she said softly. She lifted a single finger, letting the Small Folk step onto it before they vanished into a ripple of air like skipping stones.

“They like you,” I said before I could stop myself.

Her gaze snapped back to me. “Good to know.”

I leaned against the stone railing that curved around the edge of the courtyard, fingers tight on the cold marble, pulse still a mess from the fact that Cassie Fairborn had just put herself between me and Zyrella Thornsflame like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You look different,” she says.

“It’s just the light,” I mumble.

“No. Not that. I mean—yeah, you’re glowing like you belong in this place and your skin is doing that whole sun-warmed divine thing, but…” She tilts her head again. “You feel different.”

I freeze. “I don’t know what that means.”

She shrugs one shoulder, stepping in close enough that her perfume winds around me like a spell. “You’ve always had this edge. Like you were built of barbed wire and spite. But tonight…”

Her hand brushes mine. Barely.

“…tonight, you look like someone who was meant to burn.”

I swallow hard. My pulse stutters. Gods, I hate how much I want her to keep going. “Careful. You’ll flatter me into spontaneous combustion.”

Cassie leans in, not backing off. Her voice is low, velvet-wrapped steel. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

I should say something. Change the subject. Run.

Instead I hear myself ask, “Do you like it?”

“The garden?”

“Me. Like this.”

It’s out before I can stop it.

Cassie stills. The air shifts.

Then: “I liked you before this. I wanted you before this. This just makes it harder to pretend I don’t.”

The words slam into me harder than any insult she’s ever thrown. My magic sparks at the edges of my control—heat in my fingertips, a shimmer in the space between us. I turn away, trying to breathe.

“Don’t do that,” she says.

“Do what?”

“Run from me.”

“I’m not—”

“Mira.”

The way she says my name. Like a dare and a secret and a promise all wrapped in one syllable. My chest tightens.

“I brought you here to keep you quiet,” I whisper.

Cassie laughs, low and knowing. “You failed spectacularly.”

“I didn’t want you to see this world.”

“Tough luck. I saw it. And I’m not looking away.”

I face her fully. “Once you’ve seen the magic of the world…” I start.

“You don’t go back,” she finishes, eyes locked to mine.

I nod. “Now you live the secret. Like I do.”

She steps in again. Closer. Her hand brushes my waist now, knuckles grazing exposed skin just above the golden wrap of my dress.

“Then let me see all of it,” she whispers. “No masks. Just you.”

I don’t move.

Cassie tilts her head. “Unless you’re scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“You’re scared of wanting me.”

My fire flares, just a pulse under my skin—but I don’t stop her.

Her gaze lingers on my mouth, then drifts lower, pausing on the runes glowing faintly down my spine. She reaches out like she might trace them. Doesn’t.

Above us, the Small Folk lean forward on their lantern wires, luminous eyes wide, like they’re holding their breath—tiny mimics of us, bodies tilted toward each other, waiting.

The air between us goes still. Dense. Magnetic.

And then—

I step back.

Just a step. Barely enough to break the tension. But enough.

“We should go,” I say, voice too soft.

Cassie doesn’t argue.

But she doesn’t look away either. Not until we’ve crossed the garden and stepped back into the wild noise of the court.

And even then, I can feel her eyes on me.

The night should’ve swallowed the moment whole.

Instead, it held it like a breath.

Cassie and I stood in the garden’s shadowed center, just past the reach of the Veilfire lanterns. The quiet between us vibrated in my ribs, under my skin, in the heat pooling low in my stomach.

Her fingers hovered at my hip—not touching, but I could feel the ghost of them there. Every inch of me was aware of her—her breath brushing my cheek, the faint tilt of the blood-gem crown, the tempo of her heartbeat I could almost hear in the stillness.

She was going to kiss me.

I was going to let her.

Gods help me, I wanted her to.

And then—

“Ah, how tragic,” a voice drawled, silk and venom in equal measure. “I didn’t mean to intrude on such an intimate little scene.”

Cassie recoiled as if the air between us had been cut in half. My stomach sank before I even turned.

Daevan Nightvine stood in the archway, lanternlight carving his smirk into something crueler. His Autumn Court regalia was cut close to the bone, wine-dark velvet stitched with shifting sigils that writhed when he moved. Rust-and-rot eyes gleamed like a forest about to fall.

His gaze locked on me. Only me.

“So sorry,” he went on, mock sympathy dripping from every syllable, “I didn’t realize I was interrupting my future fiancée.”

The words hit like icewater. My magic twitched under my skin, heat threatening to ignite.

“You’re lying,” I said, each syllable a blade.

“Am I?” His grin widened. “I suppose that depends on how up-to-date your mother’s kept you. The negotiations have gone… rather well.”

Cassie shifted closer, the brush of her shoulder steadying mine. A silent I’m here. My pulse still spiked like lightning.

“I didn’t agree to anything,” I said.

