Lochlan woke to the insistent smack of a paw against his cheek.
A feline menace, sleek and smug, sat perched on his chest. The glowing green eyes of one of Stella Rune’s delivery beasts locked on his, seeming to say get up.
It smacked him again. With a soft groan, Lochlan retrieved the scroll that dangled from its gold collar, sealed with the unmistakable sigil of the archives. “You couldn’t have waited an hour?” he muttered.
The cat snorted—a sound he was fairly certain wasn’t natural—and leapt off the bed, disappearing into the shadows.
Lochlan glanced down at Nia. She was still asleep, her face soft and a small smile on her lips. He hated leaving, but he had to see what the summons was about. Sliding carefully out of her embrace and the covers, he broke the scroll’s seal and unrolled it.
The message was brief, but urgent: an ancient tome had arrived at the Videt in a state of rapid decay. If he didn’t come immediately, centuries of history could be lost forever.
Sighing, he dressed quickly in a dark sweater and jeans, moving quietly around the room. In the kitchen, he made coffee, pouring it into a metal travel mug and leaving it on the counter with a note:
For whenever you wake up.
Sliding his bag over his shoulder, Lochlan stepped outside and rounded the corner, heading toward one of the discreet entrances to the tunnels beneath Stella Rune.
He hated the tunnels.
The cold, unyielding stone reminded him too much of Dover—the places he’d been forced to hide, the narrow spaces he’d sought out and run to, just to get away from his sister. She had been cruel, whispering barbs where no one else could hear: No one wants you. Your dad was happy to die just to get away from you. You’ll never be one of us. When no one was looking, she’d poked him. Pinched him. Kicked him. And when he’d tried to speak up, he had been the one scolded—called a liar, an attention-seeker. So he had kept his distance, hiding in the greenhouse or locking himself in his room, the only two places that felt safe.
Until she took the greenhouse away from him, too.
The hidden shops and cafés run by supernaturals along some stretches of the tunnels brought a touch of life to the dank space, but it wasn’t enough to distract Lochlan from the memories that haunted him. Still, the tunnels were the most efficient way to reach the Videt. A pair of witches passed by, arms linked, their laughter echoing off the stone as they ducked into the messenger-cat office, its window filled with felines of various sizes and colors snoozing peacefully. Nearby, a troll hummed softly from his perch outside a barbershop, patiently waiting his turn while, inside, a rune-carved razor floated steadily along a customer’s jaw. The Videt soon came into view: its imposing, carved facade loomed up, a testament to centuries of history.
The entrance opened into a grand, arched corridor that led into the archives—a labyrinth of knowledge, meticulously organized and enchanted to preserve its trove. The Videt archives were a reflection of Lochlan’s work, and of his solitude. They suited him.
Or, had suited him.
After the brightness of Nia’s company, he wasn’t so sure anymore.
Lochlan made his way through the entrance hall and down to the heavily secured chamber that housed the oldest and most fragile artifacts. The temperature dropped noticeably as he stepped inside, a chill that seeped into his bones.
“Speaking of old things,” he muttered under his breath as his gaze landed on Wulfric, who stood like a sentinel in the center of the room.
“How could you?”
Lochlan froze, at once wary and exasperated. “I assume there’s not actually a tome that needs my immediate attention?”
“And I assume you care more about your precious work than my daughter,” Wulfric shot back, scathing.
Lochlan’s mind raced, replaying every moment he and Nia had shared, searching for anything that could’ve justified Wulfric’s words. Nothing came to mind.
“What are you talking about?”
“I found my daughter sleeping on your couch last night,” Wulfric snapped, his voice echoing off the chamber’s cold walls.
“What?” Lochlan blinked, completely thrown. “When?”
“What does it matter?” Wulfric growled. “I trusted you, thought you were the one she needed!”
“Maybe I am.” Lochlan squared his shoulders. “But that decision isn’t yours to make.”
Wulfric narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping into cool calculation. “I know my daughter. I know you. This will benefit you both—if you weren’t intent on ruining it.”
Lochlan’s temper flared. “If you’re not careful, Wulfric, you’ll be the one who ruins it.”
He scoffed, turning abruptly and pacing a few steps away. “Is she well?”
