Leon hesitated, the weight of her plea heavy, his magic still low, fogged from the celebration's excesses.
Before he could answer, a voice muttered darkly from the chapel's corner.
"The Veil's no small thing, boy," Granny Elda said, stepping from the shadows, her hood drawn, her staff clicking softly against the stone.
Her wrinkled face was grim, her eyes glinting with cryptic knowledge.
"If she crossed into Vyrneth and lived to crawl back out, she's lucky. But luck runs out. The Veil's always been hungry."
Zara groaned, her hand clenching tighter. "That's not encouraging."
"Wasn't meant to be," Elda muttered, her staff tapping rhythmically.
Zara gripped Leon's wrist, her calloused hand strong but trembling faintly, her blue eyes locking onto his.
"You're the only one I found," she said, her voice breaking. "I don't have time to look again."
She pulled his hand down over the curse mark, the heat surging under his palm, dark and wrong, pulling at his magic.