“No,” Daevan replied, tilting his head like a wolf savoring a cornered deer. “But Seara did. And really—” his gaze cut into me, deliberate and cruel “—isn’t that what matters?”

The garden’s air went tight. Heavy. My fists curled so hard my nails bit skin, pain cutting through the heat.

Daevan stepped forward, gravel crunching under his boots. “You should smile more, Mira. It’s a party. And your little guest is already making such a scene.”

Cassie didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. She just stayed rooted at my side—shoulder pressed to mine, body angled forward like a barrier if I needed one.

I couldn’t breathe.

Not past the weight of his words.

Not past the way future fiancée clung like a brand.

Not past the look in his eyes that said he already owned me.

It was too much.

I turned on my heel and bolted, Veilfire flashing off the gold of my dress, the heat under my skin breaking loose like wildfire.

Cassie followed. I didn’t have to look back to know. I could feel her there—close enough to catch me if I fell, but not trying to stop me.

I ran.

The Veilfire danced behind my eyes like embers I couldn’t blink away.

I ran.

Past marble arches and thorned hedges, deeper into the maze of half-dead roses and illusion-draped ruins. My heels scraped stone, breath tearing through my chest in wild sobs I couldn’t choke down. Every corner I turned, I expected the garden to close in and devour me whole.

I kept going anyway.

Tears blurred the paths. My magic flared in frantic pulses, desperate to shield me, but it only betrayed me—raw and messy, spilling out like cracks I couldn’t hide.

How dare he.

How dare my mother.

How dare every cursed one of them keep deciding my life like I was nothing more than a gilded pawn on their board.

I stumbled into a glade ringed by ghostwillows—silver leaves dripping sparks of starlight like falling tears. I doubled over near the center, clutching my ribs like I could hold myself together if I just squeezed hard enough.

The tears wouldn’t stop.

“I didn’t know,” I choked, to no one, to everyone. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this—”

Footsteps.

I whirled, magic spiking—

It was only Cassie.

She didn’t speak right away. Just looked at me with that maddening steadiness she always had—like even now, even here, I wasn’t too much for her.

“Go away,” I snapped, my voice breaking.

“No.”

“You don’t get it.”

“I think I do,” she said softly. “More than you want me to.”

“I can’t be part of that world.” My voice cracked again, smaller this time. “I can’t marry him. I’m not—I’m not property—”

“I know.”

“They’ll make me.”

Cassie’s eyes narrowed, daring the entire fucking court to try.

“Then burn it down,” she said. “Say no.”

I stared at her. The words hit like flint to tinder, reckless and impossible and exactly what I wanted to hear.

“You don’t owe them anything, Mira. Not your magic. Not your name. Definitely not your future.”

The way she said my name—firm, anchoring, like she was handing it back to me instead of trying to claim it—unraveled something deeper than panic.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” I whispered. “I don’t know how to fight her.”

Cassie stepped closer, and this time I didn’t flinch.

“Then let me help.”

I looked at her, really looked, and for a second it didn’t feel like falling. It felt like waking up.

And gods, I wanted to reach for her.

Wanted it so badly my fingers twitched—

But the fear was still there, coiled like a hand around my throat.

So I didn’t say anything else. I just let the tears fall while she stood beside me, steady as ever.

Not fixing me.

Just not leaving.

I stand in the ghostwillow glade, ribs tight, every breath catching on the raw edges of what Daevan said. Cassie hasn’t moved from beside me, but I still can’t look at her for long.

The air shifts. A flicker in my periphery.

And then they appear.

Small Folk, no taller than my forearm, slipping from between the silvered trunks like the glade itself is sending reinforcements. One tugs gently at the hem of my dress, another perches at my wrist, and a third hovers near my shoulder until it finally settles in my hair, fussing with a loose braid. Their jewel-bright eyes search mine, soft sounds spilling from them like distant chimes.

It’s so absurdly gentle that my throat aches worse. “You’re not supposed to be here,” I whisper.

Cassie watches, wide-eyed but still. “They’re… comforting you.”

“They do that sometimes,” I murmur, not trusting my voice for more.

Cassie tilts her head, gaze darting between me and the tiny figures. “Mira, you realize this is the part where I’m supposed to ask if you’re secretly their queen.”

I let out something halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “That’s ridiculous.”

The smallest one trills and tucks a silverleaf sprig into my braid like it’s crowning me anyway.

Cassie smirks faintly. “Tell that to them.”

For a moment, I almost forget the weight in my chest. Almost.

Then, all at once, the Small Folk go still—every movement freezing in perfect unison. Their heads turn toward the shadowed path out of the glade.

And they’re gone.

No sound. No flutter of retreating wings. Just absence.

And the silence they left behind felt like a warning.

Cassie’s smile fades. “What was that?”

“They don’t run unless something’s coming,” I say, already looking in the same direction.

We wait, but nothing moves. Eventually, we step out of the glade, heading back toward the festival.

