Page 162 of At the Mercy of Midnight
The panicked faces around her grew, people packing up their things, lifting children into their arms and running towards their homes.
She noticed it then, noticed everything.
The faint hum of the Rift nearby, continuing to threaten their borders.
The magic soaring through her. Not gone, as she had thought it would be after the Ritual, but waiting there, beneath her skin.
Her brain stalled, disbelief flooding in.
It hadn’t worked.
Silas had sacrificed himself…completed the ritual as was always intended and…it had all been for nothing.
His pack slipped from her fingers, thudding on the cobbles by her feet as it all closed in around her.
She opened her mouth.
And she screamed.
It tore out of her like wildfire, an explosion of agony that echoed around the streets. The earth trembled and the air sparked.
Her magic throbbed wildly, uncontrolled, as if it mourned with her. The siphon inside her burned bright, drawn to the void of the failure. It clawed for something, anything, to anchor itself to. But as her throat closed up and her screams were cut off, people fleeing all around her, nothing changed as her magic simmered.
It had changed nothing.
Silas was gone.
The Rift remained.
They had failed.
Wind howled around her, picking up in ferocity as she quieted.
But the storm in her heart had only just begun.
She found her way to Brinkley’s cottage in a daze, not even sure how she had gotten there.
A hush had descended around the town after news had spread of the Rift’s tumultuous growth.
Someone was at the door the moment she walked up to it, ushering her inside.
A hug perhaps, warm arms around her, which she pushed away.
A seat beneath her, her body collapsing into it.
Eyes stared into a fire, watching flames crackle menacingly as questions flooded into her ears, though the words didn’t come together in her brain, and she answered none.
Someone cried nearby.
Aurora, perhaps. She would understand what it had meant, that Amelia had returned to Brinkley’s home alone. Without him.
Amelia wanted to scream and cry herself, to fall to her knees and apologise for failing them all. For failing him.
But she just sat, just stared, like her body wasn’t capable of bringing forth any thoughts or feelings. It was only capable of merely existing.
She didn’t know how much time had passed before a hot drink was pushed into her hands, and someone encouraged her to drink it. Amelia did and felt a hot liquid sliding down her throat.
Her eyes felt heavy not long after, and the mug was removed from her fingers.
