The rain hadn't stopped. It pressed against the bookshop windows like a restless whisper.
Elira sat in the quiet, the journal open in front of her. The new letter hadn't been there an hour ago — she was sure of it. The ink still shimmered faintly, like it had just been written.
> You've seen him now, haven't you? He carries fire, but not all of it is his. Be careful what you let him burn.
She stared at the words, her pulse climbing.
This wasn't coincidence. This journal knew things it shouldn't — things only she should know. The man, Thorne Calder, was connected. But how? Why was the journal warning her?
She flipped back through earlier pages. More letters. Some cryptic, some tender, all unsigned — until Marian's name had appeared.
Now the journal was writing back to her.
Her fingers hovered over the page. "Who are you?" she whispered. "What are you?"
A soft knock startled her.
She turned — the shop door hadn't opened. The knock had come from the back room.
No one else was supposed to be there.
Slowly, she stood, heart thudding, and stepped into the hallway. The air was colder back here. The lights flickered as she reached for the handle of the storeroom door.
Another knock. This time, sharper.
She opened it — and froze.
The journal was sitting on the old wooden table, though she had left it at the front desk. Its pages were open to a new line, the ink wet and curling.
> You're not ready to remember, but you must be ready to choose.
Behind her, the bell above the door rang again.
She didn't move. Not yet.
Because this time… it wasn't just the journal giving her warnings.
It was her instincts.
And they were screaming that someone she once trusted had come back.