The bells rang early, and wrong.

  At first, no one moved. Then the sound came again, low and metallic, stuttering where it should have rung clear. A few students looked up from their notes, uncertain whether they had misheard or if the tower had truly slipped for the first time.

  Professor Halvern paused mid-equation, chalk hovering over the board. He glanced toward then the window, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

  “Well,” he said dryly, “seems the Baron’s clock-tower is having a mood today.”

  Laughter rippled through the hall. The old scholar set the chalk aside, raising a hand.

  “Silence.”

  His eyes drifted back to the window. For as long as he could remember, he had timed his lectures by instinct alone, always ending with the noon bell. The tower had never failed him. Until now.

  He sighed, brushing chalk dust from his sleeve. “If the tower says it’s noon, then I suppose I’m late. Go on, before I decide to give you all homework.”

  Chairs scraped against worn stone as pupils rose, their voices echoing off the curved ceiling before fading into the corridor beyond.

  When the last of them had gone, Selene remained seated. The sudden quiet felt heavy. She brushed a strand of honey-gold hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear as she turned toward the tall window. Her reflection caught in the glass, lean and watchful, eyes the color of winter moss. She looked like someone who felt something approaching, though she had no name for it.

  Beyond her reflection, Veilmouth sprawled beneath the midday sun, the Arlen River cutting silver through its heart.

  "Selene! You coming or what?"

  Thena leaned against the doorway, a teasing smile flickering across her face. “Looks like the clock-tower forgot what time it was. First time in, what, before we were born? Either that’s a sign, or someone forgot to wind it.”

  Selene looked to her, half amused, half unsettled. “You think everything’s an omen.”

  “Maybe I’m just right more often than you admit.”

  Selene closed her notebook. For a moment, she hesitated, as if listening for something that never came. Then they stepped into the corridor, leaving the stillness behind.

  It followed them anyway.

  Outside, midday shimmered. The grand Athenaeum’s eastern entrance opened onto wide marble steps, worn smooth by generations of scholars. From here, Veilmouth spread below like a living map, the Arlen River cutting silver through its heart and dividing the ordered streets of the northern bank from Lowtown’s crowded rooftops across the water.

  Selene paused on the fourth tier down, her usual spot. Below, the market square bloomed with color: stalls heavy with fruit and brass trinkets, banners stirring in a gentle wind. Cart wheels clattered over cobblestone, mingling with merchants’ calls and the distant ring of a blacksmith’s hammer.

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  “Come on, birthday girl,” Thena said, bumping her shoulder lightly. “You’ll miss lunch with your Old Owl.”

  They descended together, leaving the Athenaeum’s shadow for the warmth of the streets. The northern quarter’s narrow lanes wound between timber-framed buildings, their upper floors leaning close overhead. Ivy climbed the older walls, and planters brightened windowsills with late-autumn flowers still holding their color.

  Selene laughed softly. “He’s not that old. But you’re right.”

  “Father went up to the ruins this morning,” Thena said, adjusting her spectacles. “Said they found something new. He did say the Emberveil should be especially beautiful tonight, if the clouds hold off. Won’t be back until tomorrow morning, so I actually have the afternoon to finish that translation in peace.”

  They crossed into the market square proper, weaving between vendors and shoppers. The Baron’s clock tower rose on its eastern hill, visible between the buildings. The Copper Hearth Inn waited at the square’s western edge, near the bend of the river.

  “Actually, wait,” Thena said, laughing softly as she slowed near the square’s edge. “Father asked me to drop something at Marlowe’s shop in Lowtown. Won’t take long. Come with me? We’ve got time now, apparently.”

  They crossed the bridge together, the Arlen flashing beneath like quicksilver, whispering against the stone as if carrying secrets downstream. Lowtown rose on the far bank, timber buildings packed close, their crooked lines a sharp contrast to the northern quarter’s order.

  At the old well in Lowtown’s small square, Thena ducked into a narrow doorway. “Wait here. Don’t blink.”

  Selene lingered as Thena disappeared into the shop. She hadn’t meant to move, not at first. But her eyes drifted toward the old well, caught and held by something subtle and insistent, drawing her steps without conscious thought.

  People passed around her as she crossed the small square. A woman hauled a bucket from the well, water sloshing as it broke the surface. Another waited her turn. Their voices blurred together, ordinary, distant, as Selene drifted closer.

  The stone rim stood waist-high, worn smooth by countless hands. She rested her fingers against it absently, then stilled.

  Something pulled at her again, stronger now. Something old.

  She leaned forward.

  The darkness below swallowed the light almost immediately, the shaft descending into black so complete it seemed to drink her gaze. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed the carving just beneath the rim. A single letter, an E, faint but deliberate, cut into the stone.

  She frowned. She had passed this well countless times. Had it always been there?

  Her focus narrowed. The sounds of the square faded. She leaned closer, peering into the black pit, her attention tunneling downward as if the dark itself were answering her stare.

  Then—

  “Careful,” Thena said, her hands catching Selene’s shoulders from behind, jostling her forward just enough to make her heart jump. In the reflection of Selene’s startled eyes, she caught a glimpse of her friend: dark hair, amber eyes bright with mischief behind thin spectacles.

  “Wouldn’t want you falling in on your birthday.”

  Selene pulled back, half-laughing, half-breathless. “That’s not funny!”

  “It’s a little funny,” Thena said, unrepentant. “Come on. Your Old Owl awaits.”

  They crossed back over the bridge toward the northern bank. Beyond the rooftops, the Veilspine Range cut the horizon, vast and mist-draped. Three peaks dominated the skyline: Ardent Crest, glowing red in the sun; Thalen’s Crown, hidden in its eternal ring of fog; and farthest east, Hollowmere Spire, mirrored in the dark lake below.

  A slightly awkward silence settled between them as they approached the inn. At the crossroads before the Copper Hearth, Thena lifted her satchel in farewell.

  “Enjoy your birthday lunch. Try not to let him drag you straight to his study afterward.”

  She vanished into the afternoon crowd, leaving Selene to climb the path toward the inn where Eldric would already be waiting.

  Behind her, the echo of the bell lingered across the square, faint but insistent.