All good things must come to an end.
And for Aurora Mitchell, more often than not, her dreams flowed directly into the nightmares that were left in their wake.
It was emotional whiplash, to say the least, going from the best night of her life to one of the worst in a matter of minutes. One moment she and Lorcán were still in their own little world, practically floating on cloud 9 as a couple. After years of friendship, quiet pining, and unspoken feelings, they’d taken that leap together, and walking hand in hand back from the beach, the world had felt infinite, like they could conquer anything.
But the next moment, they’d descended directly into chaos. The result of an attack on the ARC by a creature called the Chernobog, claiming the lives of several students and injuring plenty more.
Her friends had been there. Her teammates. And she hadn’t been.
Aurora stayed over at Lorcán’s dorm that night, though sleep didn’t come easily. She lay beside him, curled under his arm, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, but even his comforting presence couldn’t quiet the turmoil in her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the faces of the injured students, the devastation.
The night had started so perfectly, and now it was nothing but a blur of guilt and regret.
After what seemed like hours of lying awake, she slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him, and wandered over to sit by the window. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a soft glow over the campus below. It looked so peaceful, but Aurora knew better. Beneath the surface, there was tension. Fear. Grief.
Part of her was thankful that they hadn’t been there, that she and Lorcán had been safe from the attack. But the thought felt selfish, like a betrayal of the people she cared about. How could she be grateful for her safety when so many others had suffered? Her friends, her teammates—they had faced the terror of the Chernobog while she had been wrapped up in her own happiness, blissfully unaware of the danger that loomed.
The guilt gnawed at her. She hated herself for even feeling relieved. What kind of person was she, counting her blessings when others had been hurt, when lives had been lost? Her mind flashed back to the faces she had seen when they returned, their haunted expressions and the eerie silence that had followed. Aurora couldn’t help but feel like she’d abandoned them, like she’d failed her friends when they needed her most. She should have been there, should have fought alongside them. Instead, she’d been dancing on the beach, lost in the euphoria of her new relationship with Lorcán.
She ran a hand through her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. It wasn’t like she could go back and change what happened. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d let everyone down, including herself. The thought made her stomach twist.
Turning back to look at Lorcán’s sleeping form, she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the peacefulness in his expression that seemed so far removed from the unease swirling inside of her. They hadn’t planned for any of this to happen, of course, but knowing that didn’t make the guilt any easier to bear.
Aurora hugged her knees to her chest as a shiver racked her spine, her back having been pressed against the cold windowsill. Though she couldn’t escape the weight of her thoughts, the icy air only made her feel more alone. She tore her gaze away from the darkened landscape below and stood, returning to bed and slipping beneath the blankets with careful movements so as not to disturb Lorcán. As soon as she settled, he stirred slightly, instinctively pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her and his warmth taking away the chill.
She allowed herself to relax into him, and in his arms, the world felt smaller, the chaos a little less overwhelming. Burying her face in the curve of his neck, she inhaled the familiar citrus and smoke scent of him, finding comfort even though the heartache still lingered at the edges of her mind.
Tomorrow, they’d face what came next, but for now, she allowed herself this small moment of serenity, even when everything else seemed to be rapidly unraveling and falling apart.
Pacific Royal Collegiate & University is closed.
Aurora froze.
Every word that followed was muffled, the only sound louder than the students around her was the deafening ringing in her ears. Her gaze drifted, unfocused, the moisture pooling in her eyes turning everything before her blurry and distorted. The closest thing she’d ever had to a home, slipping from her fingers, just like that.
It was happening all over again, a vicious cycle continued.
“I have nowhere else to go.” The redhead exhaled, rigid in her state of shock, “PRCU is the only place I have, Lorcán.” She whispered, her voice shaky, eyes wide with disbelief. “What am I going to do?” The hand that was intertwined with his grew limp. She felt completely and utterly numb.
“I don’t have another choice, I’m going to have to go to the Foundation,” The tears began to roll down her freckled cheeks as realization hit. “I-I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to go.” She continued, her voice cracking and her breath hitching, the panic beginning to set in.
Lorcán pulled her in tightly against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing to try and force some of the tension from his girlfriend’s body. He gave her a minute to catch her breath before speaking.
