Ada sat hunched on the floor, surrounded by a chaotic array of her creations—sketches strewn about in wild disarray, tiny figurines carved from wood and stone balanced precariously on every available surface, and half-finished sculptures nestled among the mess. Her fingers, stained with charcoal and ink, moved in quick, angry strokes across a sheet of parchment resting on her lap. This corner of her room, littered and alive with her art, was her true sanctuary—a place where she could let her mind unravel and her hands bring order to the chaos within.

But today, even her art wasn’t enough.

Her thoughts were tangled, muddied by the hurt and confusion of her fight with Marin. The harsh words he’d flung at her still echoed in her mind, each one a thorn digging deeper. She could still see his face—the anger, the pain—and she had no idea how to fix it. Why couldn’t he understand? Why had he turned against her so quickly? Ada gritted her teeth, the charcoal grinding harder against the paper as she sketched furiously, her movements sharp and unsteady.

“Stupid,” she muttered, the word a hiss beneath her breath. “Why did I say anything?”

The unfinished sculpture of a bird, sitting near her on the floor, seemed to mock her, its delicate wings half-formed, as if caught in the act of taking flight but frozen forever in that imperfect state. One of its wings, a small, intricate piece of stone, lay beside it—detached, incomplete. She glared at it, her fingers twitching to reach for the chisel, to hammer out the details until the shape made sense again. But she didn’t have the patience for it today. The anger in her chest was a roiling, burning thing, and her hands itched to do something—anything—to channel it, to mould it into something she could control.

So she kept drawing.

Sketch after sketch, page after page, until the lines blurred together, and the drawings became nothing more than a jumbled mess of shapes and curves.

Then, without warning, the sculpture of the bird gave a soft crack.

Ada froze, her hand stilling mid-stroke. Slowly, her gaze slid to the small figure. The delicate wing, which had been lying next to the half-carved body just moments before, was now in place—perfectly attached, as if it had already been finished. Her heart skipped a beat. She blinked, staring in disbelief at the sculpture. Had it just…?

Her breath caught in her throat. There was no seam, no sign that the wing had ever been detached. The bird looked whole, pristine. Complete.

“What…?” she whispered, leaning closer. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, her mind racing. Had she fixed it somehow? But that was impossible. She hadn’t even touched it. She’d just been—her gaze dropped to the sketchbook sprawled across her lap, and her eyes widened.

The symbol she had drawn was a rune. A strange, curling mark that seemed almost alive, its lines flowing and intersecting in a way that made her head spin if she looked at it too long. She blinked, her breath quickening.

Ada’s pulse pounded in her ears. Slowly, almost fearfully, she scanned the pages strewn around the floor. Each drawing was laced with similar runes—hidden among the curves of animals, woven into the branches of trees, spiralling around the shapes of faces and hands. She hadn’t meant to draw them. She hadn’t even noticed.

And yet, they were everywhere.

Her gaze darted back to the bird. It stood there, pristine and silent, as if mocking her. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the paper. “No,” she whispered fiercely, shaking her head. “That—that wasn’t me. I couldn’t have—”

A sudden gust of wind tore through the room, the window slamming open with a sharp bang. Ada jerked back, a startled cry escaping her lips as her sketches exploded into the air, swirling around her like a blizzard of parchment and ink.

The force of the wind sent her hair whipping across her face, the loose pages flapping and spinning in a chaotic dance. Ada scrambled to catch them, her hands darting out blindly, but the wind was relentless.

“Stop! Stop it!” she cried, stumbling backward. But the wind only seemed to howl louder, the room filled with a sudden, eerie hum that vibrated deep in her bones. It was as if the very air was alive, thrumming with energy, reacting to her words—her fear. The runes on the pages glowed faintly as they spun past her, their edges shimmering with a pale, bluish light.

Ada’s heart slammed against her ribs. What is happening?!

And then, as abruptly as it had started, the wind died.

The papers fluttered to the ground in a soft, rustling heap, settling in a circle around her feet. Ada stood there, breathing hard, her chest heaving as she stared at the mess strewn across the floor. Her hands shook as she slowly bent to pick up a sketch, her eyes wide and unblinking.

The rune on the page flickered, the light fading until it was nothing more than a faint, silvery outline.

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“Did… did I do that?” she whispered, her voice trembling. But even as she said the words, she knew they didn’t make sense. She couldn’t have done this. She didn’t know how. She wasn’t—

Ada swallowed hard, hugging the sketchbook to her chest as she stared at the open window, the curtains fluttering gently in the breeze. Her mind raced, the panic simmering just beneath the surface, but she forced herself to breathe—slow, steady breaths. Think, Ada. Think.

But no matter how hard she tried, there was no explanation. No reason for what had just happened.

It was just... a coincidence. That’s all. A strange, impossible coincidence.

“Yeah,” she murmured, laughing shakily. “That’s all it was. Just… just a fluke.”

But even as she said it, her thoughts drifted back to the rune on the page. To the way the lines seemed to shimmer faintly in the dying light.

And in the quiet of her room, Ada felt something shift.

