The silver dust of the Lunaris had barely faded before the square erupted into chaos.
People scrambled backward, tripping over baskets and barrels. Mothers clutched their children. The members of the Order shouted at each other, torn between retreat and attack. Someone screamed Lysandra's name in pure terror, as if calling a warning she already knew too well.
Evander grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Lys, look at me. What did it mean? What are the— the Starved?"
She couldn't answer.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Because even now, even with the sky sealed, she felt something.
A pressure.
A whisper beneath the cobblestones.
A coldness slithering through the air like smoke from a fire you couldn't see.
Her wolf pressed so hard against her ribs it hurt.
Not here.
Not safe.
Move.
The Heir stepped between her and the crowd.
"Evander. Get her out of the open."
Evander didn't hesitate. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her off the platform, his body pressed protectively against hers as they moved through the fleeing crowd.
The commander of the Order tried to block their path.
"Seize her! She summoned it! She—"
The Heir's shadows snapped outward like a whip, slamming into the man and knocking him flat on his back.
The crowd screamed.
Evander hissed through his teeth, "Shadow—maybe don't murder anyone—"
"He still breathes," the Heir said curtly, pushing past.
They didn't stop moving until they reached the edge of the square. Lysandra's legs finally buckled, and Evander guided her to sit on the stone ledge of the fountain.
"Lysandra," he said softly, crouching in front of her. "Breathe. Look at me."
But her gaze kept drifting upward.
To the sky that had split.
To the place where the Lunaris had stood.
To the crack she feared might return.
Evander cupped her cheek, forcing her to face him.
"It's gone. You're here. We're here."
Her breath stuttered. "Evander… I didn't ask for this. I didn't want to be… whatever I am."
"I know," he whispered. "But you're not alone in it."
The Heir crouched beside them, his shadow-light eyes scanning the rooftops.
"Not alone," he echoed, softer than she'd ever heard from him.
"But no longer hidden."
She shivered.
"What did the Lunaris mean—choose where I stand? I already chose both realms."
"That," the Heir said, "is the problem."
Evander bristled. "Explain. Slowly."
The Heir turned to Lysandra.
"You are a seam," he said. "A bridge. A door. The cracks forming between the realms—those cracks are you learning to exist between them."
Evander shook his head. "That sounds… bad."
"It is dangerous," the Heir admitted. "But not evil."
Lysandra hugged her arms around herself.
"They think I'm a monster."
Evander touched her knee.
"They're ignorant. And afraid. Doesn't make them right."
The Heir continued, "The Order of Hollow Light senses imbalance. They believe anything that breaks the natural divide between realms is corruption. They will not stop coming for you."
Evander growled.
"Let them try."
But the Heir wasn't finished.
"The Lunaris didn't come to warn you about the Order," he said.
"It came to warn you about something older."
The Starved.
Her stomach twisted at the name.
"Who are they?" she whispered.
The Heir rested one hand on the fountain's stone rim, eyes darkening.
"In the oldest legends, long before wolves or shadows existed, there were beings born from collapsed stars. Creatures of emptiness. Hunger. They devoured light, magic, anything that held power."
Evander frowned.
"And they're still alive?"
"They exist," the Heir said. "Not in this world. Not in mine.
Somewhere between."
"Between?" Lysandra echoed.
Her wolf trembled.
Between realms.
Like us.
Evander's face paled. "If they're between realms and she's… a seam… does that mean—"
"Yes," the Heir said quietly.
"They can follow her."
Lysandra grabbed the edge of the fountain to steady herself.
"So what do I do?" she whispered. "Close the seams? Run? Fight? I don't know what they want."
The Heir studied her.
"They want to feed. You are a new source of power they have never encountered. Moonlight intertwined with shadow, shaped by truth, protected by two bonds."
"Great," Evander muttered. "She's basically a cosmic snack."
The Heir shot him a look.
"Not helpful."
Evander threw his hands up.
"I'm TRYING to understand the giant star-eating darkness-monsters—give me a second!"
Lysandra's laugh cracked halfway through and turned into a choked sob.
Evander immediately softened.
"Hey. Hey. Don't panic yet."
The Heir placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"We will not let them reach you."
But his shadows were restless.
Because even he wasn't sure.
Before Lysandra could respond, a familiar voice echoed across the street.
"Lysandra…?"
They all turned.
Marcel stood there, no longer tied, his coat torn and one side of his face bruised—but alive. He looked at her as one might look at a miracle wrapped in fear.
"You… you came back for me."
Lysandra's throat tightened.
She rose and walked toward him, Evander steadying her elbow.
"I would never leave you," she whispered.
He reached for her hand, tears welling.
"You're not a monster, moon-girl. You're the bravest of us."
Her eyes blurred.
She squeezed his fingers, then gently let go.
"You need to hide. The Order won't stop."
Marcel nodded. "Then let me help you disappear."
"We're not disappearing," Evander said, stepping forward, jaw set. "We're dealing with the Order and whatever came out of the sky."
Marcel hesitated. "There's something you need to see. Something the Order found—outside the town."
Lysandra frowned.
"What is it?"
"A sign," Marcel said.
"Carved into the earth. As if burned there by lightning."
A chill slid down her back.
"What kind of sign?"
Marcel swallowed.
"A circle," he whispered. "A circle of ash. And inside it… a single word. Written in silver."
Evander tensed. "What word?"
Marcel looked directly at Lysandra.
"Moonblood."
Silence slammed through them.
The Heir straightened sharply, shadows vibrating.
"Where?" he demanded.
"Near the river," Marcel said. "Half a day's walk. But… it felt wrong. Like the earth was whispering."
Lysandra's wolf snarled quietly.
They found us.
The Starved mark their hunt.
Evander swallowed.
"So they know she's here."
"They always knew," the Heir said.
"But now they know she can open doors."
Lysandra felt cold in her bones.
She lifted her head, voice steadier than she expected.
"We go now."
Evander blinked. "To the river? At night? While everything is trying to kill us?"
"Yes," she said.
"Because whatever left that mark… wants me to find it."
The Heir nodded once.
"Then we follow the sign."
Evander cursed under his breath.
"Of course we do."
Lysandra looked at her two bonds—one golden, one shadowed—and felt something fierce and quiet settle in her chest.
Fear.
And courage.
Twined like light and dark.
"Let's go," she said.
The three of them turned toward the road leading out of Luneville.
Behind them, the sky flickered—
just once—
as if something pressed its face against the hidden seam
and smiled.