Wilder's POVSomething was wrong.I couldn't describe it, couldn't even point to one particular bit of detail or thing to observe that made me start feeling colder, more uneasy in my chest. But every instinct I had built up over months of fighting corruption was howling in my mind to listen to it.The training with Tiago went well. Actually, it was going extraordinarily well.For the past two hours, we had been inside the basement of the library, reading up on texts about seal reinforcement and how it can be used, comparing old Etherwind techniques with modern magical theory.Just had to appreciate all his efforts. Tiago was very methodical and patient. He was really trying to help, even though I was scrutinizing his every move like a hawk, expecting manifestations of corruption that hadn't shown themselves in months.Even cracking a joke. A really bad joke, something about ancient sorcerers having bad handwriting, and I nearly laughed. Nearly.But as I left the library into the late

Wilder's POVUnless she was immortal.Like Samvel and Astoria Aristarkh. Like the monarchs of the Obsidian who had lived for centuries. Like other Etherwind descendants who had found ways to extend their lives indefinitely.What if Sophia Cross wasn't Dr. Raymond Cross's partner, colleague, or random person with an unfortunate last name?What if she were his daughter? And what if she'd been alive for over a century, changing her appearance when needed, operating in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to act?My hand was shaking as I grabbed a pen and wrote a question mark on the photograph.I needed to confirm this. Needed to verify whether this was actually possible, whether the woman Morrison's new partner was searching for could actually be over a hundred years old.But first--First, I needed to sleep. My eyes were burning, my head pounding. I'd been awake for nearly thirty hours, and my body was demanding rest.I placed the photograph in my research folder and stood up, my

Author's POVEilish had never been happier to be taken seriously in her entire life.The conversation with her grandparents had changed something fundamental. Not just with the investigation, though it had helped there too, but to her sense of what family really was.Samvel and Astoria hadn't tried to placate her or patronise her. Coo her into overlooking things she clearly couldn't help understanding.Treat her like a damaged foster kid whose paranoia could be managed. They'd listened. Believed. Acted. And in three days, they had the first real lead.Astoria's connections to the Watcher network went back centuries, to people who remembered what was unrecorded in any official histories, people who could trace bloodlines and identify individuals across generations.And when she'd begun her subtle inquiries among them about women matching Sophia Cross's description appearing in cities across decades, the returns had been almost immediate.Almost too immediate. This indicated others had