The air shifted.

  At first, it was barely noticeable— a subtle loosening, a breath of something different. But then, the pressure that had gripped their ribs for miles uncurled. The thick, suffocating weight that had clung to their lungs eased, no longer pressing, no longer drowning them in something unseen.

  The wind stirred. Not strong. Not clean. But present. A faint ripple through the trees, a whisper against brittle leaves, the barest echo of life in a place that had been dead for far too long. It still carried traces of ash and damp earth, the scent of something old and unsettled, something disturbed. A presence lingered just beyond reach.

  But it was better.

  Brandon exhaled, a slow release of breath as his shoulders sagged, like he’d been holding himself too tightly for too long. Julia pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing away the last traces of a lingering fog.

  Annemarie stood still. The bond still pulled, but the tension had changed.

  They had reached the far edge of the Mirrorwood.

  A hush settled around them, broken only by the distant rustling of wind through half-wilted branches. The air here was different— lighter, clearer, yet still tinged with the metallic tang of lingering magic. The land itself seemed to waver between two states, uncertain whether to reclaim what had been lost or succumb to the slow rot that had crept through the Mirrorwood behind them.

  Melissa stretched, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the forest. Even with open ground ahead, tension clung to her muscles like something that would not let go. “It looks... better,” she said, though caution edged her voice.

  “Better,” Julia murmured, but there was no relief in it. Her eyes moved over the clearing, tracing the subtle signs— an old campfire, long burned out; the shallow imprint where someone had rested.

  Someone had been here. And, given where they were and who they’d been following, it was easy to guess who.

  Brenna followed her gaze, stepping toward the fire pit. She crouched, running her fingers through the ashes. “Warm,” she murmured. “She was here this morning.”

  A ripple of unease passed between them. Callista was ahead, close enough that her presence still lingered in the shape of disturbed earth and the careful edge of a blade against stone. But where was she now?

  Melissa’s gaze swept the thinning trees. “You think she’s watching us?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  Julia didn’t answer right away. The wind had picked up again, rustling through the sparse foliage like a whisper. The path was open, but it promised nothing. They had escaped the heart of the Mirrorwood, but they weren’t free of it. Not truly.

  And somewhere beyond the thinning trees, Callista was moving, too.

  Brenna rolled her shoulder, wincing at the faint shimmer of fractured magic along her arm. The protective wards had held, but barely. “We need these reinforced as soon as possible,” she muttered. “We were damn lucky they lasted this long.”

  Julia barely heard her. Her gaze was locked on the land ahead, where the curse ended as if sliced clean. “It’s not just luck,” she murmured. “Look at the way it stops. It’s not fading— it’s being held back.”

  Brandon’s frown deepened. “By what?”

  Julia exhaled. “By who.”

  No one spoke, but the answer hung between them— unspoken and undeniable.

  Melissa let out a slow breath, rubbing her temples. “So, let’s get this straight— Callista has been alone out here, holding back the entire Mirrorwood Curse?”

  Brenna shook her head. “Not alone,” she murmured. “Alánders can share power. I’d put money on this being why Annemarie struggled so much adjusting to it.”

  A heavy silence settled over them.

  Then, ahead of them, something moved. A figure, standing at the treeline. Distant. Waiting.

  Annemarie’s pulse jumped, something yanking hard at her chest. She staggered a half-step backward, barely aware of the others. “Someone’s here,” she whispered.

  She moved without thinking, her feet dragging her backward toward the dark. She barely noticed when she turned and started walking— one moment she was staring at the open land, feeling the weight of quiet relief settle in her bones.

  Then the pressure behind her ribs surged, sharp and overwhelming. Not toward Callista— away. Toward the Mirrorwood.

  “Anne!” A hand closed around her wrist, yanking her back with enough force to jolt her body. Melissa. Annemarie barely registered the sting of nails pressing into her skin, the sharp panic in Melissa’s voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Brandon was already at her side, gripping her other arm, his hold firm but steady. “Anne, talk to us. What’s wrong?”

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  She blinked hard, the haze cracking apart like shattered glass. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. “I— I didn’t mean to—” Her own voice sounded wrong, distant, like it belonged to someone else.

  Then, from the shadows of the trees, something spoke. “It still calls to you, doesn’t it?”

  The voice sliced through the thinning silence, smooth and sweet, an edge of amusement curling at the words. It was undeniable— like a song hummed too close to the ear, fingers tracing along the edge of something fragile and waiting to break.

  Melissa’s head snapped up, dagger already drawn. The metal caught the dim light, gleaming sharp in her grip. Julia’s hand went to her own runed knife, muscles coiled. Her body was rigid with the kind of tension that came from knowing something was wrong before the mind could place why.

  From the darkness, the figure stepped forward. Small. Slow. Not a creature, nor one of the twisted, watching things they had left behind.

  For a moment, Annemarie braced for another warped thing from Moorpond— another hollowed-out creature draped in the remnants of its old life. But then she saw them: Small hands, clasped neatly in front of her. Wide, unblinking eyes— the same ones that had watched her from the ruins.

  A child. Or, at least, something that still wore the shape of one.

  She emerged like a wisp of mist given form, slipping through the space between trees as though the forest itself had exhaled her into being. Her bare feet touched the earth without sound, her thin dress hanging loose over a frail frame.

  And her eyes— too dark. Too deep. Like the forest itself had been poured into them, endless and waiting.

  She tilted her head, watching them. Smiling just a little.

  A child. Frozen. Wrong.

  “Christ,” Brandon whispered, stepping back.

  The little girl tilted her head. Too slow. Too precise. A movement meant to be human, but somehow not.

  “Hello,” she said. Her voice was clear and sweet, but hollow. Empty as though the words had been placed there rather than spoken from something real. “I finally found you.”

  Annemarie’s stomach twisted.

  Melissa glanced at her, alarm sharpening her expression. “That’s—”

  “The girl from Byfox,” Annemarie finished. “I saw you.”

  The child’s lips curled into something that might have been a smile, if a smile was just the memory of an expression.

  “You saw me,” she echoed, pleased. “That means you’re friendly.” She stepped forward again, bare feet soundless against the ashen ground. “My name is Aida Nazenne,” she said, tilting her head again, angle just a little too sharp. “I’m nine years old.”

  Silence. The name hit like a hammer to the chest.

  Julia’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her knife. “Nazenne?”

  “Yes,” Aida said, blinking slowly. “Do you know where my big sister is?”

  Annemarie’s breath caught. “Callista?”

  Aida nodded, her hands twisting together. “She left me.” Her voice didn’t waver. It didn’t change. But there was something beneath it, something raw and cold and waiting.

  “She told me to wait for her,” Aida continued, calm, distant. Like she was recounting a lesson learned long ago. “Just for a moment. She promised she’d come back.”

  A pause. Long, agonizing.

  “But she didn’t.”

  Melissa exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh, I hate this.”

  Brenna crossed her arms. “How long have you been waiting, kid?”

  Aida smiled again— that same empty, hollow stretch of lips that never quite reached her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Julia’s grip on her knife tightened, her voice careful. “What happened?” She hesitated. “After Callista left?”

  Aida’s fingers twitched, delicate, pressing tightly together. “The darkness closed in,” she said simply. “It took everyone.” A pause. “But then you came, and I followed you. You seemed nice.” She blinked, slow, like a doll resetting. “I only caught up now.”

  Annemarie felt sick. Byfox had fallen two years ago. Which meant Aida had been alone— wandering, waiting— for longer than she could even comprehend.

  Melissa let out a slow, unsteady breath. “So, uh. What now?”

  Aida’s expression never wavered. “Now,” she said, voice light, easy, and terribly wrong, “we find my big sister.”

  The wind stirred again, threading through the thinning trees like a whisper that no one wanted to hear. The woods felt too still, too aware— like someone was listening.

  Annemarie swallowed hard, heart hammering against her ribs. She left me. The words echoed in her skull, sinking deep, wrapping around the pull in her chest like cold fingers.

  Melissa let out a sharp, humorless laugh, breaking the silence. “Great,” she muttered. “Awesome. A ghost child on a revenge quest. Lilya was bad enough, but—”

  Aida blinked at her, head tilting once more. “I’m not a ghost,” she said pleasantly. “I’m just waiting.”

  A pause.

  Julia shifted slightly, her hand still tight on her knife. “Waiting for what?”

  Aida’s dark eyes flicked toward her. “For Callista,” she said simply. “She’s coming back.”

  Something in the way she said it— light, easy, certain— made Annemarie’s stomach twist even further.

  “She’s not coming back, kid,” Melisssa said bluntly, then winced. “I mean, she—” She hesitated, struggling for a way to rephrase. “Look, it’s been two years. She— she probably couldn’t—”

  “She will,” Aida interrupted. She didn’t sound angry. Just... patient.” “She promised.”

  Another silence.

  Brenna sighed, shifting her weight. “Alright,” she said carefully. “Say we help you find her. Do you know where she is?”

  Aida’s fingers twitched at her sides. “No,” she admitted. “But you do.”

  Annemarie stiffened. “What?”

  Aida turned her gaze to her, and for the first time since stepping out of the trees, something changed behind those too-dark eyes. “The bond. You have Callista written all over you.”

  Another cold breeze wound through the clearing. The air still felt strange here, stretched thin between two realities— between what had been lost and what still remained.

  Melissa ran a hand through her hair. “Okay, yeah, sure, why not,” she muttered. “Worst case scenario, we’re leading a cursed child straight to her long-lost sister and dooming ourselves in the process. That sounds totally reasonable.”

  Aida only smiled. And, without waiting, she turned and walked forward— past them, past the burned-out fire, toward the road ahead.

  The others hesitated. But Annemarie’s feet had already begun to move.