The apartment complex hallway was mostly quiet, except for the telenovela blaring through someone’s half-open door. The words tumbled out fast and dramatic, full of rolling r’s and heartbreak.

  Syrin perked up, tilting his head. “They’re having a fight about… who the real sister is?”

  I blinked. Right, his Spanish spell. I’d almost forgotten.

  There was another passionate stream of words, and Syrin’s cheeks turned bright red. “People can just talk like that here?”

  I bit back a grin. “I didn’t understand anything, but probably.”

  Syrin’s expression became incredibly confused. “Is that room somewhere you can buy things?”

  I choked back a laugh. “It’s not the people who live there who are talking.”

  Syrin’s brow furrowed further. “It’s not?”

  “It’s a box. With stories inside.”

  He stared at the door, his expression almost mystified. “I don’t think I understand.”

  I grinned. “No, you don’t, but I’ll show you in a minute.”

  I stared at our front door for a moment, then pushed my key into the lock. I opened the door slowly. “Mom?”

  A drawer slammed, and her voice hit before I was even through the doorway. “Trina! What were you thinking quitting and then just running off like that? You didn’t even call. We should have at least talked about it be—”

  Mom appeared in the doorway, wearing sweats, hair up in a messy bun. She cut off mid-word when she saw Syrin: his cloak, the unmistakably Kirathi cut of his clothes.

  “Oh,” Mom said, then frowned. “Trina. Who is this? You know I told you never to—”

  Syrin’s light flared faintly, anxiety bleeding through the glow. He didn’t know what she was saying, but her tone was enough.

  “Mom,” I said quickly, stepping between them, “this is Syrin. He’s… a friend. From Kirath.”

  “Trina.”

  Just my name, but it carried six layers of meaning: you broke the rule, and now there’s a glowing boy on my doorstep.

  “It’s not what you think,” I said weakly.

  “You brought someone through.”

  “He’s not—it’s complicated, okay?”

  “Have you been sneaking to see him!? How long has this been going on?”

  “It’s not like that! Besides, I’m twenty-one. Even if I was, that’s allowed!”

  Syrin’s glow jumped again, reacting to the tension.

  Mom stiffened. “Both of you. Inside. Now,” she said sharply, in Kirathi this time.

  Syrin blinked, startled by the sudden switch. His face was calm, but I knew from the way his light was flickering he was terrified. With a small nudge from me, he finally stepped into the apartment. I followed, taking stock of our front room. A laundry basket sat by the couch like Mom had just finished a load.

  Mom folded her arms and faced Syrin squarely. “Explain,” she said in crisp Kirathi.

  “Mom, he’s been through—”

  One look from her shut me up.

  Syrin swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to intrude. Torrik said—”

  Mom froze. Then swore softly, a word I hadn’t heard from her in years. “Oh, lights above,” she muttered. “This is one of his plans, then?”

  She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’d better both sit.”

  Syrin gaze flicked around the apartment. I took his arm and gently tugged him toward the couch. He followed. I sat and patted the cushion beside me. After a nervous glance back at Mom, he finally settled himself, only to let out a small yelp as he sank into the cushions.

  I held back a grin. The couch was far cushier than most things in Kirath.

  Mom glanced between us. “Trina?”

  “I went back last night. Dad got there in the middle of the night, chased by a bunch of crazy assassins. We fought them off. Then Dad ordered me to take Syrin back to Earth.”

  Mom let out a sigh. “Why?”

  I glanced at Syrin. “Do you want to explain that one?”

  He gave me a look that said he very much didn’t, but it would be better coming from him.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Maybe start with explaining who you are?” I suggested.

  He hesitated, then straightened slightly. “I’m Syrinthinor, the heir of the Keepers of the Tower of the Crithlinor Light.”

  Mom’s eyes narrowed. “The Keepers almost never leave the city. The last time I was there, they said the heir hadn’t left Crithnon in decades. Too dangerous.”

  Syrin’s shoulders hunched, guilt flickering across his face. “I didn’t want to leave,” he admitted quietly. “But I swear I’m the heir.”

  He held out his hand, and it glowed again, one of his balls of light dancing in the air before disappearing back into his palm.

  Mom blinked. “Your magic works here.”

  Another nod from Syrin. “I don’t know why.”

  Finally, Mom let out long breath. “A Keeper in my house. Never thought I’d see the day, but… why?”

  Syrin stared down at the living room table. “Someone tried to kill me. Twice. Father was worried, but Lord Torrik said he could help.”

  That made Mom pause. Her tone softened a fraction. “And your parents thought bringing you here was the safest choice.”

  Syrin flinched. “Just my father. My mother… she died years ago.”

  Mom’s expression softened instantly. “You poor thing. And Torrik just tossed you here without a word of preparation, I’m sure. Right after being chased by assassins.”

  Syrin gave a small, sharp nod.

  “Oh, honey,” she murmured, crossing the room to perch on the edge of the couch beside him. “I’m sorry. I met your mother a long time ago. Your aunt healed me, after I fell through a portal into Kirath.”

  His eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing, just bit his lip.

  Mom’s tone was soft in a way I rarely heard now. “I know how it feels—to not know the language, to have no idea what’s happening around you.”

  Syrin swallowed hard and nodded again, and I could have sworn he was holding back tears.

  Then, very slowly, Mom reached out and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened for a heartbeat, then, little by little, relaxed into the gesture. The glow under his skin flickered once, then steadied softer and warmer than I’d seen it before, like the golden light around sunset.

