Chapter 74 Chapter Seventy-Four
Jace stirred with a low groan, shifting against the damp grass at the lake’s edge.
For a moment, he didn’t know what had woken him—only that the air felt different. Cooler. Lighter. The brutal heat of the desert had loosened its grip, replaced by a fragile calm that felt almost unreal after everything they’d endured.
He blinked, squinting toward the horizon.
The sun hadn’t risen yet—but it was close.
A thin wash of pale gold bled into the sky, just barely cresting the distant dunes. The stars above were fading one by one, retreating as dawn crept in.
Jace rolled onto his side, checking the space beside him.
Empty.
Frowning, he pushed himself up onto an elbow and looked around.
“Julian?” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
Then he saw him.
Across the lake.
Julian sat on a low rise of earth near the opposite bank, knees drawn up, forearms resting loosely against them. He hadn’t noticed Jace waking—or if he had, he didn’t react. His gaze was fixed on the sky, watching the last stars dim and disappear like secrets being swallowed by the coming day.
The faint light caught the sharp lines of his face, carving shadows beneath his eyes. He looked still. Too still.
Lost in thought.
Troubled.
Jace watched him for a long moment, unease settling quietly in his chest.
Something about the way Julian sat there—alone, awake before dawn, staring at the dying night—felt heavy.
Like a man already carrying tomorrow’s weight.
Jace rose quietly and crossed the narrow strip of grass, feet brushing against dew-damp earth. Julian didn’t look back. He sat at the water’s edge, gaze fixed on the sky where the last stars were thinning—fading as dawn crept closer.
Jace lowered himself beside him.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The lake was still. The world felt suspended, like it was waiting for something to go wrong.
“Did you sleep at all?” Jace asked finally.
Julian nodded once. “Yeah. For a bit. Woke up not long ago.”
Another silence stretched between them—thicker this time.
Jace drew in a slow breath. “I don’t know what fate’s got waiting for us beyond those trees,” he said quietly. “But whatever happens—”
Julian cut him off.
“We’ve come too far,” he said, his voice calm but edged with something sharp. “Farther than most ever get. Probably farther than anyone ever has.”
He finally looked away from the sky, eyes dropping to the water.
“And to die here,” he continued, fist clenching, “right at the edge of it… that would just be a cruel joke. Like the world dragging us all this way just to stop us where it hurts the most.”
He let out a breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh.
“Like being shown the entryway,” he added, “and dying on the doorstep.”
“And even still… through every brutal, excruciating step it took to get us here—” Julian exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving something far off in the distance, “—it felt like something was with us. Like we weren’t just stumbling forward on blind hope.”
He shook his head once, a short, disbelieving motion.
“Like something was guiding us. Making sure we made it this far.”
A pause. Then, softer—almost embarrassed—
“As if we were being led by something… divine.”
He huffed a quiet breath. “I know that sounds crazy.”
Jace didn’t laugh.
He didn’t scoff.
Instead, he stared out over the water, nodding in agreement.
“No,” he replied. “It doesn’t.”
Julian glanced at him.
“I’ve felt it too,” Jace continued. “Since the bridge. I was sure that was it—that we were done.” He spoke like the air itself was listening. “I didn’t think you were going to snap out of it. Not then. Not with the hex tearing you apart like that.”
His gaze cut sideways.
“But you did.”
Jace shook his head slowly, disbelief still clinging to the memory.
“And then the desert,” he went on. “We should’ve died out there. No question. Heatstroke. Dehydration. Just… erased.”
He turned to Julian now, eyes steady. Serious.
“But you came back. Again. And if you hadn’t—”
He exhaled hard.
“—we wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”
Neither of them rushed to fill the silence.
Whatever had guided them this far…
They’d both felt it.
And neither of them could deny it anymore.
Julian pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders once as if settling the weight of the moment into place.
“I’m glad it’s not just me,” he spoke into the space between them. “This whole time… it feels like this is where I was always supposed to end up. Not destiny. Just inevitability.”
Jace rose beside him, dusting grass from his palms. He didn’t argue. Didn’t joke.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said simply. “I’m ready.”
Julian turned toward the treeline.
