Mom pulled into the apartment parking lot fast but not recklessly. Syrin was still unconscious, but breathing, head still in my lap. I couldn’t quite stop shaking, no matter how hard I tried. I stayed quiet, but memories kept flying through my head: Syrin with that shadow figure looming over him, the feel of the shadow on my hands, of being trapped inside and unable to breathe. Then the heat exploding out in that wave of light, the burns, the phone cameras. My face would be all over social media by the end of the day.

  What would happen when people saw?

  “We’re home,” Mom said, too calm for the world that had literally exploded an hour ago.

  I nodded because I didn’t trust my voice.

  We got Syrin out of the car the same way we’d gotten him into it: awkwardly, half-carrying, half-dragging. He felt even heavier now. Or maybe I was just out of adrenaline. His head lolled against my shoulder, hair brushing my cheek. For a second, it felt like shadow, and I almost dropped him.

  Inside the apartment, Mom guided us straight to the couch. We lowered him down, and his body settled with a soft thud. Still unconscious. Still breathing.

  My panic chose that moment to surge. I stepped back from the couch so fast my leg bumped into the side table.

  “Oh god… oh god,” I whispered. “Mom. We’re going to get arrested.”

  Mom turned toward me slowly, as if I’d just said the sky was turning plaid. “Trina. No. We’re not.”

  “People were filming!” I said, pacing because my legs refused to stay still, even if they felt like jelly. “There were phones everywhere. And he—” I pointed helplessly at Syrin’s limp form. “He literally exploded. And… and something crawled out of the ground like a horror movie, and people got burned and… Mom, we left! The police are going to knock on our door and arrest us for— for— I don’t know. Something! An explosion at the zoo!”

  Mom grabbed my shoulders, not hard, but firmly. “Trina. Stop. Breathe.”

  I tried. I really tried, but my breath stuttered like a faulty engine.

  “They’re going to think we did it,” I said, voice spiraling up an octave. “They’re going to think he caused that explosion! People got it on video. And then they’ll take him to a hospital, and when he glows, they’ll realize he’s not—he’s not—”

  “I know,” Mom said softly. “I know, but it’s okay.”

  “How is it okay!?”

  “Because the police want this to be simple,” she said, voice steady as bedrock.

  That made me pause. “Simple,” I echoed. “How is any of this simple?”

  Mom gave me a tired, knowing look. “Trina. Think about it from their point of view. The police have: a crowded zoo, panicked visitors, a bright flash, and a handful of burn injuries. No bomb pieces. No device. No clear cause. No suspect. Just confusion. They’re already overwhelmed.”

  I blinked at her, everything inside me saying that my panic should be spiraling higher.

  “They won’t want this to turn into a case they can’t close,” Mom continued. “They want an explanation that makes sense. A normal, human explanation. Preferably one that requires the least paperwork possible.”

  “But the videos—”

  “Look like special effects,” Mom said. “Drone lights. Battery pack explosion. Vapes exploding have lit up whole sidewalks before. The public will argue. The internet will make theories. The police won’t have the time or the evidence to chase any of it.”

  I swallowed. “But we left.”

  “We had an unconscious young man and a stampede behind us. That’s not a crime; that’s unclear directions from staff in an emergency. And once the police reach out, and they will reach out—”

  My heart stuttered.

  “—we give them a simple story that matches the videos,” Mom finished.

  I pushed my hair back with shaking hands. “Like… like what? What simple story explains a shadow creature attacking us?”

  “We tell them,” Mom said, settling into the armchair, “that a man with some kind of amateur special-effects setup was filming nearby. He got agitated, wanted us to move even though the table had been clear, came and yelled at us. He had a big prop animal he wanted at the table, probably supposed to look like some zoo escape. His equipment malfunctioned, it sparked and exploded, people panicked, and Syrin fainted from shock and heat.”

  I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. She always did that, just casually reframed the universe into something manageable. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” Mom said. “It fits the video. It matches the burns. And they want nothing more than an explanation that makes sense and doesn’t require a manhunt. As long as our story is consistent, they’ll take it and move on.”

  “So they’re… not going to drag us in for questioning?”

  Mom’s mouth quirked. “I’d be shocked if they did. Most likely they’ll call or stop by for a quick statement. They’ll ask if Syrin’s okay. I’ll say he’s sleeping under medical supervision, which is technically true.”

  I glanced at Syrin, curled awkwardly on the couch, hair damp with sweat, glow nowhere to be seen. He didn’t look okay. He looked… drained. Faded.

