Page 160 of A Sunwoven Ascent

Before the silence could twist into blame, Evelyne stepped forward, her gaze moving over the gathered wolves before shifting to the road behind them. “Was it difficult to get into Velenshire?” she asked. “Did anything feel wrong? Any resistance?”

Obren frowned. “No. Easy as pie, actually.”

Ravena nodded slowly. “We crossed straight through.”

Holden looked to Heidara, then to Evelyne, and saw the same realization settle over both of them.

“That confirms it,” Heidara said quietly. “The veil is completely down.”

Evelyne’s expression tightened. “Then let’s hope there aren’t more gathering outside Velenshire.”

Holden turned back toward the Shaw fields, toward the witches, the guards, and the restless wolves gathering for battle. The day had barely begun, and already the world felt balanced on the edge of something final. He drew a breath, squared his shoulders, and forced his voice steady.

“Good,” he said. “Then we stop pretending this land is hidden and start preparing to kill these fuckers.”

Chapter 64

The docks just outside of Velenshire were nearly empty, though Cillian imagined they always were at this hour.

In daylight, the harbor had its own quiet rhythm: boats easing in and out, fishermen hauling lines, merchants exchanging goods in low, practical tones. But at night, it became something else entirely. The world seemed to retreat from it, leaving behind only the sea, the wind, and the long wooden pier groaning softly beneath the weight of the tide.

Cillian stood at the edge of it all, where the land ended and open water began. The horizon stretched wide and unbroken before him, the sea black beneath the moon, its surface catching fractured slivers of silver with every restless wave.

The wind was colder here. It carried salt through his hair and brushed against his skin with a persistence that made him think of changing seasons. Autumn had begun its slow descent over the southern lands, bringing with it a chill that settled deeper with each night.

Cillian did not move. He only waited.

Alaric had told him to come here. Insisted on it, really. Not to the manor. Not to the fields. Not to the grove. Here, at the edge of everything. And since every other piece of their plan had been set into motion, Cillian supposed he ought to listen. He had learned enough by now to understand that Alaric saw the world differently. Felt it differently. The knowledge still sat strangely with him, the realization that his friend had been something more all along. A seer, chosen not by study or bloodline as witches were, but by the land itself.

It made sense now. The way Alaric always seemed to know where to go, even when no path revealed itself. The way he found shelter where there should have been none. Cillian had spent most of his life believing such things belonged to stories, but he knew better now. Now he stood at the edge of the sea because Alaric had told him to, because Alaric had begged him to, and that was reason enough.

He was not alone. Alia stood beside him, quiet as ever, her presence grounding in a way he had come to rely on without noticing. She did not fidget. Did not speak to fill the silence. Did not offer empty reassurance.

She simply stood with him.

And somehow, that was exactly what he needed.

Cillian glanced at her only briefly, long enough to see how the moonlight softened her features and caught in the loose strands of hair stirred by the wind. She appeared untouched by the tension pressing upon them all, though he knew better than to mistake composure for indifference. Alia felt more than she allowed the world to see. At least, he had begun to suspect as much.

“I come here when sleep will not,” she said softly, as though she had felt his attention settle on her.

Cillian looked back to the sea. “To the docks?”

She nodded. “The water helps. It quiets things.”

He understood that. There was something in the steady rise and fall of the tide, in its endless motion, that eased the disorder in his chest, if only a little. What he did not understand was how a young woman could brave the night alone, walking all the way through Velenshire to its distant docks merely to borrow peace from the sea.

After a moment, he asked, “Do you miss your family?”

“Very much, Lord Cillian.”

“Cillian, if you please.”

She smiled faintly.

He turned his body toward her. “You read, do you not?”

Alia looked surprised by the question, and he found himself no less surprised to be the one filling the silence.