The silence between us isn’t comfortable. It isn’t simmering. It’s the kind that says we almost did it—we almost fell off that cliff together.

Cassie helps me to my feet, her grip firm but not rushing me. My skirts are still damp at the hem where the ghostwillow dew clung, but the air feels lighter now—emptier without the Small Folk peeking down at us from the branches. It’s just us again.

We fall into step, the path narrowing between tall, thorn-wrapped hedges. Veilfire lanterns sway overhead, their light flickering against the uneven stone. The sound of the festival is a faint, fractured thing now—distant laughter, the ghost of music carried by the breeze.

Cassie walks beside me in silence.

Not the comfortable kind. Not even the simmering kind we’ve somehow mastered. This is the kind that says we almost did it. We almost fell off that cliff together.

She almost kissed me.

I was going to let her.

And then Daevan—Daevan fucking Nightvine—slithered in with that smug little announcement like he owned my name.

Now I can’t look at her without hearing fiancée echo in my head.

We keep walking until the last of the noise fades, swallowed by distance and Veil-thick shadow. My dress whispers against the hedges, and my magic still hasn’t settled—hot and restless beneath my skin.

Cassie clears her throat.

“Why does it feel like everything changed?”

I keep my eyes forward. “Because it did.”

She stops walking. I should keep going, pretend I didn’t hear, but my feet betray me.

“Then why didn’t we…” she asks, softer now. “Why didn’t you let it happen?”

I want to lie.

But I can’t.

“I don’t know.”

“Liar.”

It’s not cruel. Just honest.

My gaze drops to the golden ink painted along my arms, smudged where her fingers had touched. The heat between us hasn’t burned out—it’s just recoiled, unfinished, aching.

And then I see it.

The necklace.

It pulses again—slow, soft, rhythmic. Like it’s breathing.

Cassie notices too. “That’s new.”

“No, it’s not,” I say, stepping closer. “It’s been doing it all night.”

She tilts her head. “You said it was enchanted.”

“I said it was Veil-reactive. I didn’t say I knew what it reacted to.”

Cassie’s hand lifts to the pendant automatically. “It won’t come off. I tried after we left the boutique. Thought it was just stuck.”

“It’s not stuck,” I murmur. “It’s bound.”

“To what?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know yet. But it’s not nothing.”

My magic flares, subtle and sharp. I reach out, hovering just shy of touching the pendant. The moment I get too close, something tightens behind my ribs.

There’s a pull.

A link.

A watcher.

Cassie jerks back slightly, breath hitching. “What the hell was that? Felt like sticking a fork in an outlet.”

I drop my hand. “It’s attuned. To something… or someone.”

“That’s not vague or terrifying at all.”

“I didn’t say it was dangerous.”

“You didn’t say it wasn’t.”

Fair.

The lanterns flicker.

And for the first time tonight, I feel it—eyes. Not Cassie’s. Not court nobles. Something colder. Higher.

I glance up toward an abandoned stone balcony overlooking this stretch of the estate—and there it is. A silhouette. Cloaked. Motionless.

They hold a sigil. Not glowing. Not charged. Just… resonating.

Cassie’s necklace pulses again.

The sigil answers.

A single beat of light.

A perfect sync.

Then, too low for any court music to cover, too wrong for the night to ignore, a whisper slides across the wind:

“The tether is holding.”

The words burn through my chest like a brand.

I look back.

The balcony is empty.

But I feel it.

So does she.

And neither of us says a word.

Cassie’s Diary – Veilwake Night

Entry Date: Duskrun 31, 20231 – Attempt 2

Four months without touching this thing, and now I’m writing in it twice in one day.

Guess Veilwake does that to a person.

I almost kissed her.

God, I almost kissed her.

We were in this glowing ruin of a garden where nothing made sense except her. Golden skin catching firelight, eyes like stormlit secrets, magic rolling off her like heat from a flame that refuses to die quietly. She looked at me like she was ready to burn everything down, and for a second, I was ready to let her.

And then we didn’t. We almost did.

I hate almost.

That Autumn Court creep—Daevan—slithered in and dropped the “future fiancée” bomb like he was marking territory. Said it like he owned her. And Mira… she broke. Not in a way anyone else would notice, but I saw it. The way she went still. The way she ran like staying would suffocate her.

I chased her through thorns and shadow until she stopped. She let me stand there with her—let me see the cracks she usually keeps hidden. Gods help me, I wanted to kiss her. I think she wanted it too. But the moment passed. We’re pretending it didn’t happen.

And then there’s this damn necklace.

It’s pulsing like it has a heartbeat, and when Mira’s magic brushed it, something shifted. She didn’t say she was scared, but I could feel it. Like someone was watching us. I swear I saw a figure on the balcony—cloaked, still—and when the necklace lit, they had something that lit in sync.

I don’t know what I’ve stepped into.

But I know one thing for sure:

She can run. She can lie. She can call me insufferable until the stars burn out.

I’m not walking away.

Not from her.

Not ever.

—C