Page 151 of The Last Stitch

“You’re leaving,” Syra said, not a question.

Lily nodded. “We need to get to Adeline before the unraveling. There’s not much time.”

Syra looked between us for a long moment before dipping her chin. “Then we’ll open the way.”

A nearby bonder raised her hand, fingers flicking through the air as if stitching invisible lines. The space shimmered, light bending and weaving in on itself until the forest behind her seemed to tear open, revealing a different landscape entirely—rolling hills and familiar stone buildings in the distance. Oxford. My breath caught. We were going directly to the city's outskirts.

Two other Weavers stepped forward to stand beside Syra—Mira and one I didn’t know, a tall woman with earth-colored eyes and ink running down her wrists like veins.

“We’re coming too,” Mira said, glancing at Lily. “If we want to change how they see us, we need to be seen. Let them witness who we really are.”

Lily didn’t hesitate. “Good. We’ll need you.”

The portal pulsed once—an inhale held between worlds—and we stepped through.

The shift hit like wind in the lungs. Cold, damp, and far too familiar. We stumbled out into a small grove just beyond Oxford's edge, the earth still wet from yesterday's rain, a soft mist curling at our feet.

I took a breath. So did Lily.

She turned to the others, handing out hooded capes. “We’ll split up once we reach town. Mira, Thessaly, and I will go to Adeline. August, find Garrick. He’ll know what Elias is planning.”

I nodded, the ache in my chest growing sharper. Garrick would help. He always had. If we failed today, if we couldn't rescue Ysella and the others before the unraveling, the fear would spread like wildfire. More Weavers would die. The hunt would become a massacre.

As we made our way toward the edge of Oxford, the sun began to rise, spilling light through the trees like molten gold. We moved quickly, cloaked in silence, until the edges of town came into view.

It was strange how unchanged it all looked.

Chimneys still smoked. Shop signs still creaked. But there was a weight to the air now. A tension that hadn’t been there before. People glanced over their shoulders more often. Conversations halted when strangers passed. Fear wasn’t loud, but it was there.

And yet, when Mira slowed to kneel beside a hunched figure on the street—a woman clutching her child, both pale with fever—something shifted. Mira didn’t say a word. She simply pressed her hand to the child’s forehead, and a soft light bloomed between them.

The woman gasped. Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re one of them,” she whispered. “A Weaver.”

Mira met her gaze without flinching. “Yes. But not the kind they’ve told you about.”

Others watched. Some stepped back. But no one screamed. No one ran.

They were seeing it now—magic that healed, not harmed. Truth, not propaganda. One by one, the lies began to crack.

I caught Lily’s hand and pulled her close. “Promise me you’ll be careful. If anything goes wrong, don’t wait—run for the woods. There’s an old hunter’s cabin due north. I’ll find you there by nightfall.”

“See you soon,” she said as her lips met mine.

I watched her disappear into the crowd with Mira, then turned toward the market district where I knew Garrick would be starting his rounds. The familiar streets were foreign now, every shadow potentially hiding a Hunter, each face a possible threat. I kept my hood up and my pace steady, just another early morning worker heading to his trade.

The scent of coal smoke and baking bread filled the air as I navigated the narrow lanes, my mind racing through what I would say to convince others to help us. How do you ask someone to risk it all for people they've been taught to fear?

I found Garrick outside the ironmonger’s shop.

He raised a brow as I approached. “Took you long enough.”

“We need your help,” I said.

He studied me, then he nodded slowly. “You’re going to burn the whole thing down, aren’t you?”

“No. We’re going to unravel it—thread by thread.”

Garrick let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “Then we begin.”