Page 45 of The Threads Between

Elias’s head snapped toward them.

“A Weaver!” His voice cut through the chaos. He pointed directly at Beatrice. “Take her alive! I want to know who sent her!”

Two hunters moved through the crowd. Toward Mira struggling with Beatrice’s weight.

A figure crashed into the first hunter.

Garrick. Covered in soot and blood, face grim, nothing of his usual charm remaining. He hit the hunter hard enough to send them both sprawling.

“Run!” he shouted at Mira. “Get her out!”

Mira ran, half-carrying Beatrice, barely managing to put one foot in front of the other. The second hunter grabbed Garrick. They went down fighting, disappearing into the chaos.

I finally broke through the crowd.

The stage was fully engulfed now. Flames climbed the curtains, licked at the ceiling, and turned the gilded opera house into an inferno.

And August stood in the center of it.

Motionless. The pendant glowing bright at his chest. Fire all around him, and he didn’t move. Didn’t try to escape. Just stood there, empty, waiting for instructions that weren’t coming.

I have to reach him.

“August!” I screamed through the flames.

Nothing. No response. No flicker of recognition.

I tried the ghost-thread. Reached desperately, pouring everything I had left into the connection. I’m here. Please know I’m here. Please⁠—

The faintest flicker. Not recognition. Just awareness. Something deep beneath the corruption stirring at the brush of my magic.

He was in there. Somewhere. Still alive beneath the emptiness.

And I couldn’t reach him.

The flames were too intense. If I climbed onto that stage, I’d burn before I got halfway. And even if I reached him, I’d have to get past Elias.

It was impossible.

I stood there, ten feet from the man I'd come to save, and I couldn't close the distance.

The ceiling groaned.

Elias looked up. Cracks spread through the plaster, and the supports began to buckle. He grabbed August’s arm and dove for the side exit, dragging his weapon to safety.

A sharp crack. Then another.

The ceiling was going to give.

A hand grabbed my arm. Garrick—bloodied, breathing hard, but alive.

“Lily—we have to go! The whole building’s coming down!”

He was already pulling me away. Away from where August had been. Away from everything.

We reached Adeline. She was conscious, barely, cradling her burned hands against her chest. The skin was angry red, blistered, weeping. She’d need a healer. Soon.

Garrick lifted her carefully. “Go! I’m right behind you!”