Page 104 of Ashen Souls

I could only hope the ring wasn't lost to history. That it was still waiting out there somewhere.

28

♫ EDITORS—SUGAR

Evening had already claimed Vesbridge by the time Harper pulled up to the curb. Above the stone arches, the sky had softened into shades of violet and pale gold. A dull ache settled into my calves.

My phone screen glared with the step count: just over twenty thousand.

Harper whistled, killing the engine. “Okay. That officially qualifies as both cardio and a professional level of denial.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt, offering a tired smile.

She leaned over the center console, hauling me into a quick hug. “We’ll do a proper girls’ night sometime this week,” she murmured. “Wine, pajamas, abysmal reality TV, and enough snacks to be considered a health hazard.”

“Deal.”

“Spring break rules, Aveline.” She drew back, her smile fading.

“Yeah?”

“Try not to unlock any more cursed relics without adult supervision.”

“No promises.”

She snorted, waving me off as I climbed out onto the sidewalk. “I’ll text you when I hit the dorm.”

I watched her taillights vanish around the corner before turning toward the building.

Once inside, I fished the velvet box from my bag, abandoning everything else in the hallway. Muscle memory took over the rest of the evening. Leftovers went into the microwave, followed by a scalding shower that lasted until the water ran lukewarm. Finally cocooned in my heaviest oversized sweater, I brewed a mug of tea and carried it into the bedroom.

I set the mug on the nightstand next to the velvet box, letting the steam warm my face as I sank onto the bed.

I reached for the box.

Away from the dim lighting of the antique shop, the small case seemed to carry a greater weight. I flipped the lid open. The dark alloy caught the lamplight, illuminating the severe lines of the etched sigil. The second my fingers closed around the metal, a persistent heat radiated into my palm.

Beneath my sleeve, the brand on my wrist answered. It lacked the usual stinging pain, offering only a gentle, rhythmic thrum.

I braced myself.

Yet the room remained still. Reality held its shape.

I let out a slow breath. The expectation bled out of me, leaving only sharp disappointment. I wanted another glimpse. Another fragment of truth.

Rolling the ring between my thumb and index finger, I traced the subtle curve of the band. The inner engraving caught the light.

I will always find you, Avelia.

My focus drifted back to the woman in the vision. The unguarded way she had smiled at Daeren. The absolute devotion anchored in his gaze.

Who had he been, before the exile stripped him down to the monster he was now? And who was Avelia?

Blaming it all on some distant Nyxeth ancestry was a weak excuse. It couldn't explain the exact mirror of my face, or why the sigil manifested on my wrist. My father bore no such mark. Neither did Chloe or Matt. Whatever bound me to Avelia defied genetics.

But in the quiet isolation of my bedroom, something much uglier took root.

Envy.