  “Won’t they ask why he’s not at the hospital?”

  Mom shrugged. “I doubt it, but if they do, then we say his parents are big into homeopathic treatments. Nervous about hospitals. They asked if I could watch him instead of taking him in. I agreed since he was stable and should recover with some sleep.”

  It was barely a lie. Syrin had never been to a hospital in his life. He’d probably be horrified by them considering what he could do with magic. Still… “And then they’ll leave us alone? Even with all those people hurt?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Mom squeezed my shoulder. “They don’t want to make more work for themselves. They want to file this under ‘equipment malfunction’ and go home for dinner. Trust me.”

  My breath finally settled, slow and shaky. “Okay,” I whispered.

  Mom watched me for a moment, like she was deciding if I would still descend into panic. “For now, we wait for the police to reach out. When they do, let me do the talking.”

  I nodded.

  “And Trina?” she added gently.

  “Yeah?”

  She glanced at Syrin. “We need to be prepared for what he’s going to do when he wakes up.”

  My stomach dropped. “He… he’s barely moved. Do you think he’s okay?”

  Mom let out a long breath, but she stood and crossed over to Syrin, kneeling beside the couch like she knew nothing short of a full exam would quiet my spiraling brain.

  She pressed two fingers to his neck, counting silently. “Pulse is steady,” she murmured. Then she watched his chest for a few breaths. “Respiration’s good.”

  I hovered uselessly while she pushed sweat-damp hair off his forehead and checked his pupils, first one, then the other. “Reactive. That’s normal.”

  She took one of his hands and pressed a fingertip. “Cap refill’s fine.” A pause. “No rigidity, no seizure activity, no signs of shock. He’s stable.”

  I swallowed. “Then why isn’t he waking up?”

  Mom exhaled through her nose, sitting back on her heels. “Because his body and the Light are both forcing him to rest. He burned through too much energy today. Magically and emotionally. This kind of sleep is protective.”

  Mom lowered Syrin’s hand gently onto his chest and stood with a quiet groan like she was exhausted too.

  I hovered near the couch, arms wrapped around myself. “So… how long can he stay like this?”

  Mom brushed her palms down her jeans as if wiping off invisible worry. “Hard to say.”

  “That’s not comforting.”

  “I’m not trying to be comforting,” she said, sighing. “I’m trying to be honest. I’ve seen patients crash after emotional trauma and sleep twelve hours. And I’ve seen people sleep thirty-six. After what he did, what he felt… this is not outside the realm of normal physiology.”

  I stared at him. Too still. Too quiet.

  “But what if he doesn’t wake up?” My voice cracked. “What if he used too much magic or the Light—I don’t know—burned him out or something?”

  Mom softened a little at that. “Trina. If there was something dangerously wrong, his vitals wouldn’t be this stable. His heartbeat is strong. His respirations are even. His body isn’t in distress.”

  “I know, but—”

  “And,” she added, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I doubt the Light would let that happen. You saw how it reacted when we talked about even separating them. It doesn’t want Syrin hurt. Honestly, if we were to abandon him right now, and he was in danger, it might force him to wake up. The sleep is a good thing. The Light thinks he’s safe enough to rest.”

  I grimaced. “I don’t understand. What is the Light exactly that it can force him to sleep or not?”

  Mom ran her fingers through her hair. “That’s a long story. Let’s go into the kitchen. I’d like to tell it with a cup of chamomile tea in hand.”

  I glanced back at Syrin, biting my lip, but finally nodded and followed Mom into the kitchen. She turned on the kettle while I pulled out the tea bags. When we both had a cup, we settled in at the table.

  Mom let out a long sigh as she took a sip. “Oh Lights, I needed this.”

  I raised my eyebrows at the expression. She just laughed. “Syrin’s been using it. Also, your dad does. It’s slipping back in with him around.”

  “Fair, but… history?”

  Mom set her teacup down. “Alright. The Light. I don’t know everything, but I’ve read books. I asked Syrin to fill in some details yesterday to confirm things about the portal. Still, he’s the better source, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

  She paused, searching for the right place to begin. “You know some of it already. In Crithlinor, there’s the tower, an ancient one. And at the very top of it burns a flame that… well, it shouldn’t exist. It never dies. It never dims, even without fuel. It was created centuries ago by a mage who, by all accounts, was some sort of demigod.”

  I blinked. “So it’s some sort of divine manifestation?”

