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Maia and Julen exchanged a glance. Julen’s throat worked as he spoke first, recounting the encounter with the shadowed creature, careful not to name it, describing only what they had seen. Maia added the details about the shards’ behaviour, their warning pulses, and how the creature had attacked with unnatural precision.

“Miss Colwyn,” Orell said slowly. “You seem almost untouched.” His eyes narrowed at Maia.

Julen’s hand twitched toward his chest, still throbbing from his own injuries. Maia’s breath caught. “Someone came in at the end. When we were cornered. He saved us both.”

Orell’s eyes flicked toward the doorway, unreadable. “Who?”

“One of the Guardians. If he hadn’t arrived when he did, we’d be dead,” Julen said tightly.

“I see.” Orell looked at them a moment longer. “The city will be told what it is permitted to know. Fear spreads faster than truth.”

He turned to go, then paused at the curtain. “As for the Umbralyn… if they are not where they should be—” He broke off. “That is not your concern.”

Then he was gone.

“You didn’t say his name,” Maia said quietly.

“Neither did you.” Julen let his head fall back against the pillow. “The Elders merely tolerate the Guardians. They don’t need another reason to question one of them.”

Maia’s chest tightened. “Caelith didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” Julen said quietly. “But that doesn’t always matter here. I grew up hearing why it doesn’t.”

Maia’s hand brushed against his. “I’ve learned that quickly,” she said quietly. “I do wonder what they’ll tell the others, though. People are already scared. They have a right to know about it. We just have to be ready.”

Julen looked at her, eyes softened despite the pain. “I know. You’re ready. You always are.”

They sat in the quiet for a few moments, broken only by the distant storm and the quiet hum of the healer’s wards.

Maia broke the silence. “Julen, you said you see the Umbralyn moving. Do you think they knew what happened in the Archive?”

Julen didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the ceiling as if weighing his words. “I don’t know. Something tells me to trust Caelith to handle things like this. And he did, right? He saved us. Yet, I saw him act… differently. He didn’t expect the creature to come for us. That means someone, or something, manipulated the situation. And he risked himself to stop it.”

Maia felt her heart pinch. “You’ve changed your tune.”

“Yes,” Julen said quietly. “I know. He’s… reckless. And stubborn. But he’s… I think he might be one of the good ones. Even if it drives me mad.”

Maia’s thoughts drifted to Caelith then, to the wound he had hidden, his blood on her. She shivered. He was holding more back than just pain. Everything that kept him from collapsing still bound him.

The storm outside thrummed against the stone.

“We should rest,” Julen finally said. “I overheard that there is a curfew being set tonight. People will be confined while the Elders organise forces for the Fracture. The city won’t be safe otherwise.”

Maia nodded. “I’ll stay until you sleep.”

Julen gave her a faint, wry smile. “Just promise me you won’t stay in the Archive alone again. Not after everything.”

“I promise,” she whispered, though her mind was already racing with everything she hadn’t said. The fragments, the Wraith, Caelith’s injury and chains, and the tension still simmering between them.

Maia put her hand over Julen’s, steady and familiar - solid, uncomplicated, exactly what it seemed to be. It should have been enough to anchor her. For a moment, it almost was.

Then, unbidden, she thought of a pulse jumping beneath her thumb, and hated how easily her mind still went looking for it.

She curled up next to Julen in his cot, her head resting next to his, wishing that she was someone who could, for once, choose to be safe.

21

The Toll of Dusk