Larissa didn't sleep.
Even after the children had been tucked in, even after the guards took their posts and Lukyan returned to his study—her mind wouldn't stop racing.
Ekaterina Dragovich.
Her mother. A protector. A threat. A legacy.
The words in the journal played over and over again in her head.
Wife of the Flame. Blood-bound. Protector of the Circle.
And one other phrase—scrawled in the margin in different handwriting.
"If she bears a daughter, the cycle begins again."
That daughter was her.
And the cycle was already in motion.
The next morning brought a thick fog that swallowed the mansion grounds, curling around the stone statues like ghosts. Larissa stepped out into the rear garden wrapped in her thick coat, the crisp air stinging her cheeks.
She wasn't alone.
A woman stood near the frozen fountain.
Her coat was too thin for the weather. Her red scarf fluttered in the wind, and her back was to Larissa.
No one should've been here.
Larissa stepped closer. "Excuse me—are you lost?"
The woman turned slowly.
She was older—mid-fifties, with pale eyes and a face that felt eerily familiar. Her gaze locked onto Larissa's, and a slow, trembling smile spread across her lips.
"You look just like her," the woman said.
Larissa froze. "Like… who?"
"Ekaterina," the woman whispered. "Your mother."
Her breath caught. "You knew her?"
"I served with her," the woman said. "She was brave. Reckless. The strongest of us all."
Larissa's legs nearly gave out. "You're part of the Order?"
The woman stepped forward, her voice low and fast. "We don't have much time. They're watching you. Every movement, every decision. The children are the key—especially the girl."
Larissa blinked. "Alina? What do you mean?"
Before the woman could answer, a sharp crack sounded behind them.
Lukyan's voice roared through the fog. "Get away from her!"
Two guards sprinted forward, weapons raised. But the woman simply stepped back, eyes still on Larissa.
"Find the mirror," she said. "It's the only way to see the truth."
Then she was gone.
Vanished into the fog.
Back inside, Larissa stood in the study with Lukyan. He paced furiously, still fuming.
"She could've been a threat—why the hell did you go out alone?"
"She knew my mother," Larissa said, voice trembling. "She said something about a mirror. And that Alina was important. What if this is all connected to her?"
Lukyan stopped pacing. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I," she snapped, "but we can't just ignore it. If there's a mirror that shows the truth, I need to find it. She said it's the only way."
Lukyan ran a hand through his hair. "There's one place we haven't searched."
Larissa turned to him. "Where?"
"The tomb."
Later That Day – The Volkov Crypts
The air grew colder the deeper they descended into the old stone vaults beneath the estate. Lit only by flickering torches, the tunnels echoed with silence and memory.
Lukyan had rarely spoken of the crypts. They were sacred—generations of Volkovs laid to rest in stone tombs.
They reached the lowest chamber, where a heavy door waited.
Lukyan hesitated. "My grandfather locked this room before his death. I've never opened it."
Larissa stepped forward. "Let me."
The moment her hand touched the latch, the door clicked open.
Inside was a single stone table—and on it, a mirror.
It was old, its edges lined with strange runes. But the glass itself shimmered like silver water, moving softly even in still air.
Lukyan cursed under his breath. "It's enchanted."
Larissa stepped closer.
Her reflection stared back—then flickered. And shifted.
It wasn't just her in the mirror now. It was her mother. Standing behind her. Whispering something.
But the sound didn't reach her ears.
Then, behind her mother, she saw another shape.
A shadowed figure watching from behind an arched doorway. Faceless. Motionless.
Watching. Always watching.
Larissa stumbled back, heart racing. "What… what is that?"
Lukyan moved to catch her. "What did you see?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. But whatever it is—it's not over."