Whispers in the Veil

Dion's POV

He bolted upright in the dark, heart hammering, breath ragged.

Ari's voice still rang in his ears—sharp and fractured, like it had been torn from the air.

"Something's wrong." Her fear bled through the bond, her desperation like a hook in his spine.

And then—nothing.

Just gone.

The silence that followed felt wrong. Not the kind of wrong he could explain. It was deeper. Heavier. Like something precious had been severed.

He didn't realize he'd shouted her name until Therrin stirred beside him.

She flinched.

He looked over. "Are you—?"

"I'm fine," she said too fast, voice low and tight. Her arms curled around herself like she could make her body smaller. "It was just a nightmare."

No.

No, it wasn't.

He could still feel the lingering tension humming under his skin. The weight of whatever Ari hadn't been able to say.

But he couldn't ask.

Not without making Therrin shut down even more.

So instead—he said nothing.

He watched her.

She was trying too hard to look calm. Her face was a mask. But her soul—it wasn't quiet. It flickered under her skin like something caged. Dimming, distorting.

She wasn't okay.

And she was lying about it.

He leaned forward, brushing his fingers against hers. She jerked slightly but didn't pull away.

"You're not fine," he said gently.

"I said I was," she whispered.

His voice dropped. "I don't believe you."

Therrin's POV

He's watching again.

Trying to peel me open with those eyes.

Therrin turned her face away from Dion and stared into the shadows—where the voice was waiting.

"Good morning, little star."

It coiled around her like a secret. Like smoke. Deep and low and almost… soothing.

"Or maybe not so good," the shadow mused. "He's too close again, isn't he? Too loud. Too bright.

Always pressing. Always pushing."

Therrin's chest felt too tight to breathe.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to be held.

She wanted to disappear.

"You're not real," she whispered inside. "You're just another splinter in my head."

The voice laughed softly.

"Oh, I'm real, darling. I've always been real. You just forgot me."

A ripple of memory—long buried—shivered across her mind. Cold water. Blood on petals. The echo of a name:

Ciaran.

"That's not your real name," she whispered.

"Maybe not," he said smoothly. "But it's the one I've given you now. And I think you like how it sounds in your head. Don't you?"

Her throat clenched.

"You don't have to fight it," Ciaran murmured. "I know the things you bury. I know the rage you lock behind your ribs. The hunger to be seen—not coddled. Not saved. Claimed."

"Stop."

"I know about your dreams," he said, voice wrapping around her like velvet dipped in ash. "The ones where you burn them all. The ones where power pours out of you like wildfire and no one dares look away. Not Dion. Not Grimm. Not even Ari."

She gritted her teeth.

But the worst part—the worst part—was how right it felt.

Like he was reading her journal. Her scars. Her soul.

"I'm not that person," she whispered.

"You are. And I'll teach you how to stop hiding from it. All of it."

"You don't have to be scared of your power. Not with me."

"Let him play hero. You and I? We'll become something unstoppable."

Dion's POV

Therrin wasn't just distant.

She was somewhere else.

He could feel it in her silence. In the way she looked past him instead of at him.

Like there was something more interesting in the dark than him.

And it made something primal twist in his chest.

He moved closer, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "You've been different since the last attack."

"I'm just tired."

"You've been tired before. This is something else."

Her jaw tensed.

"You don't trust me?" he asked softly. "After everything?"

She didn't respond.

His heart thudded.

"I know you're scared," he whispered. "But I want all of you, Therrin. Not just the pieces that are easy to hold."

A flicker of pain crossed her face.

"I'm not ready," she said, almost choking on it.

"I don't care."

She turned sharply. "You should."

Therrin's POV

He's too close.

Every inch of her screamed to pull away, but her body wouldn't move.

Inside, Ciaran stirred.

"He doesn't see the real you," he said calmly. "Only the girl he wants you to be. Soft. Redeemable. Human."

She flinched.

"But I see it," he crooned. "The shadow in your veins. The fire in your spine. You're not made for bowing, Therrin. You're made for breaking."

A rush of cold swept through her.

Dion reached for her hand.

Ciaran's voice turned darker. "He'll never love what you become. Not when it doesn't need him."

Her heart cracked down the middle.

Dion squeezed her fingers gently. "Please just let me in. Let me hold whatever this is."

But his voice sounded far away now.

Ciaran was louder.

And for one breath, she wished—really wished—that he would wrap around her instead. Sink into her bones and teach her how to stop being afraid.

"I'll never leave you," Ciaran promised.

"Even if you leave her behind."

She curled inward, dizzy, broken between two tides.