With quick, practiced movements, Ada gathered her things, slipping her worn sketchbook into her bag, followed by her quill and the small, carefully stoppered bottle of ink. Her fingers lingered a moment on the sketchbook’s cover, tracing the faded edges, before she tucked it away.

Ada took a step back. And then, with a soft, trembling breath, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving the mess behind her.

Because deep down, in a place she couldn’t quite reach, a tiny voice whispered that it hadn’t been a fluke at all.

It had been real.

And whatever she had done...

It wasn’t finished yet.

Ada hurried across the narrow hall; the sound of her footsteps muted against the worn wooden floor. Her heart still raced, and she could feel a fine sheen of sweat clinging to her neck as she paused, glancing nervously at the closed door to her room. Everything had felt so strange in there—the wind, the papers, the runes. She swallowed, trying to shake off the lingering sense of unease.

“Ada?” Her mother’s voice, sharp and slightly suspicious, called out from the kitchen.

Ada jumped, startled by the sound. She turned to see Elara peering around the corner, her brow furrowed with concern. Behind her, Lina’s wide eyes peeked out, curiosity and worry mingling in her gaze.

“What was that noise?” Elara asked, frowning. “It sounded like—”

“Nothing!” Ada interrupted, forcing a quick smile. “Just the wind, Mother. It blew the window open, that’s all.”

“The wind?” Elara repeated, glancing toward the window visible from the hall. The curtains hung perfectly still, the air outside calm and clear. Not a single leaf on the trees stirred.

“Yes, it was—” Ada’s gaze flicked back toward her room, “It must have just been a gust. I think a bird flew by or—or something. Really, it’s nothing to worry about.”

Elara’s eyes narrowed slightly.

But before she could say anything more, Ada took a quick step toward the door.

“I—I need to go,” she stammered, half-turning to face her mother and sister. “I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Ada—” Elara began, but Ada was already at the door, yanking it open.

“I’ll be fine,” she called over her shoulder, forcing herself to sound calm, steady. “I’m just going to clear my head. Don’t worry.”

And before Elara could press her further, Ada slipped outside, pulling the door shut behind her with a firm click.

The cold air hit her like a slap, sharp and biting against her flushed cheeks. She stood there for a moment, breathing in the crisp evening air, trying to clear her head. Her fingers still tingled from the strange, electric feeling that had surged through her when the wind had roared to life in her room. She rubbed her hands together, shivering slightly, and turned—

—and nearly collided with Marin.

“Oh!” Ada gasped, stepping back instinctively. Her heart leapt into her throat, and for a moment, she just stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. “Marin?”

He looked different. Cleaner. His clothes, though still simple and unadorned, were fresh, free of the smudges and grime she’d seen earlier. His hair, usually a tangled mess by this time of day, was combed neatly back. There was a tense, almost sheepish look on his face, his shoulders hunched slightly as if bracing for a blow.

“I, uh... hey,” Marin said awkwardly, raising a hand in a half-wave. “I was, um, just about to knock.”

“What are you doing here?”

Marin shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—I wanted to talk. To… apologise. I know I was a complete—well, you know. And I’m sorry.”

Ada blinked at him.

“Really?” she said, folding her arms, though her tone had softened. “You just—what, decided to show up and say sorry?”

“Yes!” Marin said quickly, then winced, glancing away. “I mean—no, not just that. I—I’ve been a mess all day. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I was upset, and I took it out on you. And I—” He took a deep breath, looking her squarely in the eye. “I’m sorry, Ada. I really am.”

She bit her lip, glancing down at the ground. It was so easy to be angry when he wasn’t around. But here, now, seeing him like this…

She sighed, the tension draining from her shoulders. “You’re such an idiot, Marin.”

“I know,” he agreed quickly, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. “But I’m your idiot.”

Ada rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “Yeah, well… don’t forget it.”

They stood there for a moment, the awkwardness melting away as their gazes met.

Marin shifted, stepping a little closer. “Are we… okay?” he asked quietly.

Ada hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said softly. “We’re okay.”

A relieved breath escaped Marin’s lips, and his smile widened, bright and genuine. “Good. Because I… I still want to go to the meeting tonight.”

Ada’s smile faltered. “The meeting?”

“Yeah,” Marin said quickly, his expression growing serious. “I want to know what’s going on. With my father, with the lake… with everything. And if you still want to listen in, I—”

“Of course I do!” Ada interrupted, her heart suddenly racing again. “But… are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Marin’s voice was steady, “Whatever’s happening in the town… we need to know. And we need to be ready.”

Ada stared at him, her heart swelling with a fierce, protective warmth. This was why she cared about him. Why she had always cared. Even when he was scared, even when things seemed impossible, he always tried to do the right thing.

“Okay,” she said softly, reaching out to take his hand. “Then let’s go.”

They exchanged a look, something unspoken passing between them, and then Marin nodded, squeezing her hand gently. Together, they turned and began to walk, leaving the house behind as the last light of day faded into twilight.

But as they moved, a flicker of unease lingered in the back of Ada’s mind. The strange wind, the glowing rune… and now Marin’s sudden return. It was almost too perfect, too convenient. And yet, standing beside him now, with his hand warm and solid in hers, it was hard to care.

Whatever happened next, they would face it together.

And maybe—just maybe—that would be enough.