  “Something like that. Something more than ordinary magic,” Mom said softly. “It’s woven with intention. Not fully sentient, but it remembers. It responds. It recognizes. Syrin described it like a child, capable of feelings and emotions, but… limited in many ways. The flame bonded to its creator’s bloodline, and it’s tended by the Keeper family—Syrin’s family. It won’t respond to anyone else. You can’t just hire a new Keeper if one dies. The line matters.”

  She laced her fingers together, elbows on the table. “In times of peace, the Light is a healer. Pilgrims cross entire countries to reach it. People bring the sick, the injured, the dying. It can purge disease, mend wounds, even dissolve lingering curses. But in times of war… it becomes something else.”

  “What else?” I whispered.

  Mom’s eyes flicked toward the living room, where Syrin lay unconscious. “A weapon.”

  I swallowed.

  “When the borders are threatened, a Keeper can carry a spark of the Light—literally carry it, in a lantern or on a torch—and bring it to the perimeter of the kingdom. They light pyres along the border. And when those pyres catch, they erupt into a wall of flame. A barrier no army can march through.”

  My stomach tightened. “So the Light… defends the country.”

  “Yes. And that’s the problem.” Mom rubbed her temple. “No one knows what happens when the line ends. The Light has never been without a Keeper. Ever. And that makes them political targets. Traditionally, no one dared touch the Keepers; they heal everyone, ally or enemy, so harming them was extremely taboo. But…” She exhaled, eyes hardening. “Something must have changed. Someone decided the rules didn’t matter anymore.”

  The implication hit hard. “So Syrin’s father…”

  “Stayed,” Mom said quietly. “Because he couldn’t abandon it, and if he’s gone…”

  “Then Syrin’s the last of the line.”

  Mom grimaced. “Not exactly, but the last of the active line, yes. I’m sure he has cousins, distant relatives—people who might be able to take up the flame. But no one knows what happens if a Keeper dies without a bonded heir.”

  I stared into my tea. “Could the Light die?”

  “Perhaps.” Her tone clearly indicated she thought it unlikely. “Or it might lash out. Or collapse. Or choose someone untrained. No one knows. And in unstable times, ‘no one knows’ is enough to make people desperate. If the Light goes dark, the border fails. The healing fails. Everything the kingdom relies on collapses.”

  I shivered. “So, Crithnon’s enemies…”

  “Would love to see Syrin fall, yes, but only the worst of them. Even enemy kings have gone to the tower for healing when desperate, and the Light won’t be so easily bereaved. Maybe they’d try to carve up the borders, but marching on the capital, on Crithlinor, seems unthinkable.”

  I rolled my teacup between my fingers. “The Tower has that much influence?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mom said. “Besides, targeting the Keepers is extremely dangerous. That blast at the zoo? That wasn’t Syrin losing control.” She gestured toward the living room. “That was the Light refusing to lose him.”

  I stared at the table. “You said everything the kingdom relies on collapses, but Syrin isn’t there now, and if his father is gone…”

  Mom nodded. “I’d expect the whole kingdom’s in a bit of disarray at the moment. Crithnon has never been without a Keeper in the Tower. This is riots in the capital sort of level.”

  My hands tightened on my teacup. “He’s going to want to go back.”

  “Probably,” Mom agreed.

  “He’ll be killed.”

  “If he doesn’t go in prepared, yes.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “We think very, very carefully about our next steps.”

  Silence wrapped around the kitchen like a blanket, but not the cozy kind. It was too heavy, too real. I shivered, shadows dancing at the edge of my vision, but when I looked up, there was nothing. What was wrong with me? I was being ridiculously paranoid apparently, but… who wouldn’t when life had gone from waiting tables to being attacked by shadow creatures.

  I swallowed hard. “Syrin’s father… the Light would have defended him too, right?”

  Mom nodded. “That’s what worries me most. He was the senior Keeper. Probably closest to the Light, and the most experienced. Something is very, very wrong in Crithnon.”

  My stomach twisted. Syrin would probably want to go back. He’d most likely be walking to his death. Even if his city was in danger, him dying couldn’t be the answer. Was there even a right answer here?

  I stared at the door leading to the living room. Mom stood and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll hold down the fort here, Trina. You should get some sleep. It might be a long night.”

  I gripped my cup harder, but finally nodded. Mom was right, but it was still just midafternoon, and somehow I knew without even lying down that my dreams would be full of shadows.