Page 98 of Unseen Eye
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I tease, but the truth is, I’m not sure which of us will get through this unscathed.
He sighs, looking at me one last time before his expression hardens into something resolute. “Don’t forget the stone in your pocket. You know what to do if anything goes wrong. Even if a bear shows up. Let me know, all right?”
I nod, my fingers instinctively brushing the stone hidden in my pocket.
Theo mutters something under his breath about how Cal is going to kill him, and then he’s gone, vanishing with the same quiet speed he always has. Watching it is like seeing a shadow fold in on itself and disappear, leaving an empty space where a person used to be. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, it still feels weird—like reality itself hiccuped.
The door creaks as I push it open, stepping into a space frozen in time. Dust clings to every surface, and on the counter, the jars Callon had been examining still sit where he left them, their contents untouched. The faintest memory of his voice drifts back to me, a reminder of the questions we couldn’t answer.
I brush my fingers over the cracked table, Kendry’s empty chair, the frayed curtains. The memories press in—laughter over shared meals, late-night talks by the fire, moments where the world outside didn’t seem so heavy. I can still remember the good—the sound of Kendry humming while he cooked, the smell of fresh herbs hanging to dry, the quiet peace of mornings when everything felt... possible. But now, it feels more like a monument to everything I never chose.
I set to work cleaning, if only to keep my hands busy. Dust clouds the air as I sweep, as I try to bring some semblance of order to this place that used to feel like home. But every inch of it carries a reminder of Kendry’s lies, of the choices he made for me, the secrets he kept. Anger rises again, simmering beneaththe surface, but it doesn’t burn as brightly as before. Instead, questions linger in its wake. Why would he have lied? What was his motivation? Kendry wasn’t cruel, wasn’t careless. He was kind and decent, so what drove him to feel like he couldn’t trust me?
My hands shake as I set a chair back in place, as if somehow putting the cottage in order will help me find some kind of stability. I know it’s foolish, but it’s something to cling to, something to keep my mind from the weight of all the betrayal, the choices taken from me.
As I clean, memories of Cal drift back. His smile, the quiet moments we shared, the times he made me feel seen, valued, like I was more than just the prophecy’s pawn. But now, every memory feels tainted, as though it was all built on a foundation of lies. How can I forgive him? How can I forgive any of them?
For a long moment, I sit in silence, letting myself absorb it all. Then, a faint memory surfaces, slipping through the pain—my mother’s laughter, soft and warm like sunlight through leaves. It’s a dream that’s hazy, distant, yet it feels more real than anything Kendry ever told me about her. It’s something I can hold on to, something that feels untouched by lies. Maybe she would’ve believed in me, trusted me with the truth.
And in that silence, I know one thing—I may not be ready to forgive Callon, or anyone else who’s lied to me. Not yet. But for now, here in this ruined cottage, I can find my own strength, my own choices.
The morning light filters through the dusty window, waking me from a fitful sleep on my old cot. The cold air of the cottage bites at my skin, and I pull a thick cloak around me, one I find laying in the corner of my room. I recognize it immediately—it’s the same cloak I had given Kendry years ago for long, cold mornings in the woods. For a moment, with its soft wool wrapped around me, I almost let myself believe that none of thishas happened.
I close my eyes, trying to picture a simpler life, one without broken trust and betrayal. Kendry is still alive, making coffee—coffee he didn’t lace with something to suppress my affinity. Garet never lied to me and is most likely at the market, helping his father set up his stand. These memories flood my mind, so vivid they make the walls feel like they’re breathing, like the cottage is coming back to life.
But when I step into the kitchen, reality settles in, sharp and unforgiving. There’s no aroma of coffee filling the air, no scent of warm spices, no Kendry clanging around in his workshop. Only silence and shadows, memories I can’t touch. I can’t stay here.
Every corner, every step in this cottage feels like being haunted by ghosts and thoughts I am not ready to face yet. I grab the cloak tighter around me, draw the hood over my head, and step outside, making my way toward Pinebrook. I don’t know what I expect to find there—maybe it’s not about finding anything at all. Maybe I’m hoping the routine of familiar woods and winding paths will help me forget, even for a moment, that Callon isn’t here to share it with me. That he’s somewhere else, and I don’t know if he’s thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him.
I move carefully as I near Pinebrook, ducking low through the trees and keeping to the shadows. Callon’s warning echoes in my mind—if someone spots me, questions will follow, and I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to explain where I’ve been or why I left, not when I don’t fully understand it myself. It’s better this way, I tell myself. Just stay hidden. The thought settles uneasily, like a burden I’m too tired to shake off.