“You’re not going anywhere, you’re staying right here with me.” He replied in a low voice, his tone comforting. “The house has another bedroom and my parents already see you as part of our family. No one is letting you go to the Foundation,” He added, emitting a slight warm glow from his body to help her calm.
“This is our home, we’re staying right here. We’ll make this work, I promise.”
Aurora felt the steady rise and fall of his chest as he held her tightly and attempted to match the rhythm of his breathing, warmth radiating from his body and wrapping around her soothingly. But she still was sent reeling.
“No, I-I-I couldn’t,” She sputtered, immediately pushing back on his statement. “Your parents already have enough to worry about,” The redhead knew that her staying with the Roth’s meant she was another mouth to feed, another person to concern themselves with. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden. “I’d never put them in that position, I can’t.”
“I’m insisting, firstly as your friend, secondly as your boyfriend,” Lorcán implored, “I’m not taking ‘no’ as an answer, I’ll get a job to help out. It’ll be fine, we’ll make this work.” He continued, “I’m not losing you to the Foundation too.”
Her pulse was racing, but something within her settled at his unwavering resolve, even though her mind continued to spin out and the tears streamed down her face. Maybe it was because she felt safest with him, and deep down she knew that so long as they were together, she’d be okay. But later, as she sat on the porch of the Roth homestead while Lorcán spoke with his parents inside, something occurred to her.
He was home.
PRCU had only been a place, Lorcán had been the one to make it mean something more. It didn’t matter where they were physically - on Dundas Island, on the mainland, somewhere else - wherever he was, was where she was meant to be.
She wouldn't let him slip through her fingers too.
And for Aurora Mitchell, more often than not, her dreams flowed directly into the nightmares that were left in their wake.
It was emotional whiplash, to say the least, going from the best night of her life to one of the worst in a matter of minutes. One moment she and Lorcán were still in their own little world, practically floating on cloud 9 as a couple. After years of friendship, quiet pining, and unspoken feelings, they’d taken that leap together, and walking hand in hand back from the beach, the world had felt infinite, like they could conquer anything.
But the next moment, they’d descended directly into chaos. The result of an attack on the ARC by a creature called the Chernobog, claiming the lives of several students and injuring plenty more.
Her friends had been there. Her teammates. And she hadn’t been.
Aurora stayed over at Lorcán’s dorm that night, though sleep didn’t come easily. She lay beside him, curled under his arm, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, but even his comforting presence couldn’t quiet the turmoil in her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the faces of the injured students, the devastation.
The night had started so perfectly, and now it was nothing but a blur of guilt and regret.
After what seemed like hours of lying awake, she slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him, and wandered over to sit by the window. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a soft glow over the campus below. It looked so peaceful, but Aurora knew better. Beneath the surface, there was tension. Fear. Grief.
Part of her was thankful that they hadn’t been there, that she and Lorcán had been safe from the attack. But the thought felt selfish, like a betrayal of the people she cared about. How could she be grateful for her safety when so many others had suffered? Her friends, her teammates—they had faced the terror of the Chernobog while she had been wrapped up in her own happiness, blissfully unaware of the danger that loomed.
The guilt gnawed at her. She hated herself for even feeling relieved. What kind of person was she, counting her blessings when others had been hurt, when lives had been lost? Her mind flashed back to the faces she had seen when they returned, their haunted expressions and the eerie silence that had followed. Aurora couldn’t help but feel like she’d abandoned them, like she’d failed her friends when they needed her most. She should have been there, should have fought alongside them. Instead, she’d been dancing on the beach, lost in the euphoria of her new relationship with Lorcán.
She ran a hand through her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. It wasn’t like she could go back and change what happened. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d let everyone down, including herself. The thought made her stomach twist.
Turning back to look at Lorcán’s sleeping form, she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the peacefulness in his expression that seemed so far removed from the unease swirling inside of her. They hadn’t planned for any of this to happen, of course, but knowing that didn’t make the guilt any easier to bear.
Aurora hugged her knees to her chest as a shiver racked her spine, her back having been pressed against the cold windowsill. Though she couldn’t escape the weight of her thoughts, the icy air only made her feel more alone. She tore her gaze away from the darkened landscape below and stood, returning to bed and slipping beneath the blankets with careful movements so as not to disturb Lorcán. As soon as she settled, he stirred slightly, instinctively pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her and his warmth taking away the chill.
