"Stay close to me," Selene murmured as we hurried through winding streets that seemed to grow narrower with each turn. My mind was still reeling, fragmented images of those creatures—goblins, she'd called them—fshing behind my eyes.

  And the light from my hands. The impossible, brilliant light.

  "Where are we going?" I asked, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears.

  "Somewhere safe." Selene's pace was brisk but measured, her eyes constantly scanning our surroundings. The casual art student I'd befriended months ago had vanished, repced by someone vigint, disciplined. "Shakespeare and Company."

  "The bookstore?" I nearly stumbled over an uneven cobblestone. "What does a bookstore have to do with—with whatever just happened?"

  She gave me a sidelong gnce, her expression softening slightly. "More than you'd think."

  We crossed the Seine over Petit Pont, the dark water below reflecting fractured city lights. Notre Dame loomed to our right, its damaged towers still wrapped in scaffolding, a reminder of the devastating fire years ago. The cathedral's skeletal silhouette looked almost ghostly against the night sky. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw movement among the remaining gargoyles, but when I looked directly at them, they were just stone.

  My eyes were pying tricks. Had to be. Just like goblins couldn't be real, and light couldn't burst from my palms.

  "I know this is overwhelming," Selene said, her hand finding mine and squeezing gently. "But I promise it will make sense soon."

  "Was I drugged?" I blurted out. "Did someone slip something into my coffee?"

  Selene's ugh was unexpectedly warm. "If only it were that simple."

  We approached the familiar green fa?ade of Shakespeare and Company. I'd visited the historic bookstore several times since moving to Paris—a pilgrimage every art history student made eventually. But tonight, the old building seemed different somehow. The windows glowed with golden light, but the shadows between them seemed deeper, more significant. Like the drawing I'd made earlier at the café.

  The closed sign was clearly visible on the door.

  "They're not open," I pointed out.

  "Not to the general public," Selene replied cryptically, leading me to a smaller side door marked "Staff Only" in both French and English. She knocked—three short taps, two long, then another short—and waited.

  A moment ter, the door cracked open. An elderly man with wire-rimmed gsses peered out, his gaze sharp despite his age. When he saw Selene, his expression shifted to recognition.

  "Mademoiselle Rousseau." His eyes flicked to me, lingering curiously. "And you've brought a guest."

  "Emergency protocol four," Selene said. "We need entry. Rond is meeting us."

  The man nodded once, then stepped aside. "Quickly, then."

  Inside, the bookstore looked both familiar and strange. The byrinthine shelves filled with books were the same, but the lighting seemed to highlight different corners than I remembered. Many of the book spines seemed to shimmer subtly, titles blurring when I tried to focus on them.

  "This way," the old man said, leading us through the maze of bookshelves. He moved with surprising agility for someone who appeared to be in his eighties, navigating the narrow passages without hesitation.

  We arrived at what should have been a bnk wall at the back of the store's poetry section. A simple wooden door stood there, unremarkable except for a small sign that read "Authorized Personnel Only."

  "Veilkeeper passage," the old man announced to the door, his voice suddenly resonant. "Entry requested for Veilkeeper Rousseau and—" He gnced at me expectantly.

  "Iris Paige," Selene supplied.

  "—and civilian Iris Paige, under emergency protocol four."

  The door remained visibly unchanged, but something in the air around it shifted, a subtle pressure change like the moment before a storm breaks.

  "After you," the old man said with a small bow.

  Selene stepped forward, tugging me gently by the hand. "It's safe, I promise. Just step through."

  I followed hesitantly, expecting to see a storage room or office when the door opened. Instead, as we crossed the threshold, I felt a strange sensation wash over me—like plunging into cool water and then emerging instantly dry. My ears popped, and for a split second, my vision blurred. When it cleared, we were somewhere else entirely.

  We stood in a small circur chamber with stone walls. At least a dozen doors identical to the one we'd just passed through lined the circur chamber's walls, each marked with different symbols—some representing Paris ndmarks, others showing abstract runes. Several Veilkeepers hurried in and out of these doorways, barely gncing at us as they went about their business. In the center of the room stood a pedestal with what appeared to be an open logbook and an old-fashioned fountain pen, attended by a stern-looking woman recording each arrival and departure.

  The door closed behind us, and when I turned to look, it was indistinguishable from the others.

  "Arrival chamber," Selene expined, noting my confusion. "All the main entrances lead here."

  "What just happened?" I whispered, my voice echoing slightly against the stone.

  "We crossed through the Veil," she said. "This is the entrance foyer to Veilkeeper Headquarters."

  A fourth door—one I hadn't noticed before—opened suddenly. A tall man stepped through, his presence immediately filling the modest space. This had to be Rond.

