(Lysara POV)

  Lysara pulled the hood up before the first house came into view.

  The cape went on next — familiar weight, familiar concealment. She waited until Kayden adjusted his own gear, then slipped away from the road without comment. The broken fence was still where it had always been, one slat loose, the earth worn thin beneath it from years of quiet use.

  Black Hollow hadn’t changed.

  It never did.

  Kayden followed without question, though she felt his awareness sharpen as the town closed in around them. Smoke hung low. Alchemical residue clung to stone and wood alike, sharp and bitter at the back of the throat. The place felt smaller than it should have — compressed by habit and neglect.

  Valos’s door was open.

  Of course it was.

  They stepped inside to the sound of muttering.

  He was hunched over the same cluttered table she remembered — parchments layered atop one another, vials pushed aside with careless familiarity, a bottle of dark liquid tipped against a stack of notes like it had given up trying to stand straight.

  “Damned binding won’t hold,” Valos grumbled. “Not if you—”

  He looked up.

  The word died in his throat.

  “Lysara?”

  Shock cracked through his voice before he could stop it. He was on his feet in a heartbeat, crossing the room with a speed that didn’t match his posture. His hands hovered, then stilled — like he’d remembered she wasn’t twelve anymore.

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  He caught her eyes.

  His breath hitched.

  “Potion’s gone,” he said flatly. “Or nearly.”

  She nodded. “It’s fading.”

  “Idiot,” he snapped — but the word lacked heat. His gaze flicked to her hair, the moonlit sheen impossible to miss even under the hood. “You shouldn’t have come in like that.”

  “I know.”

  Then he saw Kayden.

  Valos’s body language shifted instantly — shoulders squaring, stance widening just enough to be deliberate. His eyes took Kayden in piece by piece: posture, weight, stillness.

  “And who in the hell is this?” he said.

  Kayden didn’t bristle. Didn’t smile.

  “This is Kayden.”

  Valos snorted. “That’s a name.”

  “I trust him.”

  “He knows,” Lysara said quickly. “All of it.”

  Valos looked at her a long moment, then nodded once. “All right. Then tell it straight.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  He raised a hand, not sharp. Just stopping her. “I know. Go on.”

  “There was a wolf,” Lysara said. “Corrupted. It didn’t behave like the others.”

  Valos shifted closer to the table, leaning his weight into it, listening.

  “I felt the thin, empty space first,” she continued. “Then the heat behind my eyes — the part I know how to manage. But this time it didn’t stop there.”

  Her fingers curled once.

  “Something else came out. Fog. Like the Fog Forest. Poisonous.” She swallowed. “It didn’t feel like mana. It wasn’t a surge. It moved.”

  Valos’s brow furrowed.

  “It responded to my intent.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then, gently, “And you’re still here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He nodded, as if that mattered more than anything else. “What else?”

  “There was a graveyard close by,” Lysara said. “Corrupted bodies. Recently disturbed. They weren’t handled properly.”

  Valos closed his eyes, just briefly.

  When he opened them, his voice was rough but steady. “That explains the mess.”

  He reached out then, resting a hand briefly on the back of her head — solid, grounding. “You did what you could with what you had.”

  Lysara’s throat tightened.

  “But,” he added, withdrawing his hand, “we’re not pretending this is small.”

  She nodded.

  “Well,” Valos said, exhaling slow, “that’s something we’ll need to figure out. Together.”