Bleeding

**Kelly Thompson's POV**

The Veil is bleeding.

Since we tore Lumi from its grasp, the horizon has begun to fray, the tundra dissolving into static at its edges. The sky weeps ribbons of liquid light, and the ground shifts beneath our feet—one moment ice, the next ash, then sand that screams when touched. Lumi walks between Jara and me, her silver scars now pulsing like veins of trapped lightning. She hasn’t spoken since we left the Mirror City. When she sleeps, her whispers sync with the Veil’s dying hum.

Jara eyes the girl’s trembling hands. **“She’s a compass. The Veil’s still in her head.”**

**“Or she’s holding it together,”** I say, though doubt claws at me. The shadow stirs, its voice slick and eager. *She’s a fuse. Let her burn.*