Cruel Summer
Morning comes like a truce, delicate and destined to shatter.
Still, it’s my favorite time of day—that quiet sliver just after sunrise, when the world still feels half-asleep. Especially in summer, like now. I slide the window open, loving the groan of the old wood and the rattle of the glass as a cool breeze sneaks in to kiss the back of my neck, drying the sweat. It chases away the agony, and for a heartbeat, I almost forget I’m dying.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not scared of death. It’s more about what comes after, the knowledge that I’m leaving Tristan to fend for himself. That’s what terrifies me—the idea of abandoning him.
When he was younger, he would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, his small body shaking with fear from nightmares. I’d hold him close, whispering assurances I didn’t quite believe myself. I was barely twelve then, and nights like those made me grow up fast.
I guess I should be thankful our dad had a knack for preparing for the worst. His meticulous planning laid a safety net that the Clearborn reinforced, so we’ve never had to worry about an empty fridge or the lights going out. And at least this place is a secret—one that not even AURA has found out yet.
But none of that changes the shadow of the Umbraxis hovering over me. Death is always lurking just over my shoulder, clawing at my soul. Sometimes I want to give in, let it take me. It would be so easy.
Most Ordyn move through life in a daze, oblivious to how the Verdelis flows through everything. Oblivious to the warriors who keep them safe. I’ve always had one foot in both worlds, never truly belonging to either. It’s given me a sharp awareness of my path and how I ended up here. And what still lies ahead.
I settle into the reading nook by the window, eyes drifting over the quiet streets below. The morning sun casts long shadows on the red-brick buildings and in the distance, I hear the faint hum of traffic on I-70. Close by, the streetcar rattles as it heads to the City Market where vendors are already setting up. Beyond our little neighborhood, the skyline looms against the blue sky, a reminder of the busy world just outside our haven.
In the morning light, the city looks peaceful, but I know what hides in the dark alleys and abandoned buildings there. I know what waits to rip people like my brother apart.
This used to be my parents’ room, and it’s the only place where I can still smell Mom’s scent—roses and coffee beans. My gaze lands on a framed photo on her dresser—a snapshot of me at the edge of the ocean, long dark hair falling down my back. I’m probably around eight, standing with my hands clasped behind me, staring out at the waves, blissfully unaware of the world’s harsh truths. That was before the Veil lifted.
A lump forms in my throat as I try to recall the sound of the waves, the scent of salt in the air. A childhood I can barely remember, like it belongs to someone else. The girl in that photo had the luxury of living in the moment, not yet aware of how fleeting everything was.
I turn away from the photo, back to the window. The warmth of the sun chases away the tears sneaking down my cheeks. I let myself get lost in the light, not hearing the soft click of Blitz’s nails on the wood floor until Tristan knocks gently on the door.
“Tess?”
His voice is soft and raspy, like he’s still waking up. I quickly wipe away my tears and force a smile, speaking before he can ask why I’m crying.
“Hey,” I say, a bit too brightly. “Good morning. Sleep okay?”
He shuffles into the room, rubbing his eyes. Our dog trots over, tail wagging, and sits by my feet. She waits impatiently for attention, her eyes glued to me. I reach down to pet her, laughing softly when her eyes roll back in bliss.
As Tristan comes closer, I notice how thin he looks. It’s been years since he was sick, and he eats constantly, but there’s still a haunted look about him, especially in the mornings. Does he still have nightmares? If so, he keeps them to himself now, biting back the screams in his sleep.
He picks up on my mood, his gaze snapping to my face, trying to read what’s going on inside me. I smile again, hoping it’ll hide the unease I see reflected in his eyes. But my own eyes give me away every time. They always reveal too much, like a truth I can’t keep hidden, no matter how hard I try.
“It’s not as humid today,” I say quickly as a distraction. “Want to take Blitz for a walk before she starts climbing the walls?”
“I would actually pay to see that,” Tristan laughs.
His eyes sparkle when he laughs, a deep chocolate brown ringed with a bronze glow that seems to dance in the light. Among the Veldan, whose eyes reflect the golden rays of Light or the silver depth of Shadow, Tristan’s bronze hue is a rarity.
“We’ll go later. But first, get your butt over here,” I say, opening my arms.
He curls up beside me in the nook, and I wrap my arms around him. Blitz settles at our feet as I breathe in Tristan’s familiar scent, letting it calm me.
“Tess,” he says after a quiet moment, “I’m starving. Like, literally starving. Can you make me breakfast?”
“Sure,” I laugh. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
I pull him to his feet, and we head to the kitchen. At the back door, our dog scratches to be let out. I glance at Tristan, who closes his eyes for a moment, scanning. After a few seconds, he nods.
“It’s clear,” he says, “and the Veilstones are up.”
Relieved, I shove the back door open, and she bounds past me. The Shadowglass wind chimes give off their usual eerie melody—strangely comforting today. I dig through the fridge, aware of Tristan craning his neck to see what I’m grabbing. “Eggs and fruit?”
“Yes. And bacon?” he asks, eyes wide with that puppy-dog hope.
I snort. “You’re so spoiled. Want a croissant with that? Maybe some caviar?”
“Yeah, hold the fish eggs, thanks. Disgusting.”
I laugh, keeping the smile plastered on, even though my chest tightens a bit. He deserves so much more, but life’s always been unfair to him. I find the bread and bacon, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Well, looks like today’s your lucky day.”
He grins and hugs me. Tristan brings a warmth I can never quite put into words, a light that feels like a minor miracle in this world.
As I cook, the scent of sizzling bacon fills the kitchen. Tristan chatters about a game he’s designing, his words a stream of technical jargon I don’t understand but listen to anyway. I savor his voice, holding onto each word like it’s the last.
When breakfast is ready, he grabs two plates. I tell him I’ve already eaten, and he gives me that look. The one that says, “We both know you’re lying.” It’s become our routine, a silent acknowledgment of my sickness we both choose to ignore.
I tousle his hair, and he ducks away laughing.
As he eats, I let the dog back inside and feed her. Then we all head to the living room, where Tristan curls up next to me while she settles on the floor. I glance at our reflection on the TV screen. For a moment, we look almost normal. I consider turning on the news but decide against shattering the peace.
Tristan rests his head on my shoulder, and his hair brushes my face, strands catching the light like gold thread—like the caramels Mom used to make at Christmas. Guess I still have some good memories buried there.
Then, a noise outside—a faint clatter, like a can rolling down the street, pushed along by a breeze. But there’s no wind, not today. I freeze, heart pounding, and the porch board creaks. Blitz is instantly up, hackles raised.
The amulet around my neck suddenly hums softly, and Tristan and I snap to our feet beside her, facing the back door. His eyes find mine—not scared, just tense, waiting for my signal.
Seconds crawl by, turning into minutes. My instincts scream at me to get moving, but there’s no further sign of danger. Was I wrong? Maybe I’m just having an off day.
I relax a little, turning to wrap Tristan in a hug to calm him.
And that’s when the back door is kicked in.
