Was it truly the poison I was trying to perfect?—
Or was I seeking an antidote to the emptiness Amir had left behind?
The mortar lay abandoned on the worn table, my fingers trembling as I reached for another blossom.
The cottage held its breath with me.
Weeks had passed since I last harvested from the Noctyss plant.
Enough time, I had calculated, for it to regain its strength.
And yet?—
Where a vibrant bloom should have stood, there was nothing.
A hollow space.
My breath hitched.
A ragged gasp escaped me, my heart slamming against my ribs as an awful, bone-chilling realization set in.
The flower had vanished.
I staggered back, my mind racing.
No one came here.
The ghost of my mother’s touch lingered too heavily for my father to dare step inside.
And Mary—sweet Mary—would never cross the threshold without cause.
That left only two possibilities.
Each one was more terrifying than the other.
Amir.
Or the Black Wraith.
Had it been stolen by the liar who kissed me?
Or the phantom who haunted my dreams?
The answer might be the same.
A sudden knock at the glass jarred me from my spiraling thoughts.
“My lady, your father is asking for you to join him for lunch,” Mary’s muffled but clear voice said.
I whipped around, pulse still erratic, and flung the window open, desperate for a breath of air untouched by alchemical fumes—by the stifling scent of fear now thick in the room.
Mary stood below, her wide eyes drinking in my disheveled state.
I gripped the windowsill, forcing my voice into steadiness.
“Mary,” I began, choosing my words with care, “have you ever been in this cottage by yourself?”
Her reaction was instant.
