Chapter Twenty-Five: Shadows and Spirits

The warmth of the underground cavern dulled the edges of reality, turning everything into a blur of laughter, flickering lantern light, and the slow burn of alcohol threading through their veins.

The air was thick with the scent of old earth and whiskey.

Lottie and Ballad had disappeared first, slipping into the darkness without a word, their departure met with knowing smirks from the crew.

Collin had made it through a single bottle before succumbing to its embrace, curled up on the cavern floor, cradling it like a lover, whispering sweet nothings to the glass.

"I could've had you all along," he mumbled, stroking the side of the bottle like it held his deepest secrets. "You never judged me. You never left me. You understand."

Tara huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

Across from her, Talulah sat with Seamus, both hunched over a small wooden slab where pieces of jagged bone and stone had been scattered in a messy pattern.

"What are you playing?" Tara asked, leaning forward.

Seamus smirked, his silver-streaked hair falling over his shoulders. "My own version of Maw."

Talulah lifted a giant bottle to her lips, taking a slow, measured sip. "He's cheating."

Seamus let out a mock gasp. "Accusing an old man of dishonesty? That's cruel, lass."

Talulah flicked a bone piece across the board, her ghostly pale features unreadable. "It's only cruel if it's false."

Seamus grinned and took another sip of his drink. "Fair enough."

Tara watched them for a moment, fascinated by the dynamic.

Talulah—who never seemed to relax, whose very presence was like a whisper of death—was leaning into the moment, eyes just a bit unfocused, movements just a little less precise than usual.

The alcohol had softened her edges.

It was strange. But nice.

Tara hesitated, then asked, "Talulah... how are you doing?"

Talulah didn't look up from the board. "Fine."

Tara frowned. "You don't have to be."

Talulah's fingers tensed against her bottle.

Seamus said nothing, carefully moving a stone piece into place.

Tara pressed on. "You haven't really talked about Zeke."

Talulah took a slow breath. "There's nothing to talk about."

Tara didn't believe that for a second.

She wanted to push further, to break through that cold, detached mask. But she also knew Talulah would never let herself fall apart in front of anyone.

So she let it go.

For now.

⸻

Tara's attention drifted toward the far end of the cavern, where Skye and Landon stood in hushed conversation.

She didn't mean to listen.

She tried not to.

But she was half-drunk and exhausted, and the cavern wasn't exactly a place for privacy.

Landon's posture was stiff, his hands clenched at his sides as he spoke, his words too quiet for her to make out.

Skye, in contrast, was unmoved.

Unbothered.

And then—he laughed.

It was unmistakable.

Low. Rough. A real, honest laugh.

Tara blinked, startled.

Skye hadn't laughed when Collin confessed his feelings.

Hadn't laughed at the drinking game, at Ballad's teasing, at anything else tonight.

But whatever Landon had said—it had cracked something open.

Landon's jaw tightened, his expression darkening.

Skye smirked, shaking his head as he took a swig from his bottle, then, without a word, turned and started walking toward Tara.

Tara barely had time to straighten before Skye stopped in front of her.

His black-glimmering eyes caught the light, shadows shifting in them like liquid night.

"Walk with me," he said.

Tara hesitated.

Landon didn't.

He nodded once, accepting whatever this was without argument.

For all the tension between them, there was respect there.

And that alone made Tara's stomach twist.

She stood, brushing the dust from her clothes, and followed Skye deeper into the tunnels, away from the dim glow of lanterns, away from the others.

⸻

They walked in silence for a while.

The tunnel stretched endlessly, the walls damp, the air thick.

Skye didn't seem to have a destination.

Neither did she.

Eventually, he stopped, leaning against a smooth stretch of stone, rolling the bottle between his fingers.

Tara crossed her arms. "What did Landon say?"

Skye's lips quirked. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Tara scowled. "I do, actually."

Skye took another sip of his drink. "He asked if I'd stay out of your way."

Tara stilled.

"...And?"

Skye exhaled. "And I laughed."

Tara frowned. "Why?"

Skye's black eyes studied her, sharp and searching. "Because he's acting like he has a choice."

Tara's breath caught.

A chill ran down her spine—not from fear, not from unease—but from something deeper. Something unsettlingly close to recognition.

Skye set his bottle down and took a step closer.

His presence was like gravity—pulling, impossible to ignore.

"You ever think about fate, Tara?"

Her pulse quickened. "Not really."

Skye tilted his head slightly. "You should."

Tara swallowed hard.

Skye's voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of something undeniable.

"The things inside you," he murmured. "The power you have—it wasn't made for choices."

Tara clenched her fists. "I don't believe that."

Skye smiled.

Not mocking. Not cruel.

Something... different.

"Good," he murmured.

He reached out—just slightly. Just enough that the space between them felt smaller.

"But believing won't be enough," he said. "Not when the time comes."

Then, from the shadows ahead, a sound drifted toward them.

A breathless sigh. A soft moan.

Tara's eyes widened.

Skye stilled.

They didn't have to see them to know.

Lottie. Ballad.

Tara's face burned instantly.

She took a step back, ready to retreat, to pretend she hadn't heard anything at all.

But Skye—Skye didn't move.

His eyes darkened.

Something unreadable flickered in the depths of them, something primal, something restrained.

Tara tried to ignore it, but she could feel it in the way his gaze lingered on her, in the way the air suddenly felt too thick between them.

He reached out—just the lightest touch—and brushed his fingers against her lips.

Tara froze.

His voice was softer this time, almost gentle.

"Not all things have choices," he murmured.

His fingers lingered for only a second before pulling away.

"Some things are just meant to be."

Tara's heart pounded.

Skye's lips quirked, his expression unreadable.

"Written in the stars," he said. "Like how some things are made for each other."

Tara couldn't breathe.

She wanted to ask him what he meant.

Wanted to demand answers, to tear apart whatever cryptic thing he was hinting at.

But before she could, Skye turned and walked back toward the cavern, leaving her standing in the dim light of the tunnels—with nothing but his words and the feeling that, somehow, he already knew how this story would end.