Once upon a time, there was a girl who went back through a portal. With her mom. And her newly minted boyfriend. Bet most people wouldn’t see that one coming.

  But it didn’t matter how the stories usually went; that’s what I was about to do. I sat lounging on the couch, waiting for something to change. At this point, I just wanted to leave, and at the same time, I wanted to stay on the couch for the rest of eternity.

  I was in a cloak and a long, almost dress-like tunic, paired with soft trousers that I’d brought back from Kirath at some point to use at Renaissance fairs. Mom and Syrin were in her room finalizing plans. Plans that I couldn’t know. It felt like they'd been working on that forever. They'd talked for hours last night while I packed and worried. They were still planning when I went to bed. When I got up, pancakes were waiting for me in the kitchen, and they'd already disappeared again. I pushed down the bitterness that welled up. It was fine. I was infected. Knowing things could be dangerous. That didn’t make it feel any less like stepping into a survival reality show with zero preparation.

  I could trust Mom and Syrin. That didn’t mean I couldn’t also hate being in the dark. I shifted, staring at my packed bag. It was just a satchel, small and nondescript. That was all I was taking with me of my life. Just a little satchel and my bow.

  Shadow flickered at the edge of my vision, and I stiffened, my stomach clenching. I stared forward, and after a moment the darkness faded. The image of the Nightbound flashed in my head: the wrongness of its sharp-angled form, the shadows that leaked from it like dripping tar. My heartbeat stuttered. I couldn’t really become that, right?

  I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I rubbed my fingers against the cushion. Sometimes I could swear they were going numb. Like frostbite with no visible cause.

  Was that all in my mind? Was I making up symptoms because I was worried? Some sort of reverse placebo effect? I wanted Syrin to come back so I could ask.

  Shadow flickered in my vision again, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved myself off the couch and stomped down the hallway to Mom’s room. Murmured words filtered through the door as I knocked.

  Syrin opened it. He was wearing the trousers he’d arrived in along with one of Dad’s old tunics that was a little too baggy on him. It made him look like a disheveled adventurer, but that was probably the point.

  “Trina?” he asked, eyes flickering to a green threaded with silver. I blinked. Was that like… reverse curiosity? Embarrassed curiosity? Was he terrified for me and just trying to hide it?

  I shook my head. Didn’t matter. “My fingers feel numb sometimes. Is that normal? Am I just imagining things?”

  His breath caught, and my pulse immediately spiked. “You said there might be a way to block it,” I rushed on. “A way to slow it down so I could hear stuff, right?” I grabbed his hand. The light cord between the luminous cuffs around my wrists tightened at the movement, and I flinched.

  Syrin’s light flared white for a half second, then steadied as Mom appeared behind him.

  “Is that a symptom?” Mom’s voice was flat, and Syrin’s glow flickered again.

  “Yes,” he admitted softly.

  My breathing sped up again.

  “Trina, calm down.” His face was tight with worry, but his voice stayed steady. “Look, I’ll try, but if it seems too dangerous we wait. Numb fingers or no. We’ll be back in a few hours. It’ll be safer in Kirath.”

  Shadow flared in my vision again, and I doubled over as a cold sensation tugged at my stomach like nausea and frostbite were happening at the same time.

  Mom shot a glare at Syrin. “It’s listening. It looks like the infection knows it doesn’t have much time to work. We may have just pushed up the clock.”

  Syrin paled. “I… I didn’t think it could do that. This infection is wrong. Perhaps whoever did this knotted their own terms into the weave of the spell, but then I…”

  The nausea hit again, and I ran for the bathroom as everything in my stomach forced its way back up my throat. I barely made it to the toilet before retching.

  I just knelt there panting, trying to breathe. Fingers brushed my hair back from my face, and I flinched.

  “Syrin.” Mom’s voice. Her no-nonsense one. “Do something. Now.”

  The fingers trembled against my face, and I opened my eyes to find Syrin’s distressed expression staring back at me.

  “Trina,” he said softly. “This will hurt.”

  I wanted to answer. Instead, I vomited into the toilet again. Arms wrapped carefully around me as I finished, pulling me close to Syrin’s chest. I let my head lull, resting against his shoulder as he supported some of my weight. Then a damp washcloth was wiping my face. Darkness flickered in my vision. I tried to focus. Mom. The washcloth was Mom. She was arguing with Syrin. The words seemed to float over me.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Then there was fire. My thoughts went from too slow to pure pain, like touching a stove, but everywhere. I screamed. Arms tightened around me as the pain suddenly faded, going numb. I didn’t know whether that was good or bad. My vision was just darkness again. Was I—was I turning into shadow? Was that the numbness?

  Light flared against my vision, too bright. My whole being wanted to flinch away, but the arms wouldn’t let me. The brightness pressed against the darkness, and the cold retreated, leaving me with a steady, pleasant warmth, and suddenly I understood why the healing glow was gold. It felt like the calm warmth Syrin had when he was happy. Like he was pushing it out to me.

  “Trina?” The voice was soft against my ear. Syrin’s voice.

  I let out a soft hum. The cuffs on my wrists flared a little too hot, and I jerked as the feeling invaded the calm.

  I shifted, awareness coming back as I blinked up at him. His irises were a solid gold, his expression concerned. “You still with us?”

  Was I?

  I could feel the cold tile against my legs, but it wasn’t a bad cold. It was an alive cold. One that contrasted sharply with the warmth of Syrin’s arms wrapped around me. Somehow we’d gotten all turned around. I was facing him now. I buried my face into his shoulder, trying to sort it all out, concentrating on the feeling inside. The shadow wasn’t gone. Or at least, I didn’t think so. It was like there was a pressure gradient inside of me, the warmth holding back the cold.

