Mira's POV
The silver light pours from my hands like water, but it burns. Everything burns.
"Stop!" I scream at myself. "Stop it!"
But I don't know how.
The power keeps coming, waves of energy that make the walls crack and the floor shake. The three hooded attackers fly backward, slamming into the hallway. Leo—the man who used to be my cat—crouches in front of me, half-transformed into something with fur and claws and muscles that shouldn't exist.
"Breathe, little spark!" he shouts over the noise. "Just breathe!"
I try. I really try. But the fake Aunt Vivian is laughing in the doorway, and the attackers are getting back up, and my hands won't stop glowing.
"Impressive," not-Vivian purrs. "Even more powerful than your mother at this age. Marcus will be so pleased."
"Who's Marcus?" I gasp. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"
She tilts her head, and her face ripples again. For a second, I see someone else underneath—someone beautiful and cruel with eyes like a snake. "I'm the woman who raised you, fed you, kept you safe for eighteen years. Don't I deserve a thank you?"
"You're not my aunt!"
"No," she agrees. "Your real aunt died the same night as your parents. I've been wearing her face ever since." She says it like it's funny. Like murder is a joke.
The silver light in my hands flares brighter. I want to hurt her. I want to make her pay for everything—for lying to me, for making me think I was worthless, for whatever she did to my real family.
Leo grabs my shoulders. "Mira, listen to me! You're a Memory Weaver. You can pull memories from people and things. You can reshape reality itself. But right now, you need to focus or you'll bring the whole building down!"
"I don't know how!" Tears stream down my face. "I don't know what I'm doing!"
"Then let me help you." His amber eyes lock onto mine. "Look at me. Only me. Forget everything else."
I try. I stare into his eyes and try to breathe like he said. Slowly, painfully, the light starts to fade. My hands stop shaking.
That's when the window explodes.
More hooded figures pour in—five, six, seven of them. They move like shadows, fast and deadly. Leo roars and launches himself at them, his claws flashing in the darkness.
He's so fast I can barely track him. He takes down two attackers before they even react, his claws ripping through their cloaks. But there are too many. One of them gets past him, reaching for me with hands that glow red.
I scramble backward. My foot catches on a vine. I fall hard, and the attacker is on me in a second.
"Got you," he hisses.
His hand closes around my wrist, and suddenly I'm drowning in his memories. I see his training, his orders, his mission: capture the Memory Weaver alive. Bring her to Marcus Thorne. Don't let the guardian stop you.
Then I see something else. Something deeper. A memory he's trying to hide.
A memory of my mother.
She's kneeling in front of him, silver light pouring from her hands just like mine. "Please," she begs. "My daughter is innocent. She doesn't even know what she is. Let her live as a human. Let her be free."
The attacker—younger in the memory—shakes his head. "Marcus says no loose ends."
"Then you'll have to kill me first."
"That's the plan," he says, and raises his blade.
The memory cuts off as Leo tears the attacker away from me, throwing him through the broken window. But I can't move. Can't breathe.
That man killed my mother.
He's one of the people who murdered my family.
And he works for someone named Marcus.
"Mira, get up!" Leo yells. He's fighting three attackers at once, bleeding from a dozen cuts. "You need to run!"
"I'm not leaving you!"
"I'll find you!" He ducks under a blade and rips another attacker's throat out with his teeth. It's brutal and terrifying and I should be scared of him, but I'm not. He's been protecting me for years. "Go through the fire escape! Now!"
Not-Vivian steps into the room, her fake face melting away completely. Underneath, she's stunning in a horrible way, with sharp features and eyes that glow green. "The girl isn't going anywhere. Marcus wants her, and I've waited eighteen years to deliver her."
She raises her hand, and I feel her power slam into me like a truck. Everything goes dark for a second. When my vision clears, I'm on the floor, gasping for air.
Leo roars in rage and tries to reach me, but more attackers pour through the windows. So many of them. Too many.
We're going to die.
My mother's voice echoes in my head: Remember who you are, little spark.
I don't know who I am. I don't know anything anymore. But I know I don't want to die. I don't want Leo to die protecting me.
I press my palms to the floor, and this time, I don't fight the power. I let it come.
Silver light explodes from me in a wave that shakes the entire building. Every attacker freezes mid-step. Leo stops fighting. Even not-Vivian staggers backward.
Because I'm pulling their memories. All of them at once.
I see everything. Every secret. Every lie. Every moment that brought them here. It floods into me like a river, and I'm drowning in other people's lives.
I see my mother's last moments through not-Vivian's eyes. I see her begging for my life while Marcus Thorne—a man in an expensive suit with cold, dead eyes—gives the order to kill her anyway.
I see Leo making a promise to my mother: I'll protect her. I swear on my life.
I see the real Aunt Vivian dying, her last thought a prayer that I'd somehow survive.
Too much. It's too much.
The memories slam back into their owners like rubber bands snapping. Everyone collapses, groaning. Even Leo drops to his knees, clutching his head.
I stand in the center of the chaos, silver light pouring from my eyes now, my hair floating around me like I'm underwater.
"What—" I whisper. "What am I?"
That's when the final window shatters, and a man drops into the room.
The mystery man from the flower shop. The one who buys roses every week.
He's holding blades made of solid shadow, and his grey eyes are locked on me with an expression I can't read.
"Found you," he says quietly. "Last Memory Weaver. The Council's been looking for you for eighteen years."
Leo struggles to his feet, putting himself between us. "Stay back, Huntsman. You can't have her."
"Huntsman?" I breathe.
The mystery man's jaw tightens. "My name is Kael Ashford. I'm an enforcer for the Supernatural Council." His shadow-blades shine in the silver light pouring from my body. "And Memory Weavers are kill-on-sight."
He moves toward me, fast as lightning.
And I realize with terrible clarity that the man I've been thinking about for three months, the one who made my heart race every time he walked into the shop, came here to murder me.