Draven Thornspell stood in front of the cracked mirror, staring at the white glow in his eyes. The light pulsed with each heartbeat. He wanted more than anything to win Mira's heart, but she flinched every time she saw his face. The glow marked him as cursed in Wyrmshadow. He needed a place where the glow wouldn't matter. Somewhere dim enough to hide his eyes but safe enough for her to trust him. Draven walked through the twisted streets until he found it—a stone chapel with thick, spiraling walls. A single skylight above let in pale moonlight. The warped geometry made shadows dance across the floor. Here, in the darkness, maybe she could see past the curse. He carved a notch into the bone tally he kept in his coat pocket. Each mark tracked a day he'd tried to speak to her. The elongated piece of bone cast strange shadows as he turned it over. Tomorrow at dusk, he would ask her to meet him here. The chapel would be their sanctuary. Outside, the torch arbor blazed with fire. Tall wooden posts held metal rings of burning flames above the square where people gathered. Draven stood beneath the crooked spirals of light, waiting. His white eyes reflected the fire. He pulled his coat tighter and turned back toward the chapel. Tomorrow, he would finally tell her how he felt.