  “Still here,” I muttered. “What did you do? I feel… I’m not really sure how to describe it actually.”

  Syrin let out a long breath. “I stuffed a bunch of magic inside you. Not elegant, but…” His hands trailed down my back, less like comfort and more like he was scanning for issues. “It appears to be working. Let me know if you feel any numbness again.”

  I slipped my arms around him, grip tightening, and gave a sharp nod.

  “That seems like a temporary solution,” Mom’s voice cut in.

  I felt Syrin’s breath against me as it deepened. “It is.”

  “But it will hold it back?” Mom asked.

  I turned my face to see his expression.

  Syrin bit his lip. “Yes. I can hold it back.” His hand trailed through my hair, gaze shifting back to me. “You just shouldn’t go too far. Ideally, we should stay in the same room, and I won’t be able to use fire at all until I heal you, which might… complicate our previous plans slightly.” He glanced at Mom.

  “If it keeps Trina safe, we’ll make it work. I’ll start brainstorming.”

  A knock came at the door. Mom froze, then cursed in Spanish. “Abuela” was the only explanation she gave as she stood and left the room.

  “This is awful timing,” I muttered.

  “Could be worse. It could have been five minutes ago,” Syrin said as he pressed a kiss against my hair, and I froze. That was new. “Sorry,” he breathed as he pulled back.

  I shifted to look at him. “For what? Saving me?”

  His cheeks burned. “No. Well, that too. I hate hurting you.”

  I pressed a hand into his chest. “It hurt way more before. I’d say this is a significant improvement.”

  He grimaced.

  “I’m serious, Syrin.”

  He stared at me for a second, his glow flickering wildly. His arms tightened for half a second like he would pull me closer, before freezing like he wasn’t sure if he should pull back.

  I leaned in again. “You can hold me.”

  He let out a rush of breath and pulled me close, burying his face in my hair. “I thought it wouldn’t work for a second,” he admitted. “I was terrified that I wasn’t fast enough. That you’d become a Nightbound because it took me too long to figure out how to get to Kirath.”

  I shivered. On the one hand, it was nice that he was truthful. On the other hand… Maybe I didn’t want to know exactly how close I’d been to becoming a shadow monster. What if I hadn’t gone to Syrin? Would I just have turned into shadow there on the couch? Had his comment about the timeline really been a trigger?

  I heard a rush of Spanish from the hallway. Abuela. Suddenly, Syrin was jerking away from me, glow flickering between silver and gold. There was another rush of words. Syrin’s cheeks burned.

  I couldn’t keep back my chuckle. “What did she say?”

  “She…” Syrin bolted to his feet. “She said—” He cut off abruptly as the door swung open.

  Syrin’s glow went dark, and for a second panic hit me. The last time that had happened had been at the zoo, but then his eyes flickered, shifting between silver and their regular hazel. Suppression, not absence.

  Abuela stood in the doorway, gaze sweeping over us. I smiled at her. Abuela’s eyes flicked between Syrin and me as Mom appeared in the hall.

  Abuela stepped forward, clicking her tongue. “Mija. You look terrible. Nina says you are leaving, but I won’t allow that until you have eaten.”

  She turned her eyes to Syrin. She shot a question to my Mom in Spanish, and Syrin’s cheeks burned again. He was far taller than Abuela, but you’d have thought her enormous based on the way Syrin was looking at her. Abuela seemed to notice his reaction because the next barrage of questions was directed at him. He was clearly on trial. I didn’t catch much, more tone and words: ni?o, nieta, luz. That last one hit Syrin hard because his glow flickered, then steadied, but he didn’t look panicked.

  Clearly, he’d finally reached the conclusion that Mom could keep nothing from Abuela, even if she wanted to, including magic.

  After that, I was quickly shepherded out of the bathroom with Abuela fussing like a mother hen. Syrin followed nervously. Abuela tucked me into the couch. It seemed like she’d drag Syrin away with her to the kitchen, maybe to interrogate him, maybe to adopt him, but I cleared my throat before she could usher him out of the room. “It’s a magical sickness, Abuela. It’s better if he stays here with me.”

  Abuela narrowed her eyes at us before Mom added calmly, “Es cierto. Ella lo necesita aquí.”

  I knew enough Spanish for that one: True. I needed him. Abuela sighed, but shoved Syrin down next to me, giving him a suspicious look. When his expression remained almost terrified, the suspicion melted away, and she nudged him closer to me with one command: “Cuídala.”

  He shifted closer, less like he wanted to cuddle up and more like he was terrified of disobeying Abuela. I held back a laugh.

  Abuela eyed us again before pushing into the kitchen. Mom gave me a weak smile. Good luck, I mouthed at her.

  She shook her head in an I-already-know-how-this-will-go sort of way, then pushed into the kitchen.

  For a second, there was just silence. “Your grandmother is a little terrifying,” Syrin whispered.

  I just grinned back at him. “Where do you think Mom got it?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  He blinked but then nodded solemnly.

  I shifted a little closer, nestling into his side. I glanced at the door before relaxing. “Don’t worry,” I murmured. “She likes you. Otherwise, she would already have thrown you out.”

  He snorted, but after a second his arm wrapped around me. I closed my eyes and smiled. My insides still felt like a pressure chamber, but I was still here, and somehow Abuela being here made it feel like everything might work out.