Page 77 of The Violet Raven

A silent warning.

I reach out, running a finger along the fragile petals, but it crumbles before my eyes, causing me to pull my hand back and gasp. It dissolves as if my very touch were a virulent venom; spreading disease from my fingertip and snuffing out its life-force.

Somewhere beyond the barriers of this garden, something is shifting—something I can’t yet see, but I feel its presence threading through the world.

I glance at my hand, still dusted with the remnants of the primrose. It seems I’m leaving a mess of everything I touch today.

I force myself to rise, a dizzying unease swirling in my chest, leaving the world slightly off-kilter. One last glance at the ruined flower—silent and accusing—and I turn away, my steps quickening toward the library. Whatever truth once lived here has withered. This place offers no answers now. The unease follows me like a shadow, clinging to my every thought.

The wind picks up behind me, whispering through the trees, carrying with it a message I cannot yet decipher.

But I feel it in my bones—the world is shifting, and I’m not sure I’m ready for what awaits.

Finn

As Eamon and I near the clearing, my eyes lock onto Callan’s broad-shouldered figure among the group gathered near the still. A surge of confusion shoots through me.

He’s supposed to be back home, keeping watch. Keeping watch over her.

I dismount in one swift motion and sprint toward the others, urgency tightening in my chest with every step.

A cold knot of anxiety coils in my gut. Images flare behind my eyes: Triona, trapped—endless halls swallowing the light, shadows slithering through the silence. The faint creak of empty rooms echoes like a warning, a hollow sound that underscores just how vulnerable she is—alone, with no promise that anyone would hear her scream. Not anyone with the ability to do anything.

Callan’s eyes snap to mine, his face tightening as the same dreadful realisation dawns on him. His shoulders go rigid, his hands curling into fists. James, usually unshakable, shifts where he stands, his steady confidence replaced by a taut, unfamiliar tension.

It’s Alex who finally breaks the silence, his voice low but charged with the weight of our shared fear. “Who’s back at the house?”

Eamon, Casey, and Bran exchange uncertain glances, their brows knitting in confusion.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Bran asks, his tone edged with unease.

But it’s Callan who cuts in, his voice sharp, accusatory. “Finn, why are ye here?”

I glare back, the knot in my stomach tightening. “I should ask the same thing, Cal. Eamon told me you were stayin’ behind.”

Eamon nods, stepping forward. “Aye, that’s what I was told.” His gaze flicks between us, confusion written across his face.

Callan’s jaw tightens, frustration rising as he snaps, “And who told ye that?”

“Colina,” Eamon replies, hesitant but firm.

Callan bellows. “I’m only here because she insisted Finn wouldnae make it because his horse had takin’ ill. Got me out of bed to tell me she’d ready my mare.”

I hardly register the rest of the conversation, focus already pulled elsewhere.

It’s faint at first, just a whisper tangled in the wind. But then it’s unmistakable—her voice.

“Triona?” I murmur, almost afraid it’s just my mind playing tricks. In the distance, Shadow’s unmistakable neigh cuts through the night, only tightening the knot in my chest.

Then I hear it again, more urgent, drifting through the trees with a haunting clarity that makes my heart seem to stop beating.

“Finn… Help… Please.”

“Triona!” The name rips from my throat, shattering the tense silence and echoing through the trees. Every head snaps toward me. I see Callan’s face change as the colour fades and dread flickers to life in his hazel eyes. James’s gaze locks with Callan’s, and a thousand unspoken words pass between them in the briefest of moments.

Something is wrong. And they can feel it too.

The plea slices through me, raw and unfiltered. The world narrows. Nothing exists but her voice—reaching for me like a lifeline.