She allowed herself to relax into him, and in his arms, the world felt smaller, the chaos a little less overwhelming. Burying her face in the curve of his neck, she inhaled the familiar citrus and smoke scent of him, finding comfort even though the heartache still lingered at the edges of her mind.
Tomorrow, they’d face what came next, but for now, she allowed herself this small moment of serenity, even when everything else seemed to be rapidly unraveling and falling apart.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Pacific Royal Collegiate & University is closed.
Aurora froze.
Every word that followed was muffled, the only sound louder than the students around her was the deafening ringing in her ears. Her gaze drifted, unfocused, the moisture pooling in her eyes turning everything before her blurry and distorted. The closest thing she’d ever had to a home, slipping from her fingers, just like that.
It was happening all over again, a vicious cycle continued.
“I have nowhere else to go.” The redhead exhaled, rigid in her state of shock, “PRCU is the only place I have, Lorcán.” She whispered, her voice shaky, eyes wide with disbelief. “What am I going to do?” The hand that was intertwined with his grew limp. She felt completely and utterly numb.
“I don’t have another choice, I’m going to have to go to the Foundation,” The tears began to roll down her freckled cheeks as realization hit. “I-I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to go.” She continued, her voice cracking and her breath hitching, the panic beginning to set in.
Lorcán pulled her in tightly against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing to try and force some of the tension from his girlfriend’s body. He gave her a minute to catch her breath before speaking.
“You’re not going anywhere, you’re staying right here with me.” He replied in a low voice, his tone comforting. “The house has another bedroom and my parents already see you as part of our family. No one is letting you go to the Foundation,” He added, emitting a slight warm glow from his body to help her calm.
“This is our home, we’re staying right here. We’ll make this work, I promise.”
Aurora felt the steady rise and fall of his chest as he held her tightly and attempted to match the rhythm of his breathing, warmth radiating from his body and wrapping around her soothingly. But she still was sent reeling.
“No, I-I-I couldn’t,” She sputtered, immediately pushing back on his statement. “Your parents already have enough to worry about,” The redhead knew that her staying with the Roth’s meant she was another mouth to feed, another person to concern themselves with. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden. “I’d never put them in that position, I can’t.”
“I’m insisting, firstly as your friend, secondly as your boyfriend,” Lorcán implored, “I’m not taking ‘no’ as an answer, I’ll get a job to help out. It’ll be fine, we’ll make this work.” He continued, “I’m not losing you to the Foundation too.”
Her pulse was racing, but something within her settled at his unwavering resolve, even though her mind continued to spin out and the tears streamed down her face. Maybe it was because she felt safest with him, and deep down she knew that so long as they were together, she’d be okay. But later, as she sat on the porch of the Roth homestead while Lorcán spoke with his parents inside, something occurred to her.
He was home.
PRCU had only been a place, Lorcán had been the one to make it mean something more. It didn’t matter where they were physically - on Dundas Island, on the mainland, somewhere else - wherever he was, was where she was meant to be.
She wouldn't let him slip through her fingers too.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Location: The Beach - Pacific Royal Campus
Human #5.012: Where Do I Go?
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Aurora stood waiting at the edge of the path to the beach, the point in which the trees opened up to greet wide open space and where rough gravel met soft sand. Her sapphire eyes watched the waves crash onto the shoreline, entranced, as if she were examining the intricacies of their ebb and flow.
The bags under her eyes were noticeable and her fair skin was far paler than usual, the last few days having sucked her effervescent demeanor dry. At this rate, she had no more tears left to cry, having practically exhausted herself with the endless questions that had no answers and the overwhelming changes which left her aimless.
The end was imminent and the unknown awaited.
The sound of gravel crunching under wheels cut through the air, coming in spurts of energy. He was no longer sporting casts on his legs, but his hunched body language and grimaced expression were not a comforting view when he rolled to a stop near his teammate. His eyes glanced in Aurora's direction, but he didn't seem to focus on her. He opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound that came out was a raspy exhale. He cleared his throat for a moment, shaking his head a little. He didn't even know what to say to her. Or any of them, for that matter.
The words he did settle on were simple, sincere, and empty. His voice lacked the usual warmth, instead echoing with sorrow and frustration.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. It's… I'm not used to this.”