  My first impression was of controlled power. He stood well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and the posture of someone who had commanded respect for a very long time. His face was striking—not conventionally handsome, but compelling, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw partially covered by a neatly trimmed beard peppered with silver. Deep lines around his eyes suggested both age and frequent ughter, contrasting with the solemnity of his expression now.

  What truly caught my attention, though, were his eyes—a gray so pale they almost appeared silver, with an intensity that made me feel as though he could see straight through to my thoughts. His gaze carried weight, the look of someone who had witnessed centuries.

  His attire defied easy categorization—a seamless blend of modern tailoring and what could only be described as medieval armor. A fitted jacket of midnight blue fabric covered a vest of what appeared to be finely crafted chainmail that caught the light with each movement. The colr and shoulders featured subtle pte armor elements, elegantly integrated into the design as if they were simply an eccentric fashion choice. At his hip hung a sword—an actual sword—its hilt wrapped in well-worn leather, the pommel inid with glowing blue stones. His left hand rested casually on it, a gesture that seemed as natural to him as breathing.

  "Rond," Selene said with a respectful nod. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

  "Given your report, I could hardly do otherwise." His voice matched his appearance—deep and resonant with the faintest trace of an accent I couldn't pce, something ancient. His eyes—those unsettling silver eyes—fixed on me with unnerving intensity. "So this is the young woman who performed spontaneous light magic?"

  "This is Iris Paige," Selene said. "My friend from university. Iris, this is Rond, the Sentinel of Paris and leader of our cell."

  "I..." Words failed me. What exactly was the proper etiquette when meeting a man with a sword after being attacked by goblins? "Hello," I managed weakly.

  "Show me your hands," Rond commanded, stepping closer.

  I hesitated, then held them out, palms up. They looked completely normal—the same hands I'd used for drawing and painting for years. There was no sign of the light that had erupted from them less than an hour ago.

  Rond took my right hand in his, turning it over with surprising gentleness. His touch was cool, and I felt a strange tingling sensation where his fingers met my skin.

  "Extraordinary," he murmured. "No runes, no channeling scars, no focus marks." He looked up, his eyes boring into mine. "Yet Selene says you produced pure light magic. Direct manifestation."

  "I don't understand any of this," I said, finding my voice at st. "Those creatures, the light, this pce... None of this should be possible."

  "And yet here we are," Rond replied, releasing my hand. He straightened, his expression contemptive. "The question is not whether it's possible—clearly, it is—but how and why."

  "That's what I'd like to know," I said, a fsh of frustration cutting through my confusion. "One minute I'm on my way to an art exhibition, and the next I'm fighting fairy tale monsters and walking through impossible doors. I deserve some expnations."

  Rond's eyebrows rose slightly, then his lips curved in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Indeed you do." He turned to Selene. "The cleanup team reports the goblins have been secured. They're being questioned now."

  "Good," Selene nodded. "They were surprisingly coordinated. I think someone sent them specifically."

  "Were they targeting you specifically?" Rond asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied my face.

  Selene nodded. "One of them pointed directly at Iris and said they'd been looking for her."

  Rond's expression darkened. "Goblins rarely organize hunting parties without direction from someone more powerful." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "What would make you a person of interest to them, I wonder?" He seemed to come to a decision. "We should continue this conversation in my study. This way."

  He led us through the door he had entered from, into a corridor carved from the same stone as the arrival chamber. Magical lights glowed from recesses in the walls, casting a warm illumination that shifted subtly as we walked, adjusting to our presence.

  The corridor opened into a rge circur chamber with multiple passageways branching off in different directions. I glimpsed people—or beings—moving purposefully through these passages, some carrying scrolls or strange instruments, others deep in conversation. Unlike the modern transit hub this central chamber resembled functionally, the architecture was distinctly medieval, with arched doorways and stone pilrs carved with intricate symbols.

  "The heart of our Paris operations," Rond expined, noticing my wide-eyed stare. "From here, we monitor and maintain the Veil throughout the city."

  He guided us down one of the smaller corridors, up a winding staircase that seemed to go on longer than should have been possible, and finally to a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands. Rond pressed his palm against a symbol carved into the wood, which briefly glowed blue before the door swung inward.

  "Welcome to my study," he said, gesturing for us to enter.

  The room beyond was both exactly what I might have expected and entirely surprising. It was rge and circur, with bookshelves covering much of the curved walls from floor to ceiling. Between the shelves hung tapestries, maps, and what appeared to be ancient weapons. A massive oak desk dominated one side of the room, its surface covered with open books, scrolls, and curious objects I couldn't identify.

