Venya Nightwing wanted one thing: to know where she came from. She had no memory of parents, no birth record, not even the name of the town that raised her. She only had her wings. They hung dark blue behind her, veined with gold, nothing like the glowing butterfly wings of the other