Chapter Twelve: The First Knot
The first mission didn't wait for morning.
It came in the form of a dream—or at least that's what I thought it was, until I woke with dirt on my hands and the faint smell of rain in my hair. The line between sleep and vision had blurred.
In it, I stood by a shallow grave behind an old church—one that I'd never seen before but somehow recognized. A small headstone had no name, only a carving of the same spiral.
A woman stood over it, her face veiled, her shoulders shaking. But no sound came from her mouth.
I stepped closer. "Can you hear me?"
She turned to me, and where her eyes should've been were pits of shadow. Her mouth opened, and out came a single word.
"Forgive."
When I blinked, I was back in my bed. But the frost symbol was on my window again—this time fainter, like it had been used. And in my notebook, scrawled in my own handwriting though I hadn't written it, were three words:
Mother. Grave. Guilt.
I knew where to go.
Chapter Thirteen: The Silent Mourner
Nyah came with me. She didn't ask questions. Just looked at the note in my book, then packed her small leather bag of talismans and candles and walked beside me like she'd known all along this was the next step.
We found the church on the edge of town, crumbling and hidden behind a line of trees that bent inward like guardians. It hadn't seen a service in years.
I walked to the grave behind it without needing direction. My feet knew.
There she was.
The veiled woman.
Except this time she looked clearer—as though my presence was making her more real. Her veil lifted slowly, revealing a young woman with hollow cheeks and bruised eyes. She looked nothing like my mother, and yet, somehow, I knew she was connected to her.
Nyah lit a candle and set it on the ground.
"Ask her what she needs," she whispered.
"Why are you here?" I asked softly.
The woman knelt beside the headstone and pointed.
"He was mine."
I frowned. "Your son?"
She nodded. "But I never claimed him. I watched another woman raise him. And now… he's gone."
The wind stirred, carrying with it a whisper. Shame. Grief. Abandonment.
My breath caught. "You're talking about Parker."
She didn't answer. But her eyes told me enough.
There were things our family didn't know.
There were secrets Parker died with.