Chapter Thirty-One: A Crow’s Secret

The house was dead.

The moment the lullaby ended, the glamour shattered.

The pristine walls of her childhood home melted away, revealing the blackened, ruined husk beneath. Burned beams stretched toward the broken ceiling, their jagged edges like the ribs of a decayed corpse. Ash and soot coated the once-polished floors, and the air was thick with the memory of fire.

Tara staggered, her breath sharp as the truth of it all settled into her bones.

Bailon had done this.

He had held her in an illusion, a perfect prison of nostalgia, trapping her in a home that no longer existed.

And the moment that illusion fell—so did the last shred of doubt.

He knew she was here.

She could feel it in the way the air shifted, the sudden prickle along her spine. Somewhere, somehow, Bailon had been alerted. If he hadn't known before, he knew now. The DNHA would be closing in.

She didn't have time to think.

Didn't have time to hesitate.

There was one place she needed to check before they ran.

Her father's office.

She took off through the ruins, boots crunching against fallen debris as she sprinted through the skeletal remains of the hallways. Smoke and ash clung to the air, but she knew where to go—she could still see it in her mind, the layout of the house before it had been reduced to nothing but charred wreckage.

The study was at the back of the house, past the grand staircase.

When she reached it, her heart clenched.

Unlike the rest of the house, her father's office wasn't completely destroyed.

It was burned, yes—half of the ceiling had caved in, and the windows were shattered—but in the middle of the destruction, something stood untouched.

The desk.

Her father's desk.

Tara's pulse spiked.

She didn't question it. Didn't think about the eerie, untouched nature of it.

She just moved.

She shoved aside the debris, reaching for the drawer on the left side.

Her fingers trembled as she pressed against the hidden latch, a small, near-invisible mechanism built into the wood.

She had been the only one who knew about it.

Her father had never told anyone—not even Marabella.

The compartment had been their secret.

Not because it held anything important.

But because it had once held her favorite sweets.

A hidden stash meant just for her.

Back then, it had been a joke.

Now, as the latch clicked open and the drawer slid free, she prayed it held something far more valuable.

Her hands dug inside, heart hammering.

And then—her fingers brushed against something solid.

Paper.

Scrolls.

Tara inhaled sharply as she pulled them free, unraveling one of them.

At first, she didn't understand what she was looking at.

The ink had faded with time, the edges of the parchment singed.

But then—

A sigil.

An old, ancient marking, one she had seen before but couldn't place.

Her breath caught as her father's handwriting scrawled beneath it, sharp and hurried.

"The prophecy is real. We were wrong."

Tara's stomach turned.

Before she could decipher more, a flash of movement caught her eye.

Skye.

He was standing at the entrance, gaze dark, bow already in his hands.

His voice was low, urgent.

"We need to go."

Tara shoved the scrolls into her coat.

"I need to get out of here unnoticed."

Skye didn't hesitate.

"You can do it."

Tara's breath stilled.

He was right.

She had been practicing. Testing her limits.

Shapeshifting.

But she had never done it under pressure.

Never done it in the presence of anyone other than Skye.

And now—it was her only option.

She exhaled sharply, closing her eyes.

Focused.

The flicker came fast. The familiar pull in her gut.

Her bones ached, stretching, twisting.

Her skin rippled.

And when she opened her eyes—

She was smaller.

Smaller hands.

A rounder face.

A child's body.

She staggered back, chest heaving.

A little boy.

Skye studied her, then nodded approvingly.

"That'll work."

His hands flexed against the bowstring.

"I'll pull them away. You head to the market. Find the others."

Tara hesitated, glancing up at him.

He was watching her, the storm in his gaze unreadable.

"Be careful," she whispered.

Skye's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smirk.

"Always."

Then—he was gone.

Tara turned, pulling her coat tighter around her now-smaller frame.

She ran.

———

By the time she reached the market, the sky had dimmed into a warm shade of gold, bathing everything in hues of orange and yellow.

The streets were alive with the hum of voices. Vendors called out to passersby, selling food, supplies, and medicine magick.

It was the perfect cover.

She moved quickly, dodging between bodies, her smaller form slipping easily through the crowd.

Then—she spotted them.

Talulah.

Collin.

Seamus.

They were standing near another vendor's stall, pretending to browse through old supplies.

Tara inhaled sharply, steadying herself before slipping closer.

Talulah was the first to notice her.

Her eyes narrowed—then widened.

Tara didn't speak.

Just gave her a look.

Recognition flickered in Talulah's sharp gaze.

Without hesitation, she turned to Collin, looping her arm through his.

"Come along, darling," she said, voice light. "Your father is waiting."

Collin barely had time to react before Talulah reached out, gripping Tara's small hand.

Tara barely had time to breathe before an Ordie official stepped up to them.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

Talulah smiled.

"Not at all."

Collin stiffened beside her.

The official's gaze drifted to Tara.

Talulah tightened her grip on her hand.

"He's shy," she said smoothly. "Poor thing doesn't like crowds."

The Ordie studied them for a long moment.

Tara held her breath.

Then—

"Well, alright then."

He turned away.

The moment he was gone, Talulah exhaled.

Tara swallowed.

Seamus grunted. "That was too close."

Collin sighed dramatically. "Tell me about it. Do you know how hard it is to pretend to be married to this one?"

Talulah elbowed him, rolling her eyes.

Tara almost smiled.

Almost.

But something in the air had shifted.

Something was coming.

She could feel it.

And she wasn't sure if they would be ready.