The forest loomed ahead—dark, patient, unchanged. Waiting.
“Well,” he muttered, something sharp settling behind his eyes, “let’s not give our luck any more time to run out.”
They moved quickly after that.
The lake was cold enough to bite, but they welcomed it—scrubbing sweat and sand from skin, shock clearing the last of the fog from their heads. Fresh clothes replaced stiff, salt-stained fabric. Boots were laced tight, pulled snug around aching ankles. Straps adjusted. Packs secured.
Final checks.
Final breaths.
They stood at the edge of the water, facing the trees.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Julian glanced sideways at Jace.
Jace met his look and tipped his head.
Together, they stepped forward.
The grass gave way to shadow.
And the forest swallowed them whole the moment they crossed the threshold.
The temperature dropped—not sharply, but unnaturally, like the warmth had been stripped away rather than faded. The air was thick, stale, carrying the scent of damp earth and something older beneath it… decay without rot. Silence pressed in from all sides, heavy and deliberate.
No forest animals.
No insects.
No wind.
Even their footsteps felt unwelcome.
The ground beneath their boots was soft in places, spongy with moss that gave too easily, then suddenly hard with tangled roots that jutted like bones through the soil. Trees rose on either side of them—twisted, gnarled things with bark darkened as if scorched long ago. Their branches clawed overhead, knitting together into a canopy so dense it devoured the light behind them.
Julian’s skin prickled.
Not fear exactly—something worse.
The unmistakable sensation of being noticed.
He had the irrational urge to glance over his shoulder, then resisted it. Whatever watched from the forest didn’t need movement to track them. It already knew they were there.
Jace slowed beside him, breath shallow. “You feel that, right?”
Julian confirmed with a nod, tightening his grip on the straps of his pack as he forced his legs to keep moving.
The moment they crossed beneath the first tangled branches, the forest changed.
The light died quickly. What little sunlight reached the canopy fractured into thin, sickle-shaped slashes, never quite touching the ground. Shadows pooled between the roots—too deep, too still.
Then came the sound.
Not footsteps.
Not quite wind.
A faint rustling, just off to the side. Leaves whispering against one another even though the branches above them didn’t move.
Julian slowed.
Jace felt it too. He didn’t speak, but his shoulders tensed, his hand drifting closer to his weapon.
The rustling shifted.
Behind them now.
Then—closer.
A murmur brushed the edge of Julian’s hearing. Soft. Fragmented. Almost like breath passing over syllables that refused to settle into words.
It wasn’t a language he recognized.
It wasn’t any language.
The sounds slid wrong—too many consonants, vowels stretching unnaturally, like something trying to remember how speech worked. The whispers crawled along his spine, raising gooseflesh in their wake.
Jace swallowed. “Tell me you hear that.”
“Yeah,” Julian answered.
Julian’s wolf stirred beneath his skin, hackles lifting, a low, silent snarl vibrating through his chest.
This wasn’t a place meant for the living.
And the forest knew they didn’t belong.
The whispers thickened again.
Not louder.
Closing in.
They slid through the trees in overlapping threads—too many voices, too close together, brushing Julian’s ears, then Jace’s, then both at once. The sound wasn’t loud, but it pressed inward, like hands on the inside of his skull.
It came again. Branches cracked low to the ground, then higher—like something was climbing. Or stalking.
“Do you see anything?” Jace whispered.
Julian scanned the undergrowth. The trunks. The dense web of branches overhead.
“Nothing,” he murmured.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
Snap.
This time it came from behind them.
They spun in unison, backs brushing, eyes sweeping the shadows.
A low chuckle rippled through the trees.
Not human.
It came from everywhere and nowhere at once, threading through the branches, warping as it moved—too high, then too low, like multiple throats trying on the same laughter and none of them quite fitting.
Julian turned, senses flaring, every instinct screaming danger. His wolf surged forward, teeth bared inside his chest.
Jace’s hand snapped to his holster.
The soft metallic click of the safety sliding off sounded deafening in the hush as he drew the gun and raised it toward the brush, arms locked, breath shallow.
A shape shifted behind the leaves.
Tall.
Too tall.