  What struck me most was how the space managed to be simultaneously ancient and timeless. The stone floor was worn smooth in paths between the desk, bookshelves, and sitting area, suggesting centuries of use. Yet there were modern touches too—a sleek ptop partially hidden under parchment on the desk, electric mps mingling with what appeared to be genuine medieval candebras, and a coffee machine that looked significantly more advanced than anything I'd ever used.

  The ceiling drew my gaze upward—a domed affair painted with astronomical charts that seemed to shift subtly when I wasn't looking directly at them. A spiral staircase in one corner led to a narrow mezzanine that circled the upper portion of the room, providing access to the highest bookshelves.

  The center of the study held a comfortable sitting area with mismatched armchairs and a worn leather sofa arranged around a low table. The furniture looked as though it had been collected across different centuries, each piece with its own history.

  "Please, sit," Rond said, gesturing to the chairs. As we settled in, I couldn't help but notice the objects dispyed on shelves and in gss cases around the room.

  A horn fashioned from what appeared to be ivory or bone, etched with symbols that seemed to glow faintly.

  A fragment of stone with partial hieroglyphics that somehow seemed to shift when viewed from different angles.

  A knife with a bde that wasn't quite... there, its edge seeming to exist in multiple pces at once.

  A snow globe containing what looked like a perfect miniature of Notre Dame, complete with tiny figures moving around its base.

  Rond moved to a sideboard and poured three cups of tea from an ornate silver pot that I hadn't noticed steaming. He handed them out before taking a seat in a high-backed chair that creaked with age.

  "Drink," he encouraged, noticing my hesitation. A warm chuckle escaped him, the sound surprisingly gentle from such an imposing figure. "It's just tea, I assure you—though perhaps a better blend than you'll find in your typical Parisian café."

  I took a cautious sip. Warmth spread through me immediately, not just physical heat but a crity that seemed to sweep away some of the fog of shock and confusion.

  "Now," Rond said, his voice gentler than before, "let us begin with the most basic truth: The world is far more complex and poputed than humans generally perceive. What you call mythology, folklore, fairy tales—much of it stems from real beings and events, obscured over time by something we call the Veil."

  "The Veil," I repeated, remembering what he'd said in the arrival chamber. "The thing you keep."

  "Precisely. It is a magical construct, created thousands of years ago to separate the human world from the mythical one. It doesn't just hide mythical beings and magic from human perception—it actively creates illusions that help humans rationalize away anything supernatural they might glimpse."

  "But I saw those... goblins... clearly."

  Selene nodded. "Because the Veil had thinned in that location, and once you used magic yourself, your perception broke through it completely." She exchanged a quick gnce with Rond. "Though I've never seen anyone transition through the Veil so easily on their first exposure. Most humans experience disorientation, headaches, sometimes even nausea when they first see through it. You adapted almost instantly."

  "Magic," I murmured, looking down at my hands again. "You keep saying that word like it's the most normal thing in the world."

  "For us, it is," Rond said simply. "There are many forms of magic in this world. Runic magic, which humans can learn and practice through study." He gestured to the symbols carved into Selene's staff, which now leaned against her chair. "Innate magic, which comes from one's essence or heritage. And other, rarer forms."

  My eyes drifted to the strange horn dispyed on a nearby shelf. Rond followed my gaze.

  "Ah, you've noticed Olifant," he said. "An old companion of mine. It has certain... properties that help strengthen the Veil when needed."

  I nodded absently, still struggling to absorb everything. "And what happened with me? With the light?"

  "What happened with you," Selene said, "was something I've never seen before. Pure light manifestation without any channeling tools or preparation. It shouldn't be possible for an ordinary human."

  I stared at her. "What are you saying?"

  Rond leaned forward, his chair creaking. "If I may ask, Mademoiselle Paige, what do you know of your family lineage? Particurly any unusual ancestral histories?"

  "Not much," I admitted. "I was adopted. My parents—my adoptive parents—are both teachers in Bergerac. They never knew much about my biological family."

  Rond and Selene exchanged a significant gnce.

  "I see," Rond said carefully, setting his teacup down with a soft clink against the saucer.

  The unspoken implication hung in the air between us. I should have ughed, should have dismissed the idea as absurd. But something deep inside me—the same part that had always known my drawings weren't just imagination, the part that had recognized the wrongness of the goblin before Selene named it—that part of me wasn't surprised at all.

  "So what happens now?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected.

  "With your permission," Rond said, "we'd like you to stay with us for a few days. We can run some tests, help you understand what happened tonight, and—" his eyes glinted with something like concern, "—ensure your safety, given that someone appears to have sent goblins specifically to find you."

  "That," he added, leaning back in his chair which groaned beneath his weight, "and we have much more to expin."