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The Witch Hunter holding her hesitated. “Sir?”

“Go back to your posts,” August ordered. “I’ll see this one straight to the Unraveler myself.”

Mira froze, the color drained from her face, her lips parting in silent horror.

I could barely hear over the roar in my ears.

No. No, no, no⁠—

August grabbed Mira by the arm and began leading her away from the stalls.

I didn’t think. I moved.

Keeping to the edges of the market, I slipped between carts and crates, keeping just enough distance that I wouldn’t be seen. The noise returned to the crowd as August pulled Mira into a side alley, the walls of the buildings closing in around them.

This was it. This was my chance.

I didn’t know if it was panic, desperation, or instinct, but suddenly, I saw it—the golden strands of life woven around us, twisting through the air, bending with the weight of fate.

Mira’s thread was fraying.

I reached for it, steadying my breath. The magic resisted at first, slippery as ice beneath my untrained grasp. I gritted my teeth, forcing my trembling fingers to find purchase on the threads.

The moment my fingers brushed the frayed edges, a whisper of energy jolted through me.

I gasped, but I didn’t let go. Guide it, I reminded myself. Don’t force. Guide

Two gold filaments braided like ivy in my mind's eye, beautiful and perfect for one shimmering instant—then blackened, snapping like burnt silk.

Pain speared behind my eyes. The nascent weave recoiled, ripping loose from my grip like something alive and wounded. Scattering. Useless.

I hadn’t yet been able to command my magic properly, but this was why I’d been brought here, wasn’t it? To do something. To change something.

I reached again, desperate now, my breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Please.” Mira barely managed the whisper, cutting through my failed attempts.

August didn’t let go.

Instead, he stood there, his grip still tight around her arm. He stared at her, jaw tense, eyes dark.

“You know what you are.”

Mira swallowed hard. “I—I don’t⁠—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His fingers flexed, just slightly. “You’re a Weaver.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t done anything—please, I⁠—”

August inhaled slowly, closing his eyes for half a second. When he opened them again, his expression had shifted.

“What if you vanished right now—so clean I could swear I never saw you?” His grip loosened, but his eyes stayed cold.

Mira blinked, like she didn’t trust the words.

“What if I say nothing? What if you walk away right now?”

Mira’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.