Threads and riddles

Eve's POV

Eve stared at the ancient leather-bound book on her desk like it had personally insulted her entire bloodline. Her room was dim, lit only by the flickering light of a half-dead candle, which made the gold-embossed symbols on the book’s cover shimmer in a way that was just a little too dramatic for her taste.

She’d been sitting here for over an hour, fingers twitching toward the pages, then pulling back. Her sarcasm had kept her company at first—snarky quips whispered into the silence like a shield against the despair curling in her chest. But sarcasm had its limits. Especially when you had no leads, no sign of your best friend, and an ancient spellbook that practically screamed “DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU’RE AN IDIOT OR DESPERATE.”

Well, good news. She was both.

“So,” Eve muttered, cracking her knuckles as she sat up straighter, “this is how it starts. Tragic girl, mysterious book, demonic contract. What could possibly go wrong?”