The first thing Arielle felt was the hum.
Not the gentle resonance she'd grown used to — the faint background music of Starlight City's weave — but a deafening, relentless chorus pounding through her bones, like a second heartbeat. It didn't fade with time. It swelled, rising and falling with no rhythm, vibrating along her veins as if something inside her had been rewired while she slept.
Her eyes shot open, and the sound almost knocked her back down again.
She was lying beneath the splintered roof of a collapsed apartment, pale moonlight cutting through gaps in the shattered ceiling. Dust hung in the air, shimmering faintly where stray threads drifted like cobwebs. Selene wasn't there.
Panic sparked, raw and quick, until she spotted a glint of silver tied to a broken pillar — Selene's signal thread. They hadn't abandoned her; they were tracking Draven.
Except… she wasn't sure she'd survive waiting.
The hum was pulling now, not just vibrating. Every loose thread within reach — frayed, dying, or free-floating — tilted toward her, bowing as if drawn by gravity. She staggered upright, clutching her arms as the threads brushed her skin like cold static and slid into her.
Her breath hitched. "Stop, stop, stop—"
But they didn't. The threads sank deep, vanishing beneath her flesh like needles through cloth, and with them came flashes. Memories.
A man's rough hands tying a child's shoelaces. A teenage girl singing off-key into a hairbrush. The scent of cinnamon rolls, the feel of sunlight on skin, the ache of a goodbye kiss. Dozens of lives, none of them hers, slammed into her mind like a rushing tide.
Her knees gave out. She clutched her head, tears stinging her eyes as emotion after emotion hit — grief, warmth, terror, laughter. It wasn't just visions. It was possession. Every fragment wormed into her chest and stayed.
The hum deepened, bass vibrating in her ribs. And then came the voice — not just Draven's, though his tone bled through it, slick and patient.
You're not a Threadbinder anymore, Arielle. You're an Anchor now. The weave can't hold what's breaking, so it's using you. Every bond that snaps, every soul that frays — you can keep them. Carry them. Or let them rot. Your choice.
Her nails dug into the cracked floor. "No," she whispered, voice shaking. "I didn't ask for this. I don't want this!"
The whisper pulsed with amusement. The weave doesn't care what you want. It takes. And now… so do you.
Heat lanced down her arms, sharp enough to make her cry out. She glanced at her reflection in a jagged shard of glass — black lines traced beneath her skin, spiderwebbing from her collarbone down to her fingers, pulsing in time with the hum.
Before panic could fully take hold, the ceiling groaned overhead. A massive beam, already hanging by a whisper of thread, gave way. The entire roof buckled, rubble collapsing toward her.
She didn't think.
The hum surged, and her hands flew up. Threads erupted from her fingertips — silver, black, and something iridescent — weaving themselves into a lattice that caught the falling debris midair. The rubble froze, suspended in glowing lines, before settling gently to the floor as the threads dissolved.
Her heart pounded. She hadn't summoned them. She hadn't even called for them. They had come on their own.
And when the glow faded, the black veins on her arms still pulsed faintly, alive.
The hum softened, but only because she'd fed it — anchored the broken fragments into herself to hold the roof together. A warmth spread through her veins, almost euphoric, and that was somehow more terrifying than the pain.
A slow, mocking clap echoed from the shadows beyond the collapsed doorway.
"I told him you'd take to it quickly," a voice drawled. It wasn't Draven, but it carried his oily cadence. "Anchors always do. You can't stop it, girl. Might as well make it useful."
A marionette stepped into the moonlight — taller than any Arielle had seen, its frame laced with writhing strands of black tether beneath translucent skin. Its hollow eyes glowed faintly violet, the same shade as Draven's gaze.
The hum in her chest spiked. Her hands curled without thought, a primal urge blooming deep inside her: Pull it apart. Feed. Take whatever's keeping it standing and make it yours.
Her breath came ragged. "Get out," she rasped, stepping back even as her body itched to lunge forward.
The whisper slid closer in her mind, honey-smooth. Why run? You've already taken pieces of a hundred lives. What's one more? You're stronger when you feed, Arielle. Faster. You could end this in a breath.
The marionette tilted its head, jerky and unnatural, then sprang. Its limbs stretched farther than they should have, black tether-thread snapping taut as it lunged.
Instinct took over. Arielle thrust her palm forward, and threads erupted in a sharp, spiraling lash, slicing through two of its limbs. It staggered, shrieking soundlessly, but didn't fall. Its torso split, spilling more tether threads that writhed toward her like living tendrils.
The hum roared. Her vision blurred, colors sharp and unnatural. The threads called to her — not to bind, but to consume. For a heartbeat, she let them wrap around her wrists, felt the raw energy flood her veins like lightning. Strength bloomed. The pain dulled. The hunger… dimmed, sated, just for a moment.
She almost took it all. Almost pulled the puppet's energy into herself until it collapsed into nothing.
A sharp voice cut through the fog.
"Arielle!"
Silver light seared across the floor as Selene burst through the doorway, their needle blazing like a comet. With a precise flick, they severed the tether threads coiling around Arielle's arms, snapping the bond before it could fully fuse.
The marionette lunged again, but Selene's threads sliced it apart in three swift motions. Its pieces dissolved into smoke, leaving only the faint hiss of untethered energy dissipating into the night.
Arielle slumped against the wall, shaking, the hum still rattling through her ribs. Selene knelt in front of her, silver eyes wide with something that almost looked like fear.
"You fed," they murmured. Not accusing — almost disbelieving. "You actually… took from it."
Arielle's throat was dry. "It felt like I didn't have a choice," she whispered. "It felt… good. For a second, it didn't hurt."
Selene's jaw tightened. "That's how it starts. Draven doesn't want to kill you, Arielle. He wants you to become him. Or worse."
Her hands trembled as she clutched her arms, feeling the faint pulse of the black veins beneath her skin. "And if I already am?"
Selene's expression softened — not pity, not fear, but something raw. "Then I'll fight to keep you here, even if it tears me apart."
The hum in her chest thrummed again, softer now but no less constant.
For the first time, Arielle realized she was no longer just a Threadbinder.
She was something entirely new.
And Starlight City would either need her… or burn because of her.