Page 47 of The Threads Between

The shot echoed over the chaos.

“SYRA!”

The bullet took her in the chest. Center mass. Clean.

She stumbled. Looked down at the blood spreading across her dress—dark, so dark against the fabric. Then back up at me. Surprised, like she hadn’t expected it to end this way.

She fell.

The hunter raised his pistol again—toward us, toward the carriage full of injured people who couldn’t run.

Garrick fired.

The shot was precise. Clean. The hunter went down.

“Get in!” Garrick shouted. “More are coming!”

I could see more hunters pushing through the crowd toward us.

But I was already moving. Dropping beside Syra on the cobblestones. Turning her over.

Blood. So much blood soaking through her dress. The bullet had gone straight through her heart.

My restoration magic rose instinctively—and died just as quickly.

This wasn’t unraveling. This was death. Regular, human death. A bullet through the heart.

Nothing I could fix.

Nothing my power could touch.

Syra’s eyes found mine. Still her, even now.

“Got him out,” she whispered. Blood bubbled on her lips.

“You did.” My voice broke. “You got him out. You saved him⁠—“

“Worth it.” Her hand found mine, fingers growing cold. She squeezed weakly. “Tell him—“ A cough. More blood. “Tell August—“ Her breath rattled. “—worth it.”

“Syra, please⁠—“

Her grip went slack.

The sharpness faded from her eyes, leaving them empty and flat.

Gone.

“No.” I pulled her against me, her blood soaking into my borrowed dress. “No, no, Syra, please⁠—“

Hands grabbed my shoulders. Garrick, strong and insistent.

“Lily, we have to go.”

He was right. More hunters were breaking through the crowd. Weapons drawn. Moving toward us with purpose.

“Mira—she can⁠—“

“There's nothing.” His voice cracked on the word. “Lily, there's nothing . . . we have to go or we all die.”