Page 55 of The Threads Between

No. That’s wrong. I’m not dead. Not yet.

Something is still here. Still fighting even when I want to give up. Clinging to that thread like it’s the only real thing left in this grey nothing.

The pendant crushes the thought before it fully forms.

Darkness. Cold. Nothing.

But somewhere in the nothing, very far away like a star through fog, there’s warmth.

The thread. Lily. Still there. Still reaching.

I can’t reach back. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But maybe it’s enough that she hasn’t let go.

CHAPTER 17

LILY

In the early morning, I'd positioned myself on the floor beside August's chair, my back against the wall, one hand resting on his knee. The connection between us pulsed steady in my chest—faint but there. Proof he was alive even if unreachable.

I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the opera house burning. Saw Syra falling. Saw five women dissolving into nothing.

Careful footsteps padded down the hall.

Mira appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray. Tea. Toast. Things I had no appetite for.

“You need to eat,” she said quietly.

“I'm not hungry.”

She set the tray down and knelt beside me, pressing two fingers to my wrist. Her touch glowed faint gold.

“Your pulse is racing. You're exhausted.” Her magic pulsed gently. “Let me help. Just enough to take the edge off so you can rest.”

I almost refused. Almost said I needed to stay alert, stay ready, stay—in control.

I was doing it again.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

Mira's magic flowed through me. The jagged edges of panic smoothed just enough that I could breathe properly.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“How's Adeline?” I asked.

Mira's expression tightened. “She's sleeping. The laudanum helped. But when she wakes . . . ” She trailed off.

From the settee, Beatrice stirred.

We both turned. Her eyes opened.

“Water,” she said.

Mira had a glass to her lips before I could move. Beatrice drank, then settled back.

“How long?” she asked.