-
The silver feather refused to stay hidden.
I'd slipped it into the pocket of my apron that morning, thinking I'd forget about it while the day wore on. Instead it throbbed—soft, rhythmic—like a second pulse. By closing time my skin buzzed where it touched the fabric.
Elior noticed. Of course he did.
"Something's different," he said quietly, wiping the last table. The evening crowd had gone, leaving only the scent of espresso and rain.
I pulled the feather free. It glowed faintly even in the dim light. "It hasn't stopped since Adrian showed up."
Elior's jaw tightened. "That isn't ordinary headquarters magic. It's… personal."
"Personal how?"
He hesitated. "Feathers like that respond to potential. To hearts that might change the balance."
My stomach dropped. "You're saying I'm—what—some kind of weapon?"
"Not a weapon," he said quickly. "But you could tip the scale. Adrian must sense it too."
Before I could answer, the front windows rattled. A gust of warm air swept through the locked café, carrying the unmistakable scent of smoke and roses.
Adrian.
The lights flickered. A single golden spark slid across the floor and winked out.
Elior was already at the door, green shimmer brightening in his eyes. "He's testing again."
I tucked the feather into my palm. It pulsed harder, heat blooming against my skin.
---
"Why does it feel… alive?" I whispered.
Elior glanced at the feather, then at me. "Because it's choosing."
"Choosing what?"
"You."
The word hung heavy between us.
Something in the feather flared—sudden, bright—and a ribbon of silver light spilled upward, curling like smoke until it formed a faint outline of wings behind me.
I gasped, stumbling back. Elior reached out, steadying me, but his eyes were wide.
"That's not supposed to happen," he breathed.
The glow faded, leaving only the soft throb in my palm.
"What was that?"
He shook his head slowly. "A call. Or a claim. But I've never seen it attach to a mortal."
---
Before I could press him, a knock shattered the silence—sharp, deliberate.
Three beats. A pause. Three more.
Not Adrian. Different. Older.
Elior moved to the door but didn't open it. "Who comes?"
A low, musical voice answered, "Messenger of the Concord."
His shoulders stiffened. "Lila, back."
I ignored him, stepping closer. "The Concord?"
"They oversee balance," Elior said, voice tight. "Higher than headquarters. They don't… visit."
The knock came again, patient and inevitable.
Elior whispered a ward. The green shimmer across the door pulsed, then dimmed—as if bowing to authority.
The door eased open on its own.
---
A woman stepped inside, cloaked in moonlight and mist. Her eyes held constellations.
"Child of the Feather," she said, gaze settling on me. "The choice has awakened."
Elior bowed slightly. "She's not—"
"She is," the woman interrupted. "The bond has formed. The struggle for her heart is the struggle for all hearts."
My throat tightened. "I didn't ask for this."
"No one asks," she said gently. "But love chooses its own vessel."
She reached out, fingertip hovering just above the feather in my palm. "Guard it well, Lila. Adrian will not stop until you surrender. And if you do, the world will forget what freedom feels like."
Then, like mist in morning sun, she was gone.
---
Silence settled, thick and trembling.
Elior turned to me, expression a mix of awe and fear. "Everything just changed."
The feather pulsed once, as if agreeing.
And deep inside, where words couldn't reach, something in me pulsed back.