Page 111 of Foresyth Conservatory
Her voice faded as my vision blurred, the edges darkening. My body felt heavy, too heavy to hold together.
For the second time that night, the world shattered and swallowed me whole.
Chapter 36: The Awakening
I awoke to the sharp scent of sterilizing alcohol. A woman in a white suit was dabbing at my side, and the sting made me flinch.
“We’re just getting this cleaned up for you. Looks like you tore a few of your stitches last night,” she hummed. “Good to see you awake.”
“Where am I?” I croaked.
“Mercy Hospital,” she replied, draping a heavy blanket over me. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake, and he’ll stitch that back up for you. Here, take these for the pain.” She handed me two white pills and a glass of water before leaving the room. I rested my head back on the pillow, staring up at the buzzing string of incandescent lights, a sound that felt strangely familiar, like an echo from a bad dream.
I’m alive.
That was the only fact that mattered.
“Dahl?” someone called from behind the curtain next to my bed. I recognized the voice immediately, if not the moniker. I tried lifting my arm to part the curtain, but a sharp pain shot through my side, making me drop back down. The curtain opened anyway, and Aspen appeared. His face was pale, fading scratches dotting his cheekbone, but his eyes shone bright amber. My gaze fell to his bandaged hand.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I should be the one asking you that. You were the one who got stabbed.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, though I could tell he saw right through it.
Sequoia appeared behind him, and a wave of relief washed over me. Her eyes were swollen and pink, but she had the widest smile on her face.
My friends were safe.
“Oh, Dahlia, I’m so happy you’re alive!” she said, her voice feeling like a hug. She reached for me, her hand cupping my cheek.
“I am too,” I replied, managing a small smile. “What about . . . the others?”
“Leone will be fine; he’s just in shock. He’s taking a few days away from school. He’s been obsessed with Foresyth and those books for years—he’s reevaluating all he’s known to be true,” Aspen said.
Damn, so was I.
“Understandable,” I muttered, turning my head against the pillow. Talking was exhausting, but I had to tell them about Sophia, the vision I had had before the ceremony had descended into chaos. “I saw Sophia. She’s been trying to tell me something, but I finally realized what it was last night during the ceremony.”
Sequoia scrunched her eyes together and I continued.“InThe Book of Skornit wasn’t Sophia who asked for the elemental ceremony. Those visions that came to Khorvyn—it was the demiurge—he impersonated Sophia and dictated the Book, using sacrifices to feed his domain over thematerial world. It was never her,” I said, my chest weak with the realization.
Had I really seen her, or was she my subconscious speaking to me? I didn’t quite understand why I felt the need to tell them. But it was the truth I had longed for, and it finally tasted sweet on my tongue.
“Shh, you can relax now, don’t lose your strength.” Sequoia caressed my forehead. “I knew—that’s what she told me when I went into soul flight in the tub, all those nights ago. That’s why I agreed to help you,” she admitted. “Besides my dear regard toward you.” She smiled, her finger trailing the side of my face.
A shard of reality cut through me, as sharp as the cut on my side.
“And Nina . . . is she okay?”
“She’s been placed in the rehabilitation ward,” Sequoia replied sharply. Her tone, usually so gentle, surprised me. “Aspen was right—she didn’t belong at Foresyth.”
A pang of disappointment settled in my stomach, sharper than the ache in my side. I’d wanted to trust Nina; she had been the first person at Foresyth to show me an inkling of friendship when I needed it most. She and I were like two sides of the same coin. She came from a working-class family, clawing her way up to Foresyth through her own sheer skill and work ethic. I’d thought we could have been genuine friends.
But maybe I’d only seen what I wanted to see.
The small, quiet moments I’d observed—her murmuring over her creations in the lab, our shared excitement over the light analyzer—now felt tainted. I thought she understood the weight of power, its limits, its cost. I believed she waschanneling her grief into art, not control. Yes, we both wrestled with death’s finality, but I thought she at least honored the dead and their peace. But I was wrong. I thought back to the moments I’d doubted Aspen on her account, the times I’d given her my sympathy.
“She doesn’t deserve your kindness, Dahlia,” Sequoia said, fierce and unflinching. I saw a glint in her eyes that was new, battle-won. “She would have destroyed anything to get what she wanted—even you.”