Aurora didn’t look at Rory as he spoke, anxiously tucking her hair behind her ears, her dull copper locks lacking their normally vibrant hue. She was hesitant to shift her gaze towards him- down at him. She hadn’t seen him since the day after the attack, when she and Lorcán had gone together to visit both him and Haven in the infirmary, but at that point he was still resting in bed, legs covered with bandages and blankets.
Knowing that he was confined to a chair increased the guilt she felt for not being there, and facing it now was a tangible reminder that she had failed her teammates, her friends. Tentatively, she glanced at him, and that familiar pang of regret hit her like a truck, but yet her expression remained stoic, empty.
“I know.” The redhead sympathized, recognizing he was still navigating this new normal. “I haven’t been standing here long, besides, I’m enjoying the view.” She assured him, motioning out to the endless sea ahead of them. “How are you feeling today?” She asked, hoping it would come off as sincere although her voice wavered.
The corners of Rory's lips turned upwards in the faintest and saddest impression of a smile.
“Not jumping for joy.” He glanced up at Aurora, finally taking in her expression and posture. He turned his gaze back towards the beach. His words remained cold and stoic in a way that was alien to him.
“It would have killed you. And him.”
“You don’t know that.” She was quick to reply, not wasting a breath on words that weren’t truthful as her eyes drifted out to the horizon, the sky painted in shades of orange and pink. “I could have teleported you guys out, Lorcán could have thawed the ice and distracted the Chernobog long enough for Alyssa and Luce to finish it.” Aurora could feel the lump forming in the back of her throat.
“We should’ve been there. Things would have been different”
Rory shook his head.
“Maybe. Or maybe there would be more gravestones.” His breathing was deep and heavy, his eyes shifting to the sea. “It doesn't matter now. We can't change what happened.”
A heavy silence hung between the pair, Aurora not quite sure of what else she could say in response. Rory was right—they couldn’t change what had happened—but that didn’t stop the constant, gnawing question of what if. Her jaw tightened as she fought against the surge of emotions bubbling beneath the surface, the loss weighing on her chest, threatening to spill over.
“I know,” She whispered, her voice thick with the unspoken grief that lingered. “But that doesn't mean I’ll ever stop wishing we could.”
The redhead turned and took a step to the side, positioning herself behind Rory’s wheelchair, palms coming to rest on the hand grips. She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to teleport not only her friend but his wheelchair as well.
“Ready whenever you are.”
Rory simply nodded, unable to utter a single word. He wanted to reach up and offer some sort of support, but he didn't have the energy. He simply hunched over in his seat, readying himself for that weightless sensation while gripping the armrests tight.
Aurora closed her eyes, and in an instant, they were gone.
The action felt more strenuous than it normally did, the weakness in her legs evident when her knees wobbled upon their arrival on the beach. But she steadied herself before anyone could notice, bracing against the chair for a moment while she readjusted to the sinking sensation of the sand below her feet. With Rory now parked in the spot left intentionally vacant directly next to Haven, the redhead quickly found her place beside Lorcán. She wasn’t even seated for more than a few seconds before his hand drifted towards her, and she wordlessly interlaced her fingers with his.
They still hadn’t told the team officially of their relationship per their original agreement, but especially now, it didn’t seem right to share such positive news. The pair had been the only ones to gain something on a night that everyone else had lost, if anything it’d be tone deaf to express such sentiments. Nonetheless, she assumed that most of their friends had likely figured out by now that they were together.
Her sullen sapphires flitted around the campfire, gazing upon those gathered who remained. What once was a lively and tight-knit group now felt fractured, haunted by the events that had torn through their world just days ago. The circle was smaller now, empty seats reminding them of those who weren’t with them anymore. The mood was somber, heavy, and Aurora felt the weight of it press down on her shoulders. It wasn’t just the loss of people; it was the loss of what they once had together, that carefree camaraderie that had been shattered in an instant.
She glanced at the last members of Eclipse, who’s stories she would unfortunately never get the chance to know, just their names and abilities.
Haven, her gorgeous wings now a whisper of a memory, freedom now just out of her reach, and Rory, who had tried so hard to put the team first, save the girl by his side which ended in his own detriment.
Gil, the actor whose facade had finally cracked, unable to hide the grief that had consumed him, and Banjo, a man in mourning, lost without his love, which made her shift slightly closer to her boyfriend.