  Apparently, fear wasn’t the only emotion that triggered his light.

  I sat there, speechless. Mom had known him for five minutes and somehow managed to do what I’d been fumbling at all day: make him feel safe.

  She held him for a long moment, one hand rubbing slow circles on his shoulder the way she used to do when I got sick as a kid. I leaned back on the couch, trying not to stare, but when was the last time she hugged me like that?

  Finally, she drew back, her voice gentler but practical again. “Did you two sleep at all?”

  “Sort of,” I muttered. “We had a slumber party on the beach at three a.m.”

  She gave me a look. “You should have called me.”

  “Phone was dead,” I said with a sigh.

  She glanced between us. “Well, I made coffee earlier. There’s still some in the pot. Let’s talk at the table.”

  Mom headed into the kitchen. Syrin stood slowly, glancing at everything, and for a second I felt a pang of self-consciousness. I’d always thought our apartment cozy, but looking around now, I realized the furniture was worn, the cushions a little threadbare. Everything was well-loved.

  We stayed in San Diego for the portal, but rent wasn’t exactly cheap here. Mom did her best. She had a good nursing job now, but we’d only ever been getting by, not thriving.

  Syrin glanced at the TV. “Is that the magic box?”

  I smiled.

  “Magic box?” Mom called from the kitchen.

  “There was a telenovela on down the hall. I was trying to explain,” I said, realizing my embarrassment was silly. Everything in this apartment would be crazy to him.

  I grabbed the remote, and the TV flickered to life. It was some house flipping show Mom must have been watching earlier.

  Syrin just stared. “It’s like scrying. You’re… spying on people somewhere?”

  I let out a sharp laugh. “No. This already happened. We capture the light with a device, and then send it here so we can see what happened somewhere else, but this is more for entertainment.”

  “It’s strange, I know,” Mom said with a smile. “Tour after coffee, though.”

  We filed into the kitchen. The smell of coffee still hung faintly in the air, rich and bitter. Mom poured a mug and slid it toward me, then hesitated before grabbing another and offering it to Syrin.

  He looked at the mug like it might contain some dangerous potion. “What… is this?”

  “Caffeine,” I said. “Human survival potion.”

  “It’s bean juice,” Mom translated.

  Syrin blinked. “Bean… juice.”

  “You don’t have to drink it,” she added quickly. “It’s an acquired taste.”

  He lifted it anyway, curious, and took a sip. His eyes went wide. “That’s—” He coughed once, face scrunching. “—very strong.”

  “Yep,” I said, taking a gulp of my own. “That’s how we stay awake instead of using magic.”

  He looked faintly horrified.

  Mom hid a smile behind her cup. “So,” she said, the warmth fading into her pragmatic tone again. “Assassins. And Torrik in the middle of it all. Wonderful.” She rubbed her temples. “Do you know if they can cross the portal?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “Dad said it’s tied to blood and intent. It shouldn’t let anyone through unless they’re supposed to—”

  “Except,” Mom interrupted, “Syrin’s magic shouldn’t work here either. I’m no sorceress, but I read up plenty on that portal. Torrik always did leave the research side to me.” Her eyes flicked toward Syrin. “He should have been more concerned about your connection. Can you still feel the Light?”

  Syrin hesitated, then nodded. “Faintly. Like hearing music through a wall.”

  Mom exhaled through her nose. “Then I suspect the portal didn’t quite know what to do with you. There are parts of you it couldn’t transfer, parts tied intimately to the Light in Crithlinor, so it just… left the door ajar.”

  My stomach sank. “So you’re saying… someone could come through after us.”

  Mom’s expression stayed calm, but her knuckles whitened around the mug. “If they figure out how to push hard enough.”

  Light flickered through the kitchen, not warm like before, harsh and white. “Your father thought you would be safe,” Syrin said, voice cracking. “And now I’ve brought danger to you instead.”

  I snorted. “Wasn’t exactly your choice. I think you can pin that one on my dad.”

  “But they are hunting me,” Syrin said, voice bleak. “You have to take me back. What if they come through and try to hurt one of you? What if—”

  “Syrinthinor,” Mom said sharply.

  He glanced up, startled.

  “It’s just a theory,” Mom said softer. “And I’m not sending you back unless Torrik is there on the other side.”

  “He’s not,” I said quickly. “He’s delivering something to Ranabur.”

  “Then you aren’t leaving.” Mom’s voice was like a door snapping shut. “We’ll figure it out. Changing the portal’s nature won’t be easy. Getting any real force through to look for you will take time. Besides, they'd be as lost as you are, but with no magic.”

  Syrin gave a reluctant nod, shoulders still tight.

  “For now,” Mom continued, “we’ll stay vigilant. You two need rest. We’ve got an air mattress somewhere. Some of Torrik's clothes should fit you, but this afternoon Trina can take you to buy something, shopping as we call it here, since it looks like you’ll be staying for a while.”

  “Shopping?” Syrin echoed faintly, like the word itself was suspicious.

  I managed a grin. “Welcome to your next great trial.”

  The glow under his skin flickered once, soft and golden again. Not fear this time. Fear seemed to be the harsh white. I wasn’t sure what this one was.

  Mom stood, collecting the empty mugs. “Good. Then it’s settled. No portals, no panic. Just… one step at a time.”

  And for the first time since I spotted Dad in the forest last night, I felt like I could relax.