"No more riddles," Ivy said. "No more cryptic phrases. No more 'when you remember.' I want the truth. Now."
Calla sat on the edge of the reading table like it was a throne. Arlo stood across from her, arms crossed. The library buzzed with old electricity. The ripple hadn't fully passed—it still clung to the air, thick and violet and heavy like smoke that forgot how to move.
Calla exhaled. "You were part of a magical faction. Hidden in plain sight. A ruling line, descended from a dormant bloodline tied to the Veil."
Ivy frowned. "A what?"
"We called it the Crownwoken."
Arlo's jaw flexed. "She's not ready for that name."
"She's wearing it," Calla said simply, nodding at Ivy's throat.
Ivy looked down.
Nothing.
Then the ripple surged again—and in the reflection of the darkened library window, something shimmered against her collarbone.
A delicate chain.
And on it, a small black sigil—like a broken crown made of thorns and stars.
She touched her neck. Still bare.
The sigil only existed in the mirror.
But it was there.
"Okay," she whispered. "What the hell does it mean?"
Arlo spoke this time.
"You were meant to lead," he said. "Or...they tried to make you lead. Your memories were fragmented to keep you alive."
"From who?"
"Everyone," Calla said. "Including us."
Ivy swallowed. "Why do you remember me?"
"Because I chose to," Calla said. "Because I broke the seal."
"She forced her way through the Veil," Arlo added darkly. "That's why she's unstable."
"Unstable's better than complicit," Calla shot back.
They glared at each other like two people used to losing the same fight, over and over.
Ivy held up her hands. "Can someone explain what the ripple is?"
Both turned to her.
"The ripple is a tear," Arlo said. "A seam. The Veil thinning in places where too much magic has been used—or remembered."
"Think of it like a skipped heartbeat," Calla added. "Reality blinks. Things come through."
"Things?"
"Memories. Artifacts. Creatures," she said, tapping her boot. "Emotions that don't belong to you."
Ivy sank into the nearest chair.
Calla knelt beside her.
"Listen," she said gently. "You can touch one. You can reach into it and pull out the thing you lost—if it's ready to be found."
"And if it's not?"
Calla smiled grimly. "It'll pull you instead."
Ivy looked between them.
"I want to try."
Arlo was already shaking his head. "Absolutely not. You'll fracture again."
"She's already fracturing," Calla said. "At least this time she'll choose it."
Arlo turned to Ivy. "You don't have to do this."
"I want to remember."
She stood. Walked toward the edge of the ripple—where the air shimmered faintly like heat off a road. She reached her hand out. Paused.
A deep thrum echoed through her fingertips. Something recognized her.
Her vision blurred—and suddenly she was somewhere else.
No warning.
No movement.
Just a cut.
---
She stood in the Morley courtyard. But it was snowing. And it was night.
She wore a dark coat with the Crownwoken sigil fully visible.
And she wasn't alone.
Across from her stood a boy with pale green eyes and a cruel mouth. Not Arlo. Not a student.
He was whispering her name like a curse.
"You're not ready to die, Ivy.
But the Veil wants its debt paid."
Then he reached into his chest—into it—and pulled out a key.
Not metaphorical.
An actual black skeleton key pulsing with violet light.
He held it out to her.
She took it.
And the memory snapped shut.
---
Ivy gasped.
She was back in the library. On her knees. Sweating.
Calla steadied her.
"What did you see?" she whispered.
"I saw the boy who kills me," Ivy said.
"And did you take it?" Arlo asked.
Ivy opened her fist.
Inside her palm:
A black skeleton key.
Still glowing.
---
End of Chapter Seven