Page 82 of Unveiled

Connor didn’t even bother looking. “I feel you about to do something reckless,” he muttered, folding his arms. “That place has never called to anyone with good intentions.”

Adrian shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on the shifting shadows along the tree line. “No. This isn’t like before. It’s…quieter. Not a lure. More like…” His brow furrowed as he searched for the right word. “…an invitation. Under the full moon.”

Fraser exchanged a look with Max. Max grimaced. “That’s worse,” he announced. “Invitations mean it knows you’re listening.”

Adrian ignored them. His attention remained glued to the forest. “There’s knowledge in there. Answers we’re missing. If I open my mind a little, it might show me what’s coming. And we need all the help we can get.”

Connor stepped directly into Adrian’s line of sight, his jaw set. “Absolutely not. Every time that place tries to get hold of you, something bad follows. I’m not letting you walk toward danger because it feels different today.”

Adrian sighed. “I’m not being pulled blindly. I’m choosing to listen. And I promise you, Connor, this time doesn’t feel like a trap.” He paused. “It feels like clarity.”

“That’s exactly what traps feel like,” Connor snapped.

Adrian lifted his chin. “You don’t have to trust the Rift,” he said quietly. “Just trust me.”

The bond pulsed—warm, undeniable, threading tension between them.

Connor exhaled sharply, frustration evident on his face. “I do trust you,” he whispered. “That’s the problem.”

“Then let me try.”

The wind shifted. And Adrian’s certainty glowed like a light cutting through the fog. Something was different this time. Something safer. Or something pretending to be.

The night hit them with a cold so sudden and sharp that Connor’s breath steamed white in the air. Frost snapped underfoot like thin glass. The moon hung swollen above the valley, a bright circle in the night sky.

Adrian walked beside him, his steps light but unsteady. Every few paces he pressed a hand to his mark as if trying to quiet it. The glow pulsed through his shirt in soft, sickly bursts. Fraser and Max followed close behind, muttering to each other. They each carried a large duffel bag in which they’d gathered items Xiathen said might help if anything were to happen.

Connor wasn’t convinced that silver chains and some special oil they’d been coated with were truly weapons, but Irial had insisted she’d know when to use him.

“I don’t like this,” Connor muttered.

“You don’t trust me?” Adrian asked, his voice brittle.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Neither spoke again. The woods swallowed them quickly. Tonight, the trees were distorted. They were leaning inward as if bracing against a storm that hadn’t yet arrived. Shadows stitched themselves between branches, long and thin and trembling like they were trying to hold their shape.

Adrian smiled. “It looks beautiful,” he whispered. “Comforting and inviting. It wants to tell me something.”

Connor felt the corruption of that statement and Adrian’s demeanour. Something was manipulating him. “Adrian, this isn’t right. Nothing good is going to come of this.”

Adrian waved a hand. “Don’t you see it?” he asked dreamily. “It’s like all the colours in the world have come together and painted their own picture.”

Connor stepped closer without thinking. “What do you see?”

Adrian’s eyes widened. “Something’s happening. No, don’t go, come back, I need to touch you.” He reached out a hand and Connor grabbed it.

“Adrian,” he barked. “Wake up. Something’s taking over your mind.” He waved at Max and Fraser, who were watching with trepidation. “Stand back, lads. I’ll call when I need you, like we planned.”

The two men stepped away, though not so far that they couldn’t intervene if necessary.

“Things that shouldn’t breathe,” Adrian murmured. “And some that don’t.”

“Stay behind me.”

“I’m not a child.”

“No,” Connor growled. “You’re worse.”