She couldn’t even bring herself to look at Harper who sat on her other side, her closest confidant, eyes the shade of snow. There’d be no more drawings, her precious sketches permanently erased with her gift having vanished.
Aurora squeezed Lorcán’s hand tighter, her grip almost desperate. She didn’t know how to fix any of this, didn’t know how to bridge the gaps that had now grown between them all. But her attention was pulled away by movement on the edge of her vision. Two figures stepped into her periphery, one of them—a white-haired girl—approaching Gil with something small and delicate in her hand.
The last known belonging of Amma Cahors. Ammaranthe she was told later on was her full name, the purest piece of herself which she had tried to reveal during the trials. The raven haired girl barely had the chance to show them who she really was. Aurora knew now that it was Amma who had saved Lorcán’s life - and she’d never get the chance to express her gratitude or repay that debt.
She knew she could have stopped this, all of this, or at the very least, she could have prevented this from happening. And she’d need to learn to live with that for the rest of her days.
The redhead’s hand suddenly went cold, and she turned her head to watch Lorcán’s retreating form that followed Gil down the beach. Her fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for the warmth that had just slipped away, and for a moment, she sat frozen. The crackling of the fire was the only sound that broke the silence which had fallen over them once again, the light and shadow the flames cast flickering across the somber faces of her friends, their eyes heavy with grief and exhaustion.
Exhaling audibly, she spoke for the first time.
“I’m going with Lorcán to Crestwood Hollow.” She revealed, although she doubted it came as much of a surprise to the rest of the group. “After that...” Her voice faltered, and she glanced around the circle, meeting each of their eyes for a brief moment before her gaze dropped to the ground.
“We’ll figure it out,” She added quietly, though the uncertainty in her tone betrayed her. The words felt like a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep, and she let them hang in the air for a moment.
“I hope.”
The bags under her eyes were noticeable and her fair skin was far paler than usual, the last few days having sucked her effervescent demeanor dry. At this rate, she had no more tears left to cry, having practically exhausted herself with the endless questions that had no answers and the overwhelming changes which left her aimless.
The end was imminent and the unknown awaited.
The sound of gravel crunching under wheels cut through the air, coming in spurts of energy. He was no longer sporting casts on his legs, but his hunched body language and grimaced expression were not a comforting view when he rolled to a stop near his teammate. His eyes glanced in Aurora's direction, but he didn't seem to focus on her. He opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound that came out was a raspy exhale. He cleared his throat for a moment, shaking his head a little. He didn't even know what to say to her. Or any of them, for that matter.
The words he did settle on were simple, sincere, and empty. His voice lacked the usual warmth, instead echoing with sorrow and frustration.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. It's… I'm not used to this.”
Aurora didn’t look at Rory as he spoke, anxiously tucking her hair behind her ears, her dull copper locks lacking their normally vibrant hue. She was hesitant to shift her gaze towards him- down at him. She hadn’t seen him since the day after the attack, when she and Lorcán had gone together to visit both him and Haven in the infirmary, but at that point he was still resting in bed, legs covered with bandages and blankets.
Knowing that he was confined to a chair increased the guilt she felt for not being there, and facing it now was a tangible reminder that she had failed her teammates, her friends. Tentatively, she glanced at him, and that familiar pang of regret hit her like a truck, but yet her expression remained stoic, empty.
“I know.” The redhead sympathized, recognizing he was still navigating this new normal. “I haven’t been standing here long, besides, I’m enjoying the view.” She assured him, motioning out to the endless sea ahead of them. “How are you feeling today?” She asked, hoping it would come off as sincere although her voice wavered.
The corners of Rory's lips turned upwards in the faintest and saddest impression of a smile.
“Not jumping for joy.” He glanced up at Aurora, finally taking in her expression and posture. He turned his gaze back towards the beach. His words remained cold and stoic in a way that was alien to him.
“It would have killed you. And him.”
“You don’t know that.” She was quick to reply, not wasting a breath on words that weren’t truthful as her eyes drifted out to the horizon, the sky painted in shades of orange and pink. “I could have teleported you guys out, Lorcán could have thawed the ice and distracted the Chernobog long enough for Alyssa and Luce to finish it.” Aurora could feel the lump forming in the back of her throat.
