Page 56 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

I wonder what jealousy looks like on Sebastian. Does his perfect composure falter, or his calm shatter like delicate glass? Does he grind his teeth to dust, or would he poison those who dare show me any interest? The thought lingers in my mind, strange and unsettling, yet I cannot push it away.

A young woman glides in, a tray of tea in her hands, and places it on the table with quiet grace before vanishing once more.

“We’ll need more than this,” Rune muses, lifting a cup to his lips.

“Perhaps alcohol would serve better,” Naseria suggests, rising to fetch a bottle from the collection resting by the wall.

“I like this one,” Rune says, casting Sebastian a wink, his smile widening with intent.

His hazel eyes and brown hair would surely make a woman faint. There is no doubt about it. But men like him—like Sebastian are walking enigmas with red flags. Naseriapops the screw open and pours Bourbon in everyone’s tea before placing it down.

“What’s your story?” Rune nudges the tip of his shoe against the edge of the table, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. It’s not just the action, but the way he carries himself—effortless, timeless, as if he’s not bound by the ticking of the world’s clock. His eyes sweep over us with an unreadable depth, a gaze that lingers in ways I can’t quite name.

“I mean, you’re all here for some reason or another. My question is, once you find the one you are hunting, would you kill them or perhaps risk it with the police?” His tone carries a blend of condescension and genuine curiosity, and I can’t help but feel certain Sebastian has shared our secrets with him.

“You ask as though there is another choice,” Naseria replies, her voice guarded.

“Bear with me, I’m just having trouble picturing you all committing such a crime as to take a life.” His eyes rake over Naseria unsettlingly.

“Isn’t that the point? Never let them see you coming?” she retorts.

“Not quite. I prefer my odds.”

“Good thing no one was asking,” she snaps back. I might blame the alcohol, but Naseria has always had a tart tongue.

“Enough,” Sebastian cuts in, his voice steady. “Your banter can wait for another time.”

“The Stamatoties Clan was founded by Iris, whom Sebastian and I ended, though it seems to have resurfaced. I hear your sister, Nova, was killed. And your uncle, Callum, isn’t it?”

I hum, a sound too bitter to be called a response.

His name alone sends a shiver down my spine. Thedays pass more easily when his memory stays buried, far from my thoughts. Mama tried so hard to love him, to care for him, but Callum is no spirit capable of love. He is a shadow—a man who knows neither how to give affection nor how to receive it.

“He caused the accident, but he too is part of the clan, and this is what you all know, among a few scattered details.”

I hum again, taking a slow sip of the tea, feeling the burn of the alcohol slide down my throat like liquid fire.

“So, I suppose the only thing you haven’t pieced together is the mastermind behind it all.”

No, but we were getting close.

“Other than the three sisters, no,” Naseria replies.

“Iris’s son,” Sebastian’s nonchalant voice fills the air, and it takes a moment for his words to settle in. “When we burned the clan, we mistakenly left one brick standing. Back then we weren’t aware that Iris had birthed a son. And ever since he discovered his mother is still alive, he has come in search of her.”

“And the three sisters, how do they know of each other?” I ask

“Call it luck, if you will. They seek the bodies for their organs, and he craves them for his rituals. It’s as if they are slaying two birds with a single stone.”

How the tables have turned. This piece of the puzzle had never been hinted at, and for the longest time, we believed there was another Iris—a madwoman, unhinged, orchestrating chaos and spilling blood across every corner.

More liquor flows, articles scattered across the floor, the crackle of the fire mingling with the patter of the rain. We spend the night, lost in the chronicles of what we know, sifting through the shards of our plans. Rune calls it not aplan, but a way forward—a method, if you will, of moving through the storm.

“And what of the circles?”

“All four circles were conjured from an ancient myth, one that speaks of four rings, each a doorway to a realm untouched by time. Born from forgotten whispers, they are not merely symbols, but chains that bind the living to the forsaken. Each circle carries with it a curse, one that draws us into an abyss where light is but a distant memory.”

The way to catch a thief is to think like one, to steal diamonds, and only then will you catch the jewel. The fourth and final oath lies in the Ridge, just behind the Academy. This is where the awakening will happen, where the harrowing truth waits, and where sacrifice becomes inevitable.

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