Page 40 of The Threads Between

“The bond requires the opposite. Opening. Letting someone in even when that terrifies you.”

The observation cracked something in my chest.

“Everyone I’ve ever needed has disappeared. Miya. My parents. Ysella.” I pressed my palm against my sternum. “Why would August be different?”

“He might not be,” Syra said from the wall. “He might die. He might be too far gone. But you’re already dying trying to do this alone. So it’s worth the risk.”

“Tonight you’ll learn,” Beatrice said. “Because the bond will require it.” She stood, gathering her papers. “Eat. Rest. Prepare yourselves. Everything changes from here.”

The meeting broke. Garrick immediately moved to Mira’s side. “Walk with me? I want to review the carriage routes one more time.”

“We’ve reviewed them three times already.”

“Fourth time’s the charm.” His smile was softer now. “Please?”

Mira hesitated, then nodded. They left together—Garrick’s hand hovered near her back, not quite touching but protective. Mira maintained her distance even as she let him walk beside her.

I stayed at the table with my cold tea, trying to imagine opening myself completely.

I couldn’t.

The ghost-thread pulsed in my chest—faint, steady, waiting. Tonight, I’d either learn how to let go, or I'd prove it was already too late.

CHAPTER 13

LILY

My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. I pressed them flat against my borrowed dress, willing them still, but every few seconds they started again. Fine tremors that had nothing to do with cold.

The Royal Opera House glittered around me—gilt and velvet and gaslight turning everything the color of honey. London’s elite swept past, their laughter too bright, their confidence absolute. They had no idea what was about to happen in their jewel-box theater.

My face wasn’t mine. Syra’s glamour made me look like someone else entirely—rounder features, darker eyes, a stranger’s mouth. Somewhere outside, she sat in a carriage on the street, holding three glamours through walls and distance, unable to help if anything went wrong.

I trusted her. I had to trust all of them.

That was the part that made my hands shake.

“Breathing helps.” Mira’s voice was quiet beside me. Her own face was unchanged—Elias wouldn’t recognize her. “You’re holding your breath.”

I let it out. Drew another. It didn’t help.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re terrified.” No judgment in her tone. Just observation. “That’s reasonable. Anyone not terrified right now would be a fool.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

Somehow, that helped more than any reassurance would have.

We moved through the crowd toward the main hall, two unremarkable women in borrowed finery. The ghost-thread pulsed steady in my chest—faint but present.

“When this is over,” I said quietly, because talking was easier than the silence, “you should tell him.”

Mira didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is.”