The catacombs smelled of wet stone and copper.
Toddd remained kneeling in the center of the fading crimson circle, palms still pressed to the floor as though anchoring herself to the only solid thing left in the world. The violet afterglow clung to her skin like frost, slowly dissolving. Her breathing came in shallow, deliberate pulls.
Across the chamber, Cassian slumped against a cracked sarcophagus. Blood dripped steadily from between the fingers he still held to his face. The three incomplete marks on his palm—T O D—glistened wetly in the dim torchlight. He hadn't moved since the circle's flare. Only the slow rise and fall of his chest proved he still lived.
Lysander stood between them, breathing hard, one hand braced on the stone wall. His split lip had stopped bleeding, but a thin red line remained like a warning written in ink. He looked from Toddd to Cassian and back again, calculating.
"You're still here," he said to her. Not a question. An observation laced with something close to relief.
Toddd lifted her head. "Apparently death is fashionably late tonight."
She pushed herself to her feet. The new black droplet on her collarbone pulsed once—slow, almost thoughtful—then stilled. No more tendrils. Not yet.
Cassian laughed. The sound rattled wetly in his throat.
"You think you stopped it?" He lowered his hand. Fresh blood streaked his cheek, tracing the old scar like a second mouth. "You only reminded her we're still connected."
"Her?" Toddd stepped closer despite every instinct screaming to run. "Who is she?"
Cassian's gaze drifted past her, unfocused, as though he were looking at something standing just behind her shoulder.
"The one who never cried when we were born," he whispered. "The one Father ordered drowned in the birthing basin because her eyes opened too soon. The one who opened them again… later."
A chill crawled up Toddd's spine.
She remembered—flashes, not full memories—the cold water closing over tiny lungs. The panic that wasn't hers. The sudden, furious silence that followed. And then… nothing. For years. Until mirrors began to watch her.
Lysander moved to stand beside her. Close enough that their arms brushed.
"He's lying," the prince said. "Or half-mad. The third triplet died. The records—"
"Records burn," Cassian interrupted. "Fathers lie. Midwives disappear. But some things don't drown."
He lifted his marked palm toward the light.
The three small letters shimmered. Not ink. Not a scar. Something liquid moved beneath the skin—black, slow, coiling like smoke under glass.
"The Triad was never meant to be three separate souls," he continued. "One body. One mind. Split by fear and steel and water. She's been gathering pieces ever since. First in mirrors. Then in marks. Now…" He smiled, teeth red. "…in us."
Toddd's hand rose to her own collarbone without conscious thought. The droplet answered—pulsing in perfect rhythm with the beat she suddenly felt in Cassian's palm. Two hearts. One echo.
She turned to Lysander.
"Did you know?"
The prince's jaw tightened. "I knew the birth was… complicated. I knew the mark appeared on you the moment you woke in that bed. I didn't know—" His gaze flicked to Cassian. "—that he carried part of it."
Cassian chuckled again. "You didn't know because you weren't supposed to look too closely, cousin. The crown has its own secrets. Yours just happen to wear a prettier face."
Lysander's hand twitched toward where his dagger had fallen.
Before he could move, a low, resonant hum filled the chamber.
The runes in the circle flickered once more—not bright, not violent. Subtle. Like someone blowing gently on dying coals.
Toddd felt it in her bones.
A pull.
Not pain.
Invitation.
She looked down.
The single black droplet had begun to spread again—thinner this time, more deliberate. It traced the faint outline of another letter beside itself.
D
Incomplete.
But forming.
Cassian's eyes widened. He lurched upright.
"She's speaking," he breathed. "Through you."
Toddd's mouth moved before her mind caught up.
The voice that came out was not hers.
Soft. Layered. Achingly young.
"You kept the warmth longest. I remember how it felt… before the water."
The words vibrated in Toddd's throat like borrowed breath.
She clamped a hand over her mouth.
Too late.
The hum deepened.
Somewhere deeper in the catacombs—beyond the circle, beyond the torchlight—stone scraped against stone.
A door. Long sealed. Opening.
Cassian staggered backward until his shoulders hit the sarcophagus.
"She's coming closer," he whispered. "She's tired of waiting in fragments."
Lysander grabbed Toddd's wrist—hard.
"We leave. Now."
But Toddd didn't move.
She stared at the incomplete D on her skin.
Then at the matching marks on Cassian's palm.
Then at the darkness gathering at the far archway—thicker than shadow, thinner than smoke.
She felt it watching.
Not with eyes.
With hunger.
She lowered her hand from her mouth.
When she spoke, her own voice returned—shaky, but hers.
"If she wants all three pieces… let her come for them."
The darkness paused.
Then it rippled—almost like a nod.
Cassian slid down the sarcophagus until he sat on the floor. Blood continued to drip from his face. He looked suddenly small. Exhausted.
"She will," he murmured. "And when she does… none of us get to choose who wakes up wearing the skin."
The runes in the circle dimmed completely.
The hum faded.
But the new letter on Toddd's collarbone remained.
D
One stroke closer to completion.
To be continued…