Elowen did not sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, the tower returned to her—the hush of stone, the silver cut of moonlight, the cool gravity of Caelan's presence. Her wrist still tingled where he had touched her, a phantom warmth that pulsed in time with her heart. The runes beneath her skin refused to dim, glowing faintly as if fed by memory alone.
At dawn, the High Court stirred. Bells rang. Servants moved softly through corridors. Elowen dressed in restraint and composure, choosing a gown of pale gray that hid the sigils along her collarbone. She braided her hair tight, as though order could be woven into her thoughts.
It did not help.
All day, she felt the pull—subtle, insistent—tugging her westward, toward the old gardens beyond the outer walls. Toward the Veil.
By nightfall, she had made her choice.
She slipped from the palace as the city dimmed, lanterns blooming like quiet fireflies. The path to the gardens was overgrown, neglected since the Veil had been declared unstable generations ago. Magic thrummed there, old and unfiltered. The air smelled of damp earth and night-blooming flowers.
And shadow.
He was waiting.
Caelan stood at the edge of the clearing where the world thinned, where reality wavered like breath against glass. He looked different here—less restrained, the shadows less obedient, drifting around him as if curious. His gaze found her immediately, sharp and steady.
"You came," he said.
"I needed answers," Elowen replied. "You said my magic is changing."
"It is remembering," he corrected gently. "What it was before it was taught to be afraid."
She stepped closer, careful, aware of the Veil's shimmer just behind him—a curtain of dusk and starlight that whispered promises and warnings in equal measure.
"What happens if I cross?" she asked.
His eyes darkened. Not with hunger alone, but with gravity.
"You will feel everything you've been denying," he said. "Desire. Power. Truth. And I will feel you."
The words settled low in her body, resonant and unsettling. Her runes warmed in response, light tracing patterns beneath her skin like a slow awakening.
"Show me," she said.
He did not touch her.
Instead, he raised his hand and the shadows moved—soft, deliberate, encircling her without contact. They brushed her senses like silk, cool against her warmth, coaxing rather than claiming. Elowen inhaled sharply as the Veil responded, thinning, parting just enough to let the night deepen.
"This is the space between," Caelan murmured. "Where Flame and Shadow speak without words."
Her magic answered.
Heat bloomed along her spine, unfurling, reaching. The runes glowed brighter now, no longer constrained by fabric or fear. She felt seen—wholly, intimately—as if the shadows understood the language of her body better than she ever had.
Caelan stepped closer at last, stopping so near that the air between them felt charged. He lifted his hand again, slower this time, offering her the choice anew.
Elowen closed the distance herself.
When their fingers met, the connection surged—stronger than before, deeper. Shadow wrapped around flame and did not extinguish it. It fed it. Her breath caught as sensation rippled outward, a tide that left her lightheaded and achingly present.
"Easy," he whispered, steadying her with a firm hand at her waist. The touch was grounding, controlled, yet it sent a tremor through her all the same.
She looked up at him, searching his face. "Is this what you wanted?"
"What I want," he said softly, "is to keep you safe while you become yourself."
The sincerity disarmed her.
The Veil shuddered, reacting to their proximity, to the harmony forming between their magics. Somewhere beyond it, something stirred—curious, watchful. The night held its breath.
"We shouldn't linger," Caelan said, reluctantly easing his hand away. "Others will feel this soon. The Court does not forgive what it cannot control."
Elowen nodded, though every part of her resisted the separation. "Then teach me," she said. "How to walk this line."
A smile touched his mouth—quiet, dangerous, pleased.
"I will," he promised. "But not all at once."
He stepped back into the shadow, leaving her at the threshold, senses humming, magic alive in a way it had never been before.
As Elowen turned toward the palace, the Veil whispered behind her—no longer a warning, but an invitation.
And for the first time, she knew she would answer it again.