Dropping Stoneflow to the ground, I looked at my empty palms. “Why…?” I mumbled. Just when I found something worth protecting … something worth growing for.

  “Oh, you know why!”

  With a heavy gaze, I looked at the Puppeteer wearing Gabi’s face.

  Disgustingly beautiful ripples of golden power coursed through her. The sight of them made me want to puke.

  “I was already coming to find you…”

  “But this makes it more fun, does it not? Real stakes! A feud of blood and revenge!”

  “Fuck!” Nyla screamed and stormed out of the car. “What the fuck is she talking about, Caleb?!”

  “It’s not Gabi, it’s the puppeteer,” I mumbled, still wrapping my head around it all.

  “She fucking killed Gerrard!” Civilians and soldiers rushed all around us. Their bodies looked like blurs to me as I knelt next to Gabi.

  Nyla turned to them and instructed them to look after Doc and Quinn. At least they seemed to have made it. I should have felt relieved at the news, but I couldn’t feel anything. Just a dull numbness, and something burning deep inside. Not anger, or sadness, something more terrifying.

  A pillar of sunlight tore through the clouds of smoke that blotted out the sky. It fell upon me, warming my face and body. Into the spotlight.

  I leaned forward and kissed Gabi’s cheek. “I will fix this.”

  Standing up, I felt the weight of several stares settle on my shoulders. Blaming me again, no doubt. The ember of emotion grew as I looked the crowd over. Growling, I stared them down. “My contract with COBA has ended and I am no longer bound from harming you—do not fucking test me. This ends now.”

  Recoiling at my words, the crowd backed away amidst whispers.

  “What are you doing, Cal?” Nyla asked and laid a hand on my shoulder.

  I shrugged it off with a snort. “I’m unsung. Even if they don’t like me, they should respect that fact.”

  “They’re simple civilians, they don’t know better.”

  “And the soldiers? They should know better. I’ve let it go on for far too long already.”

  She sighed. “Soldiers respect station more than personal power.”

  I stepped into her face, coming close enough that she could feel the heat of my breath. “Then they should fucking fear me.” I whirled to the puppeteer and bent down. “As should you.”

  Activating my blessing, I brushed my black hand against the tight weave of threads, then plucked a handful of them. The veil was omnipresent. It went wherever the Blessed went. I was the veil, and it was me. But the same went for Gabi as she was infected with the Puppeteer’s virus.

  Looking at me with apparent interest, the puppeteer smiled. “My turn again? Shame. I was enjoying the show.”

  I grabbed a handful of her hair and tilted her head back with a whisper. “Then you’re going to love this.”

  Golden light swirled behind her eyes. The Puppeteer’s blessing at play.

  Forcing one of the threads to harden in its incorporeal state, I made a needle. I attached the length of threads to it and carefully pushed it through the Puppeteer’s eye. Sweat trickled down my back. I didn’t know what I was doing. Not truly. But I couldn’t just leave her like this.

  If I had to rip the Puppeteer out of her to make her return, then I would.

  When I made Stoneflow and Jackpot, I had used corporeal threads. It just seemed appropriate with the two of them being physical items. But this time, I worked with the veil itself. My working hypothesis was that incorporeal threads would work just as good as any, since the veil itself existed alongside our reality.

  I pierced a piece of the golden light, making the Puppeteer’s eyes widen in shock. “What are you doing?” he demanded and wriggled to get loose.

  “Hold her down,” I growled to Daryl.

  He leveraged his weight onto Gabi who couldn’t do anything to retaliate. It seemed like the Puppeteer’s virus didn’t grant his targets any sort of enhanced strength. Good to know.

  “Do you have any idea who I am?! There are myths of me in the Forgotten lands!”

  The surrounding murmur of whispers grew louder as civilians and soldiers alike pushed to get a better view.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “And why should I care? I’ve done worse to gods.”

  As the words settled, silence reigned. Only the sound of the Puppeteer’s desperate resistance sounded through the alley.

  “Don’t you understand? I am beyond both you and that petty Foretold you’re with. I am a Myth. Your struggle is meaningless!”

  I smirked, and pulled another piece of thread through his golden light. “Then why do you sound so scared?”

  “You are playing with powers beyond your understanding, boy. This woman will never be yours again. A common soul could never withstand the pressure of a superior blessing.”

  “Then I’ll simply sew it back together.”

  He scoffed. “You think yourself the Seamstress? Preposterous.”

  He’s right, Sera spoke in my mind. Our blessing is not suited to repair. We shape what is already whole.

  I bit my lip at her insight. It was rare for her to speak to weigh in, even after she gained the ability to do so. “Then what do you propose?” I asked aloud.

  The Puppeteer froze, watching me with a confused expression.

  There are accolades in the Forgotten lands, seeds left behind by the Seamstress. They are legends powerful enough to repair even broken souls. You need only shape Gabriella’s broken soul so that it may last long enough for you to find one. It will be dangerous.

  “But it can work?”

  Yes.

  “You … who is your patron?” asked the Puppeteer.

  I leaned in close and pushed my needle through his presence. “You don’t get to ask questions.”

  “No… it cannot be,” shaking, he stared at me with his golden eyes, stolen from the woman I loved. He mumbled, “You bear his li… I thought it a coincidence. This, it is not possible!”

  I pulled the threads taut, making them shake like strummed guitar strings. Magic coursed through my veins, empowering my every move with Sera’s blessing.

  Sera stirred within. She moved, not like my reflection, but as a part of me that had been dormant since we first formed the contract. I felt her move under my skin, her eyes peek out from behind my own.

  “To bend the strings is… it is heresy! Only… the wayward Daughter… The Witch…!” he muttered.

  His eyes locked with mine, burrowing within and meeting Sera’s. Her wicked grin spread on my lips. Finally, a hint of fear could be gleaned in his eyes. They trembled as if caught in an earthquake.

  He yelped and wrenched his face to look at Nyla. “You! You are blessed by the Legion! Kill this man! Kill him now before it is too late!”

  Broken concrete cracked underfoot as she recoiled at his words. I kept my eyes on my work, not worried. She wouldn’t move against me. She was loyal to a fault. It was the reason her soldiers looked up to her. The reason they listened to her even when they didn’t want to.

  My voice came as a low rumble, dissonant and layered with magic as I funnelled magic through myself and into the threads. “You can’t hide from me.”

  “Kill him!” The Puppeteer tried again, this time pleading as he looked at the surrounding crowd. The crowd stirred, and made room for a soldier as he approached.

  “Don’t,” Nyla’s voice echoed through the street, accompanied by a crackle of magic as she activated her blessing.

  The sound of the soldier’s footsteps stopped.

  “Do it! He is an enemy—an aberration! Kill him and the girl lives.”

  I scoffed, fingers still weaving shapes out of the incorporeal threads. “That’s a lie. You just said it yourself. Her soul could never withstand your blessing.”

  I pushed the needle deeper, tearing through his blessing. The threads sang a shrill note. It wasn’t carried by sound, but by the veil. It vibrated through the veil, making the civilians clutch at their heads and fall to their knees. Daryl dropped to his knees, retching. For me it felt more familiar than anything. Nostalgic even.

  The Puppeteer screamed as his golden light compressed, my threads pressing in on it from all sides. Forcing it to take the shape I wanted.

  “Fool!” he snarled. “You think loyalty will save you? You do not understand what he is becoming!”

  “What we are,” I snarled and pulled, dragging his infection from the mind of Gabi.

  I willed my threads corporeal, forcing his power into the world alongside them. The globe pulsed with golden magic. I held part of him in the palm of my hand. A part of his power and soul.

  Gabi crumpled to the floor. I pocketed the globe. Not wasting even a moment, I started working on the shape of her soul. She did not need invasive work, not like the Puppeteer did. All she needed was a guiding hand. The veil inside her did not retaliate or push back, it simply obeyed as I forced the tears shut.

  Finishing my work, I brushed a lock of her dark hair from her face. Her cheek was warm and soft against my fingers. I smiled, and stood back up, turning to Nyla. “Take good care of her for me.”

  Nyla opened and closed her mouth, looking for the right words.

  “We will,” Quinn said weakly from the backseat of the car, making Nyla turn in a hurry.

  I smiled, glad that at least she was okay.

  Pulling the globe of gold back out of my pocket, I held it up to the light. The sun refracted as it touched its surface. I watched the light fracture inside, splitting into thousands of trembling reflections. Each of them an eye looking at me, hating me.

  Although broken, it was alive.

  “You’re going?” Nyla finally asked.

  I nodded once. “If I stay, they will keep coming. The Puppeteer has to die.”

  She scrunched her nose. “You don’t even have a plan.”

  I looked down at the globe pulsing in my hand. “I do now.”

  Wrapping the globe in enough threads to cover its golden radiance, I pocketed it. I threw one last glance at Gabi. Her breathing was steadying and the color had started to return to her lips. Fragile, but present. She wouldn’t be waking up without my help. I bit my lip. This was my fault. And it was my responsibility.

  “See you soon,” I said.

  Nyla nodded.

  The circle of onlookers parted to make way for me. Finally I saw something other than dislike in their eyes. There was fear in some, but in a cruel twist of fate, there was reverence in others.

  Feeling the globe in my pocket with my fingers, I wished it was raining. It certainly felt like a suitable day for rain. I grabbed it, hard enough for it to let out sounds as if glass cracked, and I activated the Shoes of Silent Passage.

  The veil wrapped around me like a second skin. My vision contorted into a bird’s-eye view. Threads coiled out from me like twisting tentacles. In the midst of them, one stood out. Instead of blue, red, or violet, it was made of gold and was as thin as a hair.

  With a shriek, the golden thread pulled taut. The globe in my pocket burned, thrashing against its bindings as distance collapsed. Folding on under my feet, the veil thickened, heavy with new scars and legends.

  I could tell where he was as I used Veil Strider with a part of him in my grip.

  Reality buckled underfoot and my vision warped as I stepped through space.

  Somewhere in this abandoned city of monsters, a member of the Silver Legion was hiding.

  And I was coming for him.