Page 56 of Mostly Shattered

Where’s my guiding omen? Surely, it’s something I’d recognize. I mean, seriously?—

Suddenly, the moths leave their posts to swarm upwards, gathering over our heads before traveling toward the mausoleum. Their frantic wings beat wildly as they congregate around the stone entrance. They appear drawn to the unnerving green glow thatis now seeping from its cracks. For a moment, I feel like I’m one of them—inexplicably drawn toward something I don’t fully understand and can’t escape.

“Do you see that?” I whisper, following the moths to get a closer look.

The moths change shape. Their dull and colorless wings reflect the green light and begin shimmering with a hint of magic.

Costin touches my arm to stop me. “What is it?”

The green glow intensifies until I can’t look away. I keep walking, drawn to it. The moths continue to grow and change until they are no longer moths. They transformed into butterflies—iridescent, neon-green creatures that don’t exist in nature. They flutter around the mausoleum door, their intended destination unmistakable as they bump desperately into the stone just as they bumped into the gas lamps before.

My omen.

“I believe you,” I say, all doubt gone. “This is where we need to go.”

Costin’s touch on my arm keeps me frozen in place. My heart hammers in my chest. Butterflies. They’ve always been my talisman of sorts.

My grandfather’s words echo in my mind,“The world needs butterflies, Tamara, as much as it needs dragons. Probably more. We all have our place.”

I’m the butterfly, and inside that mausoleumare the metaphorical dragons. These butterflies aren’t delicate or peaceful. They feel like a warning of the danger that awaits below, a danger I must face.

“This is the place,” I say.

“What changed your mind?” Costin asks.

“Don’t you see them?” I point at the door.

“There is no one there.”

I can’t take my eyes off the butterflies. The mausoleum looms ahead. I know its black stone facade is old yet appears untouched by time. Clouds move over the moon, darkening the graveyard. The green seeps from the cracks around the door, casting long slivers of light that flicker and dance like specters in the darkness. Every step I take is heavier than the last, and the air is thick with ancient and dangerous magic.

The entrance to the crypt is darker than I remember. I stare at it, moving like the moths toward the flame. The carvings on the door seem to writhe in the strange light, twisting into shapes I can’t quite recognize.

I need to get closer.

There’s something alive here within the stone, something primordial watching me approach. My heart races until I can’t hear anything but thepound, pound, poundof its rhythmic thump. Instinct screams at me to turn back.

I can’t. Not now.

I reach for the door, and the butterflies scatter around me. Before I touch it, the door creaks open with a groan. The sound sends shivers up my spine. Goosebumps cover my arms. My hand shakes as it falls back to my side.

The door opens on its own, welcoming me in. A few of the butterflies brave past me to go in first. Inside, the green light pulses, inviting and repelling me at the same time. I feel it in my bones—this isn’t just a door. It’s a threshold. Once I step through, there’s no going back.

This is it. The moment everything changes.

Until now, I told myself that I had a choice, that I could somehow escape the destiny laid out for me if I so chose. I’m human, and we have free will, right?

Fate doesn’t agree.

The vision from the prophecy’s illustration still burns in my mind. So much death and destruction. The city, the people, all gone. Everything I care about is disintegrated and crushed. Costin told me that some of the supernaturals would survive, and their fates would be worse than the humans. And it will be my fault if I do nothing.

Costin said I’m part of this prophecy, but I’m just a mortal girl. What if I’m not enough? What if I fail? The weight of the world is pressing down on me, and I feel like I’m drowning in it. But I can’t let fear stopme now. I’ve seen what happens if I don’t act, and I won’t let that become reality.

Knowing this is my fate doesn’t make this any easier. Every instinct in me screams to run, to hide, to retreat to the safety of my penthouse and pretend none of this is real. If I choose Chester, I can hide inside our magical families. Maybe we’d survive.

Maybe.

But at what cost?

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