SERA'S POV
The bread smelled like heaven.
I pressed myself against the broken wall of what used to be Miller's bakery, watching the merchant caravan unload supplies in the town square—or what was left of it. My stomach twisted so hard it hurt. I hadn't eaten in two days. Maybe three. Time blurred together when you lived in the ruins of your dead hometown.
Six months ago, this square had been full of people laughing and dancing at my birthday party. Now it was just ash and memories that wouldn't leave me alone.
Don't think about it. Focus.
The merchants were packing up for the night. Soon they'd leave, and this bread—sitting right there in an open crate—would go with them. I couldn't let that happen.
I waited until the last merchant walked toward the river to wash. Then I moved.
My feet barely made a sound as I crept forward. I'd gotten good at being quiet. When you're supposed to be dead, you learn to move like a ghost. My fingers were inches from the crate when a voice froze me in place.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
I spun around, heart hammering. A woman stood behind me, appearing out of nowhere like smoke. She wore a silver mask that covered the top half of her face, and her dark hair seemed to move even though there was no wind.
Run. Every muscle in my body screamed it.
But I was so tired of running.
"I'm just taking one piece," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. "They have plenty."
The woman tilted her head, studying me. "You're not from the merchant group."
"No."
"You live here? In Rosewick?" She said the name of my town like she knew something about it. Like she knew what happened here.
My hand moved to the locket around my neck—the one holding my family's ashes. "I'm the only one who does."
"Interesting." The woman stepped closer. In the dying sunlight, I could see her eyes behind the mask. They were strange—one brown, one silver. "Most people run from burned towns. They don't live in them."
"Most people have somewhere to run to."
The words came out harder than I meant them to. But it was true. Everyone I loved had died the night of the fire. My parents. My little brother Thomas. Three hundred other people, all gone in one terrible night. The nobles who ordered it told everyone it was an accident. They lied.
"What's your name?" the woman asked.
I almost said Seraphina. But Seraphina Ashford died in that fire. Everyone thought so. If I wanted revenge on the people who killed my family, I needed to stay dead.
"Does it matter?"
"Everything matters." She reached into her coat and pulled out not a weapon, but a piece of bread. Fresh bread. She held it out to me. "Here."
I stared at it. "Why?"
"Because you look hungry. And because I might have a job for you."
"I don't do jobs."
"Not even ones that could give you what you really want?" Her silver eye seemed to glow. "Revenge?"
The word hit me like a punch. How could she know?
I grabbed the bread, but I didn't eat it yet. "Who are you?"
"Someone who steals things." She smiled, and it wasn't a kind smile. It was the smile of someone who understood anger. "Specifically, I steal memories. And I know what happened here six months ago, Seraphina Ashford."
My blood turned to ice. She knew my real name. She knew I was alive.
"Don't worry," she continued. "I'm not going to tell anyone. In fact, I've been looking for you. You see, I know who ordered the Rosewick fire. Duke Malachai Corvus. And I know why—to kill you before your seventeenth birthday."
"That's crazy. Why would a duke want to kill me? I'm nobody."
"Are you?" She pulled out a small glass bottle from her pocket. Inside it swirled something that looked like silver smoke. "This is a memory I stole from one of Malachai's servants. Want to see what's in it?"
I didn't trust her. But I needed to know the truth more than I needed to be careful.
"What do you want from me?" I asked.
"Help me steal something tonight. Something important. Do that, and I'll give you two things—a new identity so you can get into the Clockwork Capital where Malachai lives, and the truth about why your whole town had to die."
My hands clenched into fists. The Clockwork Capital. Where all the rich nobles lived in their fancy houses while my family's bones turned to ash.
"One job," I said. "Then you tell me everything."
"Deal." She held out her hand. "You can call me Mnemora."
I shook it, and the moment our hands touched, something strange happened. Heat burst from my palm—actual heat, like touching a hot stove. Mnemora pulled back fast, but she didn't look scared. She looked excited.
"Well, well," she whispered. "It's already starting."
"What's starting? What are you talking about?"
But before she could answer, a scream cut through the air.
We both turned toward the sound. Down by the river, one of the merchants was pointing at something in the water. No—someone. A body, floating face-down, wearing the uniform of Malachai's guards.
"We need to go," Mnemora said urgently. "Now."
"Why? What's—"
"Because that guard was murdered. And in about thirty seconds, twenty more guards are going to flood this area looking for the killer." She grabbed my arm. "Unless you want to explain why a dead girl is alive in a burned town, we run. Now."
She took off running into the ruins. I had one second to decide—stay and probably get caught, or follow a mysterious stranger who somehow knew my secrets.
I ran after her.
We wove through collapsed buildings and burned houses. My lungs burned, but I kept going. Behind us, I heard shouts and the sound of horses. They were coming fast.
Mnemora pulled me into what used to be the library—the same place where I'd hidden during the fire. She pressed something on the wall and a hidden door opened, revealing stairs going down into darkness.
"Inside," she hissed.
I hesitated. Going down into darkness with a stranger was dangerous. But staying up here was definitely deadly.
I went down.
The door closed behind us, sealing out the sounds of the guards above. In the pitch black, I heard Mnemora breathing next to me.
"That guard," I whispered. "Did you kill him?"
"No." Her voice was grim. "But I know who did. And if I'm right, we're in much bigger trouble than I thought."
"What kind of trouble?"
A light flickered on—a small glowing orb in Mnemora's hand. In its blue glow, I saw we were in some kind of underground tunnel.
"The kind where people with magic are being hunted," she said. "And you, Seraphina, just used fire magic when you touched my hand. Which means they'll know you're alive now. And they'll come for you."
My whole body went cold. "I don't have magic. That's impossible."
"Is it?" She held up her hand. There was a small burn mark on her palm where I'd touched her. "Your family hid what you are. They gave you potions to suppress your powers. But those potions wear off eventually. Especially after trauma." She looked at me with those strange eyes. "The fire didn't just destroy your town, Seraphina. It woke something up inside you. Something ancient. Something the nobles will kill to keep buried."
"What am I?"
Mnemora's smile was sharp as a knife. "You're a Flameheart. And you're the last one alive. Which means every powerful person in the kingdom wants you dead."
Before I could process that, footsteps echoed from above. Heavy boots. Many of them.
"They're searching the library," Mnemora whispered. "We have maybe two minutes before they find the hidden door."
"Where does this tunnel go?"
"To my home. The Palace of Forgotten Things. If we can get there, you'll be safe." She started walking deeper into the darkness. "But Sera? Once you come with me, there's no going back. Your old life is over. You'll be stepping into a war that's been going on for fifty years. A war against people like you. Like us."
I thought about my family. About Thomas, who was only eight when he died. About my parents, who apparently knew I had magic and spent their whole lives protecting me.
The guards were getting closer. I could hear them tearing apart the library above us.
Mnemora held out her hand. "Choose fast. Come with me and learn to fight back, or stay here and die like they want you to."
I looked at that burned mark on her palm—proof that something impossible was happening to me.
Then I took her hand.
"Good," she said. "Now run like your life depends on it. Because it does."
We ran into the darkness together, and behind us, I heard the hidden door explode open and guards shouting my name—the name of a dead girl who wasn't dead at all.
And somewhere in the distance, I swore I heard laughter.
Cold, cruel laughter that made my blood freeze.
Someone was watching us run.
Someone who'd been waiting for this moment all along.