Page 30 of Shadowkissed

“Then remember that.”

She lifts her hand. Her fingers twitch. A swirl of mist curls through the air like ink poured into moonlight.

And she’sgone.

I stare at the empty space she left behind like it owes me an explanation.

The room’s too quiet. No trace. No sound. Just the faint lingering scent of magic—and her.

I clench my fists, fighting the urge to tear the place apart. To scream. Because I just got her back. Because I kissed her. Because she told me her name.

And now she’s gone again, and I don’t know where or why or what the hell is coming next—but I know one thing:

It’s coming fast and I’m not letting her face it alone.

She won’t have to ever again.

13

LIORA

The sky tonight bleeds purple.

The kind of dusk that feels like it knows too much. Heavy with warning, steeped in magic. The Veil’s thinner than it should be. I feel it in my teeth, in the way my shadows curl around my legs like they’renervous.

I walk fast, hood up, blending into the dark like I was born in it—which, technically, I was.

The meeting’s already started. I can feel the pulse of warded magic thrumming through the air like a second heartbeat.

I slip into the hidden entrance behind the old apothecary on 4th and Mercer. To mundanes, the building’s condemned—windows boarded up, ivy overgrown, signs falling apart. But the ones who know better can taste the enchantments woven into every brick.

And the ones whoknowme… usually aren’t thrilled when I show up.

The scent of burning herbs hits my nose the second I step into the underground chamber. Warm. Smoky. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Liora,” someone murmurs, voice coated in polite tension. “You’re late.”

“Fashionably,” I reply, sweeping back my hood.

Seven witches sit in a circle carved into the stone floor, moonlight filtering through the open slats in the roof above like it was summoned for the occasion. Sigils are scrawled in every corner, fresh with blood and gold. Protection spells. Foresight barriers. Maybe even tether wards.

They’re scared. I hate that I can smell it.

Thorne stands off to the side, watching me like I’ve already disappointed him and he hasn’t even said it yet.

“Didn’t know we were in such a rush to panic,” I add, stepping into the light. “Something happen? Let me guess—sky cracked again? Demons in Harlem? Prophetic fever dreams from a seer on mushrooms?”

“Don’t,” Thorne warns quietly. “Not tonight.”

That makes me pause. Because ifhe’sworried, it’s worse than I thought.

I glance at the council, all seven of them watching me like I’m the match they’re trying to decide whether to light or drown.

“Someone want to tell me why this meeting was so urgently called?”

A witch to my right—Leira, silver hair, hawk eyes, mouth always one syllable from starting a war—leans forward. “A ripple,” she says. “Big enough to shake the fabric. Magic older than anything we track.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a tantrum from one of the archmages in Central?”

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