The village looks different now, the familiar homes reduced to charred skeletons, the land bearing the scars of the attack. But there are signs of life still—figures moving about, voices drifting in the wind. I keep to the edges of the village, my hood up, staying out of sight. I pass the blackened remnants of homesI once knew well. There, Mr. Ferris, the cobbler, bent over his work, his hands steady as he repairs shoes, the stoop of his shoulders somehow unchanged despite the destruction around him. I keep my distance, watching from behind the broken walls.
As I wander, my feet seem to carry me toward where my bookstore used to stand. The memory of its creaking shelves and the faint smell of ink and aging paper tugs at something deep inside me. When I reach the spot, it takes me a moment to recognize it. The roof has caved in, and what’s left of the walls is covered in soot. But as I step carefully over the rubble, I spot the glint of something half-buried—a spine of a book, charred at the edges but still intact.
I crouch, brushing away ash and debris, my fingers trembling as I pull it free. It’s heavier than I expect, the cover worn but familiar. I sift through the rubble, finding more—fragments of stories, broken trinkets, and scraps of paper that flutter in the faint breeze like ghostly whispers of what used to be.
The ache in my chest deepens as I pocket a small, tarnished bookmark shaped like a feather. I don’t know why I feel the need to keep it—maybe it’s a tether to the past, or maybe it’s the absurd hope that one day, the world might make room for things like quiet afternoons in a bookstore again.
I don’t make a sound as I move through the village, careful to avoid anyone. There are a few old villagers I spot—some working, others just walking through the streets as if the world hadn’t been upended. I can’t help but feel like a ghost, wandering through shadows as someone who has been forgotten.
The soft murmur of voices reaches my ears, and my heart skips. I know that voice. It’s Finn.
I freeze, my breath caught in my throat as my heartbeat pounds against my ribs. The instinct to run, to get closer, overpowers the fear that still gnaws at me. I slip into theshadows, moving quickly but quietly, staying out of sight as I creep toward the sound of his voice. I feel the pull to him, like a compass pointing me in the right direction. My heart beats louder with every step, each one bringing me closer to his voice.
I reach the clearing and press myself into the cover of a half-collapsed stone wall, peering out just enough to see him. Finn is there, just as I remember, yet so different. Gone is the youthful, carefree Finn I once knew; in his place is someone tempered by loss, his eyes harder, carrying a weight I never imagined he would bear. His once-unkempt hair is longer now, more unruly, and there’s a scar that cuts through one brow—one I don’t remember. He’s surrounded by a small group of villagers, lifting broken beams and clearing away wreckage with a quiet, grim determination.
I want to call out to him. I want to tell him I’m here, that I’m alive, that I’ve thought about him every day. I want to ask him if he’s been worried about me or if he’s moved on. Does he even think about me anymore? Or have they all just forgotten?
But I don’t move. I can’t. The guilt tightens around me like a noose, stopping me cold. I feel like a coward, lurking in the shadows, watching him from afar instead of facing him. But there’s something about seeing him, knowing that he’s safe, that eases the knot in my chest. For a moment, I allow myself to believe that maybe that’s enough—that just knowing he’s still here, still fighting, is all I need.
A part of me feels the sting of my own betrayal—of being too afraid to face him, too afraid to bridge the distance I put between us. But what would I even say? My mind swims with half-formed explanations, apologies that stick in my throat. I’m not ready to see their disappointment, or worse—their indifference. Maybe they’ve already moved on, the memory of me fading into the past along with everything else that’s been lost.
I watch for a while longer; the morning drifting towardmidday, before the weight of my exhaustion pulls me back. The betrayal still cuts deep. Every thought of Callon reopening the wound. But here, with Finn’s familiar voice in the air, with the quiet resilience of the village around me, I feel a small, flickering sense of peace. It’s enough to keep me going, enough to hold on to—at least for now.
The next morning, the sun filters through the trees, casting dapples of light across the forest floor as I wander through Pinebrook. I want to keep my distance from the village, not wanting to draw attention to myself, but curiosity leads me deeper into the streets. My heart beats faster with every step, but I don’t know if it’s from fear or hope.
I round a corner, and my breath catches when I see them—Finn and Nessa, standing beside a weathered cart. They’re not speaking, but there’s an ease between them, the kind that speaks of trust built over years. I linger in the shadow of a crumbling wall, my chest tightening as I watch.