“We should’ve been there. Things would have been different”
Rory shook his head.
“Maybe. Or maybe there would be more gravestones.” His breathing was deep and heavy, his eyes shifting to the sea. “It doesn't matter now. We can't change what happened.”
A heavy silence hung between the pair, Aurora not quite sure of what else she could say in response. Rory was right—they couldn’t change what had happened—but that didn’t stop the constant, gnawing question of what if. Her jaw tightened as she fought against the surge of emotions bubbling beneath the surface, the loss weighing on her chest, threatening to spill over.
“I know,” She whispered, her voice thick with the unspoken grief that lingered. “But that doesn't mean I’ll ever stop wishing we could.”
The redhead turned and took a step to the side, positioning herself behind Rory’s wheelchair, palms coming to rest on the hand grips. She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to teleport not only her friend but his wheelchair as well.
“Ready whenever you are.”
Rory simply nodded, unable to utter a single word. He wanted to reach up and offer some sort of support, but he didn't have the energy. He simply hunched over in his seat, readying himself for that weightless sensation while gripping the armrests tight.
Aurora closed her eyes, and in an instant, they were gone.
The action felt more strenuous than it normally did, the weakness in her legs evident when her knees wobbled upon their arrival on the beach. But she steadied herself before anyone could notice, bracing against the chair for a moment while she readjusted to the sinking sensation of the sand below her feet. With Rory now parked in the spot left intentionally vacant directly next to Haven, the redhead quickly found her place beside Lorcán. She wasn’t even seated for more than a few seconds before his hand drifted towards her, and she wordlessly interlaced her fingers with his.
They still hadn’t told the team officially of their relationship per their original agreement, but especially now, it didn’t seem right to share such positive news. The pair had been the only ones to gain something on a night that everyone else had lost, if anything it’d be tone deaf to express such sentiments. Nonetheless, she assumed that most of their friends had likely figured out by now that they were together.
Her sullen sapphires flitted around the campfire, gazing upon those gathered who remained. What once was a lively and tight-knit group now felt fractured, haunted by the events that had torn through their world just days ago. The circle was smaller now, empty seats reminding them of those who weren’t with them anymore. The mood was somber, heavy, and Aurora felt the weight of it press down on her shoulders. It wasn’t just the loss of people; it was the loss of what they once had together, that carefree camaraderie that had been shattered in an instant.
She glanced at the last members of Eclipse, who’s stories she would unfortunately never get the chance to know, just their names and abilities.
Haven, her gorgeous wings now a whisper of a memory, freedom now just out of her reach, and Rory, who had tried so hard to put the team first, save the girl by his side which ended in his own detriment.
Gil, the actor whose facade had finally cracked, unable to hide the grief that had consumed him, and Banjo, a man in mourning, lost without his love, which made her shift slightly closer to her boyfriend.
She couldn’t even bring herself to look at Harper who sat on her other side, her closest confidant, eyes the shade of snow. There’d be no more drawings, her precious sketches permanently erased with her gift having vanished.
Aurora squeezed Lorcán’s hand tighter, her grip almost desperate. She didn’t know how to fix any of this, didn’t know how to bridge the gaps that had now grown between them all. But her attention was pulled away by movement on the edge of her vision. Two figures stepped into her periphery, one of them—a white-haired girl—approaching Gil with something small and delicate in her hand.
The last known belonging of Amma Cahors. Ammaranthe she was told later on was her full name, the purest piece of herself which she had tried to reveal during the trials. The raven haired girl barely had the chance to show them who she really was. Aurora knew now that it was Amma who had saved Lorcán’s life - and she’d never get the chance to express her gratitude or repay that debt.
She knew she could have stopped this, all of this, or at the very least, she could have prevented this from happening. And she’d need to learn to live with that for the rest of her days.
The redhead’s hand suddenly went cold, and she turned her head to watch Lorcán’s retreating form that followed Gil down the beach. Her fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for the warmth that had just slipped away, and for a moment, she sat frozen. The crackling of the fire was the only sound that broke the silence which had fallen over them once again, the light and shadow the flames cast flickering across the somber faces of her friends, their eyes heavy with grief and exhaustion.
Exhaling audibly, she spoke for the first time.
