Page 50 of A Touch of Darkness

How grossly ironic.

I stop in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My hair is a mess, my eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but it’s not the surface that catches my attention. It’s what’s underneath.

There’s a part of me I’ve been ignoring, a part that’s been whispering in the background, growing louder with every passing day. A part that’s tired of being afraid.

I glance at my features, thinking about the version of Seraphina I saw in the vision of Lucian—when he was cursed. How she and I were one in the same. I wonder what that was trying to tell me. I’ve gone over it in my head so many times, but nothing sparks to life any kind of idea. It’s like I have a mental block where the answer is.

I glance at the clock. It’s early, too early for anyone else to be awake, but I don’t care. I grab the nearest book off the desk—The Bound Curse: A Guide to Reversing Eternity—it’s the only one I haven’t fully devoured over the past couple of days.It’s imposing, probably filled with more questions than answers, but at least it’s a start.

I won’t wait for Lucian to come to me. I won’t wait for the Society to decide what I’m worth. If I’m going to find Lara, I have to start now, and something is pulling me toward this book.

The kiss… it might have been a mistake, or it might have been the thing that woke me up. Either way, I can’t let it paralyze me. Lucian Draedon is a mystery I’ll never solve, but I’ll be damned if I let him or anyone else control my fate—or Lara’s.

With the book in hand, I sink back onto the bed, the weight of it grounding me. I flip through the pages, searching for something—anything—that will help me make sense of this chaos.

The pages of the book feel impossibly fragile beneath my fingertips, each one holding secrets that might crumble if I don’t handle them with care. My finger traces over the faded ink, guiding my eyes as they drink in the words. Every sentence feels like a clue, but none of it is making sense. Not yet.

And then, I see it.

“She holds the power, the reincarnate of the beholder, she must truly see herself to reveal the truth.”

The second my finger slides under the sentence, a sharp, searing pain blooms at my fingertip. I hiss and pull my hand back, clutching it to my chest as I read the words again. My finger throbs as though burned, the faint outline of the words glowing briefly on my skin before fading.

Before I can process it, a sharp crack splinters the air. My head jerks up, and I see the mirror across the room. A jagged fracture runs down the center of the glass, cutting my reflection clean in half. My pulse stutters, a cold chill skittering down my spine.

What the hell?

The crack glimmers faintly, as if the glass itself is alive. I don’t know why, but it pulls me like a magnet, my feet moving before my brain can catch up.

I set the book down on the dresser beneath the mirror, my breath shallow and uneven. My reflection stares back at me, fractured and wrong, the crack splitting my face into two warped halves. My eyes flicker to the jagged line, and for a moment, it almost looks like it’s pulsing—like a heartbeat.

My fingers tremble as I gently press them to the cool surface of the glass. The mirror shudders under my touch, ripples spreading outward like water disturbed by a single drop. My reflection begins to shift, the broken halves merging, twisting into something else entirely.

My gaze lingers on each feature as though seeing them for the first time: my dark eyes, wide and uncertain; my sharp nose; my full lips, parted as I draw a shaky breath.

“Seraphina.”

Her name tumbles from my lips without a second thought and suddenly it’s her reflection I see, but it’s mine, too. Our eyes, our nose, our lips.

Us.

It’s her—but it’s also me.

The crack widens, glowing bright as sunlight, and I stumble back, shielding my eyes. The room hums with energy, the air heavy and electric. When I look again, the glow has faded, but Seraphina and I remain—as one.

Golden embers burn in my eyes now, fierce and unrelenting, as words begin to etch themselves into the glass. They appear stroke by stroke, unseen fingers carving their message:

“The curse can only be broken by the one who holds the bond, their blood untainted by the touch of desire.”

The sentence from the book. I look down at where it rests on the dresser and shrink backward when the words on the page blur and then glow, seeming to jump off the page. My heart slams against my ribs, the enormity of the revelation crashing into me. Untainted blood. Virgin blood.Myblood.

The mirror darkens, the glowing letters fading, leaving behind nothing but the fractured reflection of my face. My hands clutch the edge of the dresser as my knees threaten to buckle.

It’s not just who I am—it’s what I’ve never done. The Solstice Society doesn’t just want me for my lineage. They want me for the purity that’s part of their twisted plan.

The curse can only be broken by the one who holds the bond, their blood untainted by the touch of desire.

My stomach flips. I read it again, slower this time, letting the weight of it sink in. It’s me. The bond is mine. The power is mine. I just need to use it.

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