The fractured veil
Chapter 18 – The Fractured Veil
Ava Carter's POV
"Damon!"
His name tore from my throat as I lunged into the void where he had just stood. But there was nothing. No warmth. No trace. Just the cold remnants of silence and shattered glass.
The mirror shards on the ground hummed softly, vibrating against the old wooden floor. I clutched Emilia to my chest, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might crack open. The room around us was still, but charged with a strange, whispering energy. Shadows moved unnaturally, crawling along the edges of the walls like smoke unsure of its shape.
Emilia stirred in my arms, her voice barely above a whisper. "He went with her."
I looked down at her. "Who?"
"The lady in the mirror. She said she would take him instead. But she’s not done yet."
My stomach twisted.
Downstairs, the grandfather clock struck once. Just once. Midnight had long passed. The thud felt out of place, like an echo from somewhere else.
I picked Emilia up, cradling her weight as I left the East Wing. The air in the hallway felt lighter, like the pressure that had clung to the house for days had started to lift. But not vanish.
Not yet.
---
Margaret gasped when she saw us. She was waiting near the stairs, her eyes frantic. "Where is Damon?"
"Gone," I said. The word felt hollow, not final. Not yet.
Her expression tightened with pain, but she nodded as if she understood something deeper than I could. "Then the veil has fractured."
"What do you mean?"
"The barrier between this world and the other. It was always thin in this house. His sacrifice weakened it further. But it can still be mended. You need to find the last piece."
I frowned. "The last piece of what?"
"The pact. The origin. The root of all this. If you can find it and destroy it, the spirits will be forced to release him."
Emilia spoke quietly. "The attic."
Margaret and I both turned to her.
"She showed me," Emilia whispered. "Before she took Daddy. She showed me a box in the attic."
---
Back in the attic, everything looked as we had left it. The broken trunk, the old books, the shattered relics of the Thornhart family legacy. But now, with Emilia's guidance, we moved toward the far corner, where insulation hung torn like cobwebs.
She pointed. "Behind there."
I pushed the insulation aside and found a panel, slightly loose. My fingers pried it open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside, wrapped in faded linen, was a box no larger than a jewelry case. I pulled it out carefully.
The lock popped open with ease. Inside lay a ring—silver, ancient, engraved with symbols I didn’t recognize. Next to it, a folded letter. I opened it, and the ink seemed to glow faintly in the dark attic.
To the final Thornhart,
This is your burden and your salvation. The ring binds the pact, and the blood seals it. The Watcher was never evil, only summoned with malice. Return her to peace, and the veil shall close.
Below the text was a signature: Elias Thornhart.
---
Margaret stood by the fire as I read it aloud to her.
"So that’s it? We return the ring and the blood?"
She shook her head. "No. Not just return. You must give it back in truth. That means facing the mirror again. But this time, not with fear."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Damon had bled for this. Fought for this. And now it was on me to end it.
Emilia stayed with Margaret while I prepared. I wore the ring. It was cold at first, but then it pulsed with warmth, like it recognized me. I carried the letter and brought a small vial of my own blood, drawn just minutes ago with trembling hands.
The East Wing was quiet.
The mirror, shattered across the floor, began to shimmer faintly as I stepped in.
And then, from the shards, her voice came again.
"You return."
"I come to end it."
The shards floated, rearranging themselves midair. Not into a mirror, but a window. Beyond it stood a garden I didn’t recognize. A woman in white waited beside a stone fountain, her face no longer sewn, her eyes gentle.
"You see me now. Not as a monster."
"You were twisted by grief," I said. "By what they did to you."
She nodded. "But not all pain seeks vengeance. Some only want rest."
I stepped forward and held out the ring and the vial of blood. "Take this. Let him go. Let this house be free."
She reached through the veil, her hand touching mine.
The ring vanished.
The blood, too.
Then her form flickered, disintegrating into thousands of petals that swirled in the air.
"Thank you," she whispered. "The pact is broken."
---
I woke up on the floor.
It was morning. Light streamed through the East Wing windows like nothing had ever happened.
And Damon was lying beside me.
Alive.
His eyes fluttered open. "Ava?"
Tears sprang to my eyes as I helped him sit up. "You're back."
He pulled me into his arms. We stayed there, on the cold floor, wrapped in each other.
Emilia came running minutes later, her smile wide, genuine, free. "Daddy!"
He caught her, tears rolling down his cheeks.
---
Later that evening, I stood at the attic window, staring out over the estate. The storm clouds were finally gone. The trees stood still. The house no longer whispered.
Damon joined me, his hand finding mine. "It's quiet."
"Too quiet?"
He shook his head. "Peaceful. For once."
"What now?"
He exhaled slowly. "We start over. We leave if we must. Build something real, something new. Just us."
I looked up at him, the man who had offered his soul for his daughter. Who had faced death and shadow and still come back. "We build it together."
He leaned down, his lips brushing mine in a kiss full of promise and survival.
Behind us, the last mirror in the attic reflected only what was there:
Three people.
Alive.
Whole.
Free.
---
But as we turned to go, Emilia lingered.
She looked into the mirror and whispered, "Goodbye."
And for just a second, a single white petal drifted through the reflection and disappeared.
The past had let us go.
The pact was broken.
And the future, finally, was ours.
---