Chapter 14 The Echoes of the Key

The heavy oak doors of the royal bedchamber clicked shut, sealing out the fading roars and rhythmic drumming of the Great Hall. The silence that followed was thick, charged with the lingering electricity of the Dance of the Moon and Shadow.

Scarlett leaned against the door, her lungs burning as she tried to catch her breath. The midnight-blue silk of her dress felt like a second skin, still humming with the residue of the spirit-fire she had channeled. Across the room, Caleb was a silhouette of raw, restless energy. He had shed his heavy furs, leaving him in the black tunic that strained against the hard planes of his back.

"You should rest, Caleb," Scarlett said, her voice sounding small in the vast, candlelit room. "The cleansing and the dance... they took a lot out of your soul."

Caleb turned slowly. The molten gold in his eyes hadn't faded; if anything, it had intensified, burning with a frighteningly lucid fire. He didn't look like a man who needed rest. He looked like a predator who had finally found the scent of his long-lost prey.

"Rest is for those who are whole, Scarlett," he murmured, his voice a dark, velvety baritone that vibrated through the floorboards. He walked toward her, his movements fluid and predatory. "But every time you touch me, every time you weave your light into my darkness, the pieces of my mind start to click back into place. And some of those pieces... they are jagged."

Scarlett’s heart hammered against her ribs. She tried to step sideways, but Caleb was faster. He slammed his hand against the door beside her head, pinning her in place. The scent of him—cold snow, cedarwood, and the sharp tang of her own burnt incense—swamped her senses.

"What do you remember?" she whispered, her gaze locked onto the fake mark on his neck, which was now pulsing with a deep, rhythmic crimson.

Caleb leaned down, his lips ghosting over her ear. "I remember a silver vault. I remember the sound of a woman’s laughter—not yours, but a version of you that was colder, crueler. And I remember a weight in my hand. A key that didn't open a door, but commanded the very tides of the moon."

Scarlett froze. The Lunar Key. The artifact that Julian was obsessed with, the one the original Scarlett had stolen.

"It was called the Lunar Key, wasn't it?" Caleb’s voice dropped into a dangerous, simmering rasp. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his expression a mixture of obsession and accusation. "And you know exactly where it is, don't you, little witch?"

"I don't have it, Caleb," Scarlett said, her voice shaking with a truth he wouldn't believe. "Whatever she did... whatever that Scarlett did... I am not her."

Caleb’s gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkening. "You say that, yet you use her face. You use her blood. And you use a magic that is so intertwined with my soul that I can no longer tell where the curse ends and you begin."

He reached out, his long fingers tracing the line of her jaw before settling around her throat—not to choke, but to claim. "Tonight, during the dance, I saw it. A vision of the key hidden beneath a floor of white marble, surrounded by the scent of lavender and ancient ink. My old apartment? Or your family's estate?"

Scarlett realized with a jolt of dread that his memories weren't just returning; they were merging with the present. The "lavender and ink" was the scent of her modern-day apartment before she transmigrated—a place that shouldn't exist in this world's timeline.

"Caleb, listen to me," she urged, placing her hands on his chest. She could feel his heart thudding like a war drum. "Julian is coming for that key. If he finds it first, he’ll use it to turn your own pack against you. We have to find it before he does, but not for the Thorne family. For the North."

Caleb pulled her closer, his forehead pressing against hers. The intensity of his aura was suffocating, a mix of the Alpha’s dominance and the man’s desperation. "Then we go. We find this key. But mark my words, Scarlett—if I find out you have been playing me for a fool, if this 'saving' of yours was just another layer of the Thorne's deceit..."

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was less of a caress and more of a vow. "I won't just tear your throat out. I will bind your soul to mine so tightly that even death won't be an escape for you."

Scarlett looked into the eyes of her fated executioner and realized that the ninety-day clock had just been shattered. She wasn't just running from a death sentence anymore; she was running into the heart of a storm that would either save the world or burn it to ash—and she was the one holding the match.