The Lodge hummed.
Not audibly—at least, not in any way normal ears could hear. But everyone felt it. A vibration in the floorboards. A resonance in the walls. The sense that the building itself was awake and paying attention in a way it hadn’t been before.
Thalia felt it most strongly in the early morning hours, when she made her rounds and found doors that hadn’t existed the night before. Hallways that turned at new angles. Windows that looked out onto views that weren’t quite right—forests that were too green, skies that held too many moons.
The Lodge was remembering.
Remembering what it had been built for.
Remembering what was coming.
She stood in the main room, watching the hearth fire burn in colors that shifted between amber and blue-gold, and tried to decide if she should be terrified or reassured.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Thalia turned to find Marra standing behind her, the Guardian’s bow still slung across her back. The barmaid looked different now. Older, somehow. Not in years, but in weight. Like she’d picked up a burden she’d been avoiding her whole life and was finally learning to carry it.
“Beautiful?” Thalia echoed. “The Lodge is rearranging itself and you think it’s beautiful?”
“I think it’s alive.” Marra moved to stand beside her, both of them watching the fire. “And I think it’s been waiting for this. For whoever’s coming.”
“The Veil Breaker.”
Marra nodded. “My mother used to tell me stories. About places that existed between worlds. Sanctuaries for those who didn’t quite fit anywhere else. I thought they were just stories.”
“They weren’t.”
“No.” Marra’s hand moved unconsciously to touch the bow. “They weren’t.”
The fire flared suddenly—bright blue-gold—and both women stepped back.
And in the flames, just for a moment, they saw something.
A figure.
Flowing hair. Fierce eyes. Battle-worn and beautiful and burning.
