Page 78 of Unveiled

Adrian blinked. “How romantic.”

Connor’s jaw twitched. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” Adrian’s voice softened. “So am I.”

Connor didn’t trust the way his heartbeat kicked at that.

“The mark,” Adrian whispered. “It’s…louder.”

Connor stiffened. “What does that mean?”

Adrian swallowed. “It means the Council is impatient. I don’t know how I know that, but I do.”

A chill scraped down Connor’s spine. He’d reached out, taking Adrian’s wrist before Adrian could flinch away. The pulse beneath his fingertips stuttered like a trapped bird. Connor drew him nearer, lowering his voice to something reassuring, rough enough to anchor reality. Then he’d left with a promise to be back soon.

Something else was stirring beneath the bark and soil, something Xiathen had insisted could no longer be ignored. He’d called them all to the village, saying the Triarc had seen movement in the Harrow.

The following morning, the walk to the Athenaeum carried an unnatural quiet. Mist pooled low along the treeline, creeping between trunks like a slow breath. Fraser walked ahead, tense but alert, while Max took the rear, his gaze flicking constantly to the forest’s darker seams. The woods around Glengáill had always felt old, but that morning they felt watchful.

No one spoke until Adrian broke the silence. “I wonder what the Triarc has seen that makes this visit so urgent.”

Connor shot him a look. “They’ve seen shadows. Nothing more.”

“That’s not what Xiathen said,” Adrian countered.

Connor grimaced. “Aye, well. Xiathen’s definition of ‘nothing more’ tends to be worlds beyond ours.”

Fraser snorted softly. “I’d still rather hear it from them than guess in the dark.”

Max muttered, “Just so long as this doesn’t turn into another prophecy lecture.”

Adrian’s lips twitched. “It might.”

“Wonderful,” Max deadpanned.

The Athenaeum loomed into view—a half-buried stone structure wrapped in vines, the stained-glass windows glowing faintly from within. The air grew warmer the closer they walked, humming with the soft static of magic.

Xiathen waited by the door. “Valours,” he greeted, his voice soft but echoing in a way the air shouldn’t allow. “Good to see you.”

Connor folded his arms. “We came as soon as we got your message. What’s this about?”

Xiathen’s gaze flickered over Adrian. “The Triarc believes your minds have become attuned to the shifting Veil. We may be able to touch it through the Valour Pattern embedded in the Rift, see what its plans are. And your mind—” he glanced at Adrian more directly— “is the clearest.”

Adrian stiffened but didn’t look away. “Why mine?”

“Because you are the Marked,” Xiathen said simply. “And the Pattern listens to the Marked.”

Connor stepped forward sharply. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“You dislike most things involving magic,” Adrian murmured, amused.

Connor glared. “Not magic. Just the part where the risk always lands on you.”

Adrian held his gaze. “I’m not afraid to see what’s coming. As long as I have you by my side.”

“Well, I am,” Connor snapped. “And you should be too.”

Max stepped between them, raising a hand. “You two can argue after we hear the actual plan.”