Its outline warped as it moved, stretching unnaturally, as if the shadows themselves were trying to stand upright. The whispers spiked, overlapping into something almost gleeful.
Julian took a step forward. “Jace—wait—”
The shape lunged.
Jace fired.
Once.
The recoil jolted his arms.
The shadow jerked back—but didn’t fall.
Julian’s heart slammed into his ribs.
“Jace!” he shouted.
Jace fired a second time.
The shots detonated in the forest, the sound so loud it felt like it ripped the silence apart. Birds—or something like birds—burst from the canopy in a frenzy of wings.
The figure staggered mid-stride.
A choked sound—half gasp, half broken sob—tore through the clearing.
“Jace?”
A familiar voice made Jace go still.
“No,” he breathed.
The figure collapsed to her knees, clutching her side with a broken sound that punched the air from Jace’s lungs.
His gun lowered slowly.
His voice came out hoarse. Small.
“…Maddy?”
Her face was pale beneath the faint light, eyes wide with shock and pain.
Blood soaked through her fingers.
The forest fell silent.
Jace stared at her like the world had just split open beneath his feet.
Maddy coughed weakly, crimson bubbling at the corner of her mouth.
“I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should’ve made myself known.”
Jace didn’t move.
His gun trembled in his hand, arms locked, breath shallow and uneven—as if he’d forgotten how to inhale properly.
“Wh–what are you doing here?” he asked in a shaky breath.
Maddy’s lips quivered into something like a sad smile. “I was worried,” she said softly. “I had to follow. I had to make sure you were safe.”
Her knees buckled.
She pitched sideways with a weak cry, hitting the forest floor hard.
“Maddy!” Jace surged forward—
A strong hand clamped around his arm.
Julian yanked him back.
“Jace—stop,” Julian snapped.
“That’s not Maddy.”
The words landed like a slap.
Jace spun on him, eyes wild.
“What the hell are you talking about? Look at her!”
Julian didn’t let go—nor did he look away from the figure on the ground. His voice dropped, low and urgent.
“How did she make it all the way here on her own? Think about it—this doesn’t make sense.”
Jace hesitated.
On the ground, Maddy lifted her head. Her eyes found Jace’s.
She reached out a blood-slicked hand, fingers trembling.
“Jace…” Her voice cracked, thin and desperate. “I’m dying. Please. Just—hold me.”
Jace’s chest heaved. His eyes flicked between Julian and the bleeding figure.
His wolf stirred uneasily beneath his skin, hackles rising.
His grip tightened on nothing.
“…My wolf doesn’t recognize your scent,” he said plainly.
Maddy’s sob cut off mid-sound.
Her face stilled.
Then—she laughed.
A laugh not of this world.
It started soft and broken—then dropped into something too deep, too layered, vibrating through the ground like it came from a cavern instead of a throat. The sound warped as it rose, echoing from multiple directions at once.
“Oh, clever,” it purred.
Its body convulsed.
Bones cracked—loud, wet snaps. The spine arched violently as its limbs elongated, joints bending at impossible angles. Skin rippled, splitting along its arms and shoulders as something dark and stone-like forced its way through.
Its fingers stretched, nails blackening, fusing into talons long and curved like hooked blades. Its jaw unhinged with a sickening pop, teeth multiplying, sharpening, filling its mouth until there was no room for anything but hunger.
Its eyes bled out entirely—sinking into shadow—until only glowing slits remained, burning with a cold, voided light.
Its body looked carved from leather and fur, veins glowing faintly beneath the surface like dying embers. Runes—ancient and jagged—etched themselves across its chest and throat, pulsing as if alive.
The thing straightened to its full height, towering over them.
A sentinel.
Its head tilted slowly.
Studying.
Smiling.
Julian took several slow steps backward, never breaking eye contact with the thing standing where Maddy had been.
His hand closed tighter around Jace’s arm.
“Jace,” he said quietly.
Air scraped into Jace’s lungs. “Yeah.”
They stood frozen for one suspended second—two men staring at something they could only imagine in nightmares.
The sentinel’s talons flexed.
The forest seemed to lean in.
Julian didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
“Run.”