“I’m going with Lorcán to Crestwood Hollow.” She revealed, although she doubted it came as much of a surprise to the rest of the group. “After that...” Her voice faltered, and she glanced around the circle, meeting each of their eyes for a brief moment before her gaze dropped to the ground.
“We’ll figure it out,” She added quietly, though the uncertainty in her tone betrayed her. The words felt like a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep, and she let them hang in the air for a moment.
“I hope.”
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
| Vancouver, British Columbia - A Few Weeks from Now
Aurora stood in front of the payphone outside of the diner, the cool autumn air biting at her skin. Her fingers hovered over the keypad, trembling slightly, the slip of paper in her hand had grown soft from being folded and unfolded too many times, the ink barely legible. She’d gone over this moment in her head a thousand times, rehearsing the words, the question. But now, with the phone pressed to her ear, she contemplated if she really was about to do this.
She wasn’t ready. She doubted she'd ever be.
The faint ringing on the other end was steady, but with each tone, the knot in her stomach tightened.
"Hello?" Aurora swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.
"Hi there, I'm, uh, calling about one of your employees... Sasha Mitchell?" The name felt foreign on her lips, like it didn’t belong to her anymore. It had been so long since she'd said it out loud. "Does she still work there?"
The woman on the other end paused for a moment, her voice softening.
"Oh, dear... no. She quit a few months ago, actually. And..." Her tone turned somber, hesitant. "No one's seen or heard from her since."
“May I… may I ask who’s calling?”
Aurora’s heart sank, the sharp ache of years of wondering, of hoping, surged through her. She tried to steady her voice, but it came out shaky.
"I- I'm just an old friend," She said, almost whispering the lie. The other end of the line went quiet. She could almost hear the woman weighing her next words, wondering who this "old friend" really was.
"Well, if you happen to find anything out, do let us know." The woman’s voice was laced with sorrow, her words slow and careful, as if she knew speaking them could break something fragile. "We miss her around here, you know. Between you and me..." She sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken history.
"I hope she finally left that no-good husband of hers and skipped town."
Aurora’s grip tightened around the phone, her knuckles white. The mention of her stepfather twisted something inside her- that familiar fear. Memories she continually tried to bury began to resurface, the same ones that haunted her nightmares, but she forced them back down, the distance between her and her mother feeling more insurmountable than ever.
The silence between them stretched, filled with unspoken questions, before the woman cleared her throat.
"Well... take care, dear."
"Yeah... you too." Aurora murmured, the phone slipping from her grasp as she hung up. She stood there, staring blankly at the receiver, one of her only leads vanishing into thin air.
She wasn’t ready. She doubted she'd ever be.
The faint ringing on the other end was steady, but with each tone, the knot in her stomach tightened.
"Hello?" Aurora swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.
"Hi there, I'm, uh, calling about one of your employees... Sasha Mitchell?" The name felt foreign on her lips, like it didn’t belong to her anymore. It had been so long since she'd said it out loud. "Does she still work there?"
The woman on the other end paused for a moment, her voice softening.
"Oh, dear... no. She quit a few months ago, actually. And..." Her tone turned somber, hesitant. "No one's seen or heard from her since."
“May I… may I ask who’s calling?”
Aurora’s heart sank, the sharp ache of years of wondering, of hoping, surged through her. She tried to steady her voice, but it came out shaky.
"I- I'm just an old friend," She said, almost whispering the lie. The other end of the line went quiet. She could almost hear the woman weighing her next words, wondering who this "old friend" really was.
"Well, if you happen to find anything out, do let us know." The woman’s voice was laced with sorrow, her words slow and careful, as if she knew speaking them could break something fragile. "We miss her around here, you know. Between you and me..." She sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken history.
"I hope she finally left that no-good husband of hers and skipped town."
Aurora’s grip tightened around the phone, her knuckles white. The mention of her stepfather twisted something inside her- that familiar fear. Memories she continually tried to bury began to resurface, the same ones that haunted her nightmares, but she forced them back down, the distance between her and her mother feeling more insurmountable than ever.
The silence between them stretched, filled with unspoken questions, before the woman cleared her throat.
"Well... take care, dear."
"Yeah... you too." Aurora murmured, the phone slipping from her grasp as she hung up. She stood there, staring blankly at the receiver, one of her only leads vanishing into thin air.