The alley still held the breath of silence long after the words were spoken. Isla leaned against the damp stone wall, her fingers trembling under her cloak. Caius stood opposite her, arms crossed tight over his chest, like he was trying to fold into himself. Neither of them spoke for a long while.
She glanced at the coin he had shown her—the blackened spiral now back in his pocket—and her mind kept returning to the words scrawled on that parchment: Midnight comes for you.
Something ancient. Something watching.
The stillness became unbearable.
"So what now?" Isla finally asked. "We just wait for… midnight to come for us?"
Caius didn't answer immediately. He kicked a loose cobblestone with the toe of his boot. "Whatever this is, it started long before I picked your pocket. I think we've both stumbled into something deeper."
"Then we need to dig deeper." Isla stood straighter, eyes flinty with determination. "There's too much we don't know. The dreams, the marks, the threats…"
Her voice trailed off as a thought struck her.
"The library," she said suddenly. "The Hallwells never let me spend time there, but I know the village has one."
Caius arched an eyebrow. "You think the answer to blood-inked curses is going to be in a book?"
"I think if something like the Midnight Circle really exists, someone must've written about it. Old cults, legends, village records—something."
He considered that, then gave a tight nod. "Lead the way."
---
The Hollow Archive sat on the outskirts of Hollowmere, half-swallowed by ivy and fog. Its crooked windows glinted in the moonlight like wary eyes, and the sign above the door was worn smooth by time. Only the faintest letters remained.
The moment they stepped inside, the scent of redwood wrapped around them—sweet, earthy, strangely comforting. The floorboards creaked under their weight. Lanterns burned low in wall sconces, casting honey-colored light across shelves that rose high and leaned slightly, like the books themselves had grown tired of holding secrets.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
They moved between rows in cautious silence until they reached a wide reading alcove near the back. There, at a polished oak table surrounded by dusty tomes, sat a woman.
She wore a patchwork shawl of moth-eaten velvet, her long fingers wrapped around a chipped porcelain cup that steamed faintly. Her silver hair was coiled atop her head in a nest of braids and bones—yes, bones, small and birdlike.
Isla slowed.
Caius muttered under his breath, "You don't think she's—"
"Old Marla," Isla whispered. "That's her."
The woman didn't look up, but her voice, when it came, was sharp as a blade honed on old truth.
"I was wondering when you'd come."
Isla flinched. Caius stiffened.
Old Marla finally raised her head. Her eyes were a pale, cloudy gray, but there was clarity behind them, like a mirror reflecting too much.
"You've felt it, haven't you? The thinning. The pull."
Isla's throat dried. "You know about the Circle?"
Marla chuckled, a sound that stirred the shadows. "Know them? My dear, I've buried friends for less."
Caius stepped forward, jaw set. "Then you do know what's happening. Tell us. Tell us what they want."
Old Marla tapped her cup twice against the table. "They want what they've always wanted. Blood. Secrets. The return of the Veil."
The room felt colder. Even the lantern light seemed to flicker uneasily.
"The Veil?" Isla asked. "What is that?"
"The line between here and there," Marla said simply. "Between the waking world and the realm beneath it. You've felt it, haven't you? In your sleep? The shadows don't just stay in dreams anymore."
Caius exchanged a glance with Isla.
Marla leaned in. "They marked you. You carry the tether now. That's why the crows follow. Why the whispers come. The Circle has found new vessels."
Isla could hardly breathe. "Why us? Why now?"
"Because you were there when the hour turned," Marla murmured. "And because something sleeps inside you both. Something they fear. Or perhaps something they want."
A book slammed shut in the back of the archive. No one was there.
Old Marla sipped from her cup, unaffected. "If you want to live, children, learn quickly. The Circle is patient—but midnight always comes."
Silence pressed down again, this time deeper.
Isla looked at Caius. For once, his grin was gone.
She whispered, "Where do we start?"
Old Marla smiled, but there was nothing warm in it. She pointed to the far wall—where a locked case sat beneath a mural of a serpent eating its own tail.
"You start where all cursed bloodlines do," she said. "With the first sin."