Page 52 of Unseen Eye
“You actually asked?” Theo looks stunned. “Since when do youknow manners?”
Callon laughs—a real laugh, not like the forced chuckles he gave in Astermiri. I realize how much better it suits him than the cold mask he usually wears. “Since always,” he says with a grin. “You just never deserved them before.”
I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips as I silently watch their exchange. It’s obvious they’re close—those easy jabs, the unspoken understanding. The kind of camaraderie that only forms after years of shared experiences, the kind you can’t fake. Theo continues grilling Callon, his questions rapid-fire, sometimes earning a dry response, or an amused grunt in return.
Providence covers the entire southern portion of Aetheria, separated from the rest of the kingdoms by the imposing Silverpeak Mountains, which, until a week ago, I thought made up the entire northern border of the continent. Turns out, I was wrong. Dead wrong.
“Why didn’t anyone in Providence ever know of Aetheria?” I ask aloud, though it’s more to myself than anyone else.
Callon doesn’t miss a beat. “Because the waters are warded,” he answers. “Any ships that tried to sail north were either turned around or wrecked by violent storms. That’s why Providence always traded with the southern isles.”
I glance at him, curious. “How do you know that?”
He meets my gaze with a calm that borders on unsettling. “I make it my business to know these things,” he says, voice cool but with a slight tilt of his head that makes me wonder how much more he knows that he’s not saying. Then, with the same dispassionate tone, he asks, “While we’re on the topic of Providence, how did you know where the gate was?”
My stomach tightens. It’s a casual question, but I can feel the weight behind it. He wants answers. I take a deep breath, centering myself, trying to keep from blurting out the truth. Howmuch do I trust him? I could lie—gods know I’m tempted—but something tells me he’d know. He always knows. He’s waiting for me to slip up, to give him more than I want to.
Fine. Two can play this game.
“I dreamed about it,” I say with deliberate nonchalance. “I was walking through the forest and stumbled upon it. Funny though, the dream left out the hellhounds,” I add, letting a dry laugh escape me.
“Whoa,” Theo mutters, staring at me wide-eyed. Callon, on the other hand, doesn’t flinch. He just keeps staring, eyes fixed on mine like he’s waiting for me to crack. I meet his gaze, refusing to look away, daring him to ask something else. But he doesn’t. We’re locked in a silent standoff, neither willing to break.
Finally, Theo clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “Umm, guys? Hi? Remember me? I’m still here.” He waves his arms as if physically placing himself between whatever this is.
Callon is the first to look away, and I feel a small surge of victory. I won. For now.
But then, without warning, he flips the dagger he’s been casually spinning in his hand and throws it at Theo’s head. Theo ducks just in time, his reflexes sharp as ever.
“Really?” Theo shouts, glaring at Callon. “How rude!”
Callon chuckles, clearly amused with himself, while Theo mutters something about “manners” under his breath. The tension between us fades slightly, but I don’t let my guard down.
“Let me guess,” Callon says, turning back to me, his voice casual again but his eyes still sharp. “You wrote down these dreams and turned them into the stories Garet mentioned?”
“And what if I did?” I reply, my tone matching his indifference, though I feel anything but calm.
“Then I’d ask if you have a copy of them somewhere,” he says, not missing a beat, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of something I can’t quite place. Is he genuinely curious, or does hehave other motives for wanting my stories?
I raise an eyebrow, letting a wave of sarcasm wash over me. “Oh, sorry. I forgot to grab my journal while being attacked by a commander. Maybe I should have asked him to give me a moment to pack it up before he destroyed the cottage. But perhaps you should ask Garet—he seems to have a copy of everything too,” I add, the bitterness slipping into my tone despite my best efforts.
“Fucking gods, you two,” Theo interjects, rejoining the conversation with a loud sigh. “I assume you know what she’s talking about?” he asks Callon, his voice edged with exasperation.
Callon doesn’t respond right away. He just looks at me for a beat longer, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Then, with that infuriating calm of his, he jumps off the table and starts heading toward the door. “Izzy’s right. It’s been a hell of a day. Get some sleep, Eva. Training starts tomorrow.”
As he reaches the doorway, he glances over his shoulder, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, and don’t be late,” he adds with a wink before disappearing into the hallway.
Chapter Seventeen
I find myself standing in the middle of a city, my feet fused to the ground as if turned to stone. I try to move, to escape, but I can’t. Above me, drakos circle, their enormous wings casting shadows over the burning ruins. One by one, they dive, unleashing torrents of fire that leap from building to building, devouring everything in their path. The flames spread like a ravenous beast, licking up walls, racing across rooftops, consuming the city in a fiery cascade. Smoke thickens the air, suffocating, choking, the scent of charred flesh lingering. I want to scream, to cry for help, but no sound escapes.
A drakos breaks away from the chaos, its gaze fixed on me. It plummets toward me, faster than I can think, and the heat sears my skin before the flames even reach me. My heart hammers against my ribs, panic closing around my throat. I try to scream, to move, but I’m paralyzed, frozen in terror as the beast closes in. Just as it opens its jaws, ready to engulf me in fire, a scream rips from my chest.
I jolt awake, gasping, my body shooting upright in bed. My throat feels like sandpaper, raw from the scream. “Eva,” a voice breaks through the haze, making me flinch. I turn sharply, still disoriented. And there he is—Callon.
He’s standing at the edge of the doorway, silhouetted against the low light from the hallway. His sharp features are softened in the dim glow, and there’s something different about him, something almost... gentle. His hair, usually perfect, has fallen messily across his forehead. He doesn’t look like the untouchable warrior I’ve seen. Instead, there’s a quiet concern in his eyes, a hesitation in his stance. He’s holding a glass of water, unsure whether to step closer.
“Callon?” I manage to croak, my voice weak.
