Page 54 of Shadowkissed

My voice is hoarse. Raw. I scrub a hand over my face, trying to shake the static behind my eyes.

I had a dream—I think.

Violet.

There were violet eyes. And shadows. A name I almost said out loud, but it slipped away before my lips could form it. My jaw clenches. I dig my fingertips into the edge of the couch like I can claw the memory back out of my skull.

But there’s nothing. Just a hole. And it’sscreaming.

I stand, a little too fast, and stagger toward the kitchen, hoping caffeine will do what sleep didn’t. That’s when I see the list.

Crinkled paper. Names. Notes. Allies.

I stare at the writing like it’s someone else’s hand. But it’s mine. I remember writing it. I remember needing to prepare. But why?

Why the hell was I calling in favors? Why was I pulling a war council out of thin air?

The memories come fragmented. Like a mirror dropped in water. A council meeting. Witches. An argument about a threat to the Veil. Something big. Something world-ending.

My chest tightens.

The words flash in my head—“She’ll end it. Or it ends us all.”

She.

I freeze.

The hollow gets louder. There was someone. Someoneimportant.Someone who made the world stop spinning when she walked in. But I can’t remember her face. Can’t remember her name. Just a flash of obsidian hair. The faint smell of crushed violets and thunderstorm. A voice that cut like velvet over blades.

“Shit,” I whisper, gripping the counter.

My hands are shaking.

I walk the loft slowly, like a man trying to retrace the steps of a ghost. There’s an indentation on the pillow next to mine. A hair—long, black, glinting faint purple when the sun hits it just right.

“She was here,” I say under my breath, chest heaving. “Someone was here.” And I cared about her. Deeply. Dangerously. I feel it in the way my soul is still reaching for something that isn’t here anymore.

I lean back against the wall, eyes shut, trying to breathe through the ache.

“She left.”

The words fall out before I can stop them.

I know it. Even if I don’t remember it. She left… and I let her.

Or maybe I couldn’t stop her. Maybe I didn’t even know she was going.

And gods—it’s like something's been carved out of me with dull knives.

Why can’t I remember? And the more I try to remember, the more I seem to keep forgetting.

Why is her name right there on the tip of my tongue—but when I try to say it, itburns?

I punch the wall before I can think better of it, skin splitting across my knuckles.

By noon, I’ve torn the place apart. Looking for clues. A necklace. A note. Anything.

Nothing.

---