The road to Ismay’s Landing was cold and quiet, the afternoon sky overcast, heavy with the promise of yet more spring rain. The wind carried the sharp scent of damp earth, rustling through the bare branches of trees lining the path. It was the kind of silence that felt poised, expectant, like the world was holding its breath.

  Julia sat stiffly in the saddle, her posture rigid with lingering frustration. Last week’s bullshit still gnawed at her, and Brenna hadn’t gotten any better— more pointless chores, wry quips, and that infernal smoke. Melissa, of course, seemed infuriatingly unbothered, riding behind her with easy confidence, her arms loosely wrapped around Julia’s waist for balance.

  Brenna, as always, looked half-asleep. She was slouched lazily atop her horse, one hand loosely holding the reins, the other bringing her pipe to her lips. Gorgoloth had taken to riding her shoulders for the trip— more room, Julia supposed— and despite her annoyance with the spider she felt the betrayal acutely.

  “Almost there,” Melissa muttered, shifting slightly in the saddle. “Think Brandon’s lost his mind yet?”

  “He’s probably fine,” Julia replied, though doubt curled at the edges of her mind.

  Then, as they rounded the final bend in the road, something made her breath catch. A figure, thin and barefoot, was wandering aimlessly down the path ahead.

  Melissa tensed, her grip on Julia tightening instinctively. “Is that—”

  “Annemarie,” Julia whispered. The name barely made it past her lips.

  Annemarie’s hair was unbound, tangled in wild knots around her face. She wore nothing but a thin nightgown, the fabric damp from the mist hanging in the air, clinging to her skin like a second layer. Her bare feet moved over the uneven road without hesitation, stepping lightly over jagged rocks and damp earth as if she didn’t feel them at all.

  Her eyes— glassy, unfocused— stared straight ahead, her face slack with eerie detachment. She moved slowly, deliberately, her steps careful but unnatural, like she was being pulled forward by something unseen.

  A cold spike of fear lodged itself in Julia’s chest. “Annemarie?” she called, urgency sharpening her voice.

  No response.

  Melissa swung off the horse first, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. She took a cautious step forward, holding out her hands. “Anne? Hey, you with us?”

  Annemarie didn’t react. She didn’t slow, didn’t blink, didn’t acknowledge them in the slightest.

  Melissa’s expression darkened. “Okay, yeah, I don’t like that.”

  Brenna, ever calm, exhaled through her nose and dismounted with far less urgency, brushing stray ash from her sleeve. “She’s not awake,” she said simply.

  Julia turned sharply. “What do you mean, not awake?”

  Brenna ignored her. Taking the pipe from her lips, she exhaled one last lazy swirl of smoke before lifting her free hand. A pulse of energy rippled outward— invisible, but Julia felt it. It prickled at her skin, low and heavy like the hum of distant thunder.

  Annemarie stopped mid-step. Her body went rigid, frozen in place by whatever Brenna had just done.

  Melissa jerked back. “The hell did you just—”

  “Stopped her from walking off a cliff,” Brenna said dryly, already sticking her pipe back between her teeth. “You’re welcome.”

  At that moment, hoofbeats thundered up the path behind them. Julia turned just in time to see Brandon, Beryon, Musia, and Gwri riding hard toward them, their faces carved from a mix of relief and alarm.

  Brandon barely waited for his horse to slow before throwing himself from the saddle. He hit the ground running, eyes locked on Annemarie, the raw panic on his face enough to make Julia’s stomach twist. “What happened?!” he demanded, breathless.

  “Found her sleepwalking down the road,” Melissa said, crossing her arms. “Not her best look.”

  Brandon’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer. His hands pressed against Annemarie’s clammy skin, fingers brushing over her wrists, her face, checking for— what? A fever? Some sign of life beyond the eerily slow rise and fall of her chest?

  “Anne,” he murmured, voice low, urgent. “Come on, wake up.”

  Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition.

  Beryon frowned deeply, dismounting. His heavy boots pressed into the damp earth as he approached, his expression grim. “This isn’t normal.”

  “No shit,” Melissa muttered.

  Gwri crouched beside Annemarie, their sharp eyes scanning her face, their fingers hovering over her pulse. “She’s breathing steadily. No sign of struggle, no injuries. But whatever’s happening, it’s not natural.”

  Brenna snorted, stepping past them, already relighting her pipe with a flick of her fingers. “Yeah, we got that,” she muttered around the stem, tone bordering on boredom. “Now can we stop gawking and get her inside?”

  Brandon’s fingers tightened around Annemarie’s wrist, his shoulders taut with barely restrained fear. His thumb brushed over her skin, as if willing her to react, to move, to be there in a way she clearly wasn’t.

  Julia swallowed hard. She had never seen him look this scared.

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  Brandon exhaled, jaw clenched. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but resolute. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s get her home.”

  The house was full.

  The moment Julia stepped inside, she was hit by the sheer press of bodies packed into the already cramped space. The low murmur of conversation filled the air, punctuated by hushed whispers and the occasional sniffle. Neighbors, friends, concerned townsfolk— half of Ismay’s Landing, apparently— had crammed themselves into the room, their faces tight with worry as they whispered among themselves.

  The heat of so many people in one space made the room feel stifling, a stark contrast to the cold outside. The scent of damp wool, woodsmoke, and too many bodies lingered thick in the air, mingling with the sharp, medicinal tang of whatever poultices had been used on Annemarie.

  Julia and Melissa exchanged glances. “Since when has Brandon had this many friends?” Melissa muttered, eyeing the crowd with suspicion.

  “Apparently since we left,” Julia murmured, just as baffled.

  Near the hearth, Brandon stood with his arms crossed, exhaustion carved deep into the lines of his face. He looked wrecked— his dark curls were messier than usual, his posture rigid with barely contained frustration, and his clothes were wrinkled like he hadn’t taken the time to change in days. His gaze flickered to them briefly, relief evident, but he made no move to say anying— too focused, too tired.

  And more than that, he looked deeply irritated by the sheer number of people pressing into his personal space.

  Melissa, never one to waste time, clapped her hands together loudly. “Alright, everybody out.” The crowd hesitated. “She’s not dead,” Melissa continued, her voice cutting through the murmurs like a knife. “She’s just possessed, or cursed, or something equally awful and we—” she gestured to herself, Julia, and Brenna, “have it covered.”

  Some of the neighbors bristled at the bluntness, a few older women huffing indignantly, but most of them took the hint. Slowly, they began filtering through the door, casting lingering, worried glances at Annemarie’s motionless form.

  Melissa waved them along impatiently. “Go on. You can gawk at her when she’s conscious again.”

  The last lingering neighbor finally shut the door behind them, leaving the house in blessed silence.

  Brenna, ever unfazed, took a slow glance around, then promptly flopped into the chair near Annemarie’s bedside. She stretched her legs out and exhaled a long, lazy breath. “Well,” she drawled, utterly unbothered. “let’s figure out what’s wrong with your girl.”

  Brandon sat cross-legged on the bed beside Annemarie, his knuckles white where he gripped her hand. The dim firelight cast deep shadows across his face, making the exhaustion and worry even more pronounced.

  “She’s been like this since we got here,” he said, voice rough. “At first, it was just trances. She’d space out, whisper things we didn’t understand— something about Byfox, Tormevi, and Callista— but she always came back.”

  Brenna nodded thoughtfully. “And then?”

  “Then she stopped coming back,” Brandon admitted hoarsely, his fingers tightening around Annemarie’s limp hand. “She just... stayed gone.”

  Brenna hummed, sharp eyes flickering over Annemarie’s still form. “And you said she wandered off before?”

  “Twice,” Beryon confirmed from the corner of the room, his arms crossed. He had the same grim expression as the rest of them. “Every time, she took the same route. Always toward the main road, heading west.”

  “So she’s being drawn somewhere,” Julia muttered, her mind already working through possibilities.

  Brenna made a noncommittal sound, finally shifting forward. She reached out, pressing two fingers gently against Annemarie’s temple.

  The room fell silent.

  Julia didn’t know what she expected to happen— maybe a flicker of movement, maybe a reaction, something— but Annemarie remained completely still. Brenna’s expression remained unreadable, but something about the way her brows knit together set Julia’s teeth on edge.

  The silence stretched.

  Then Brenna exhaled sharply, pulling her hand back. “Oh,” she said, far too calmly. “That’s not good.”

  Brandon’s stomach dropped. His grip on Annemarie’s hand tightened. “What does that mean?”

  Brenna rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing like someone who had just realized they were about to deal with a massive headache. “Means your girl isn’t just sick. She’s got an alánder.”

  Melissa blinked. “A what now?”

  “An alánder,” Brenna repeated. “A magical soul bond. A really strong one.”

  Julia’s jaw tightened. “That’s... rare, isn’t it?”

  “Extremely,” Brenna said. She leaned back in her chair, pipe between her fingers. “Most people sever any potential bonds when kids are born. But nobility doesn’t. They let it linger because the ritual hinders magical ability. No ritual, stronger magic.”

  Brandon looked between them, frustration mounting. “So you’re telling me Annemarie’s soul is attached to someone else’s?”

  “Oh, it’s more than attached,” Brenna said dryly. She exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “It’s tangled. And since no one ever cut that bond, it’s festered.”

  Gwri’s eyes narrowed. “Then who is she bonded to?”

  Brenna sighed, tilting her head back. “It should be easy. Find the alánder, problem solved. But no, that’s the part that’s not great.”

  Julia’s expression darkened. “Brenna.”

  Brenna tapped her fingers against the table, then finally— finally— answered. “Callista Nazenne.”

  The room fell dead silent.

  Brandon’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

  Julia’s stomach twisted.

  “Duchess of Byfox,” Brenna continued. “Or she would have been. Two years ago, she died with her family.”

  Melissa groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh, come on. Can’t anything be simple?”

  “Guess not,” Brenna said. “Because she definitely didn’t die— but the Mirrorwood Curse probably took her, instead. Either way, that bond is still active. And now that Annemarie’s here, in Aleria instead of Earth, it’s trying to drag them back together.”

  Brandon’s grip on Annemarie’s hand turned vice-like. His face was blank, but Julia could see the fear creeping in, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “And if we keep them apart?” he asked, voice quiet.

  Brenna’s expression darkened. “It’ll keep festering.” She rolled her pipe between her fingers, watching the embers glow. “It’s already forcing Annemarie towards Callista. If it gets worse, it’ll destroy her.”

  A heavy silence settled over the room.

  Melissa let out a long breath, rubbing her temples. “This is so above my pay grade.”

  Julia exhaled sharply, her mind already piecing things together, turning over possibilities, looking for solutions. “Then we find Callista.”

  Brandon turned to her, jaw tight. “You want to track down someone who’s either dead or cursed?”

  “Not dead!” Brenna clarified.

  “What other option do we have?” Julia snapped. “If we don’t, Annemarie dies.”

  Brandon looked down at Annemarie’s still face, his expression unreadable. The flickering firelight made the shadows beneath his eyes seem deeper, more hollow. He wasn’t just worried— he was terrified.

  But when he looked up, there was no hesitation. “We find her,” he said quietly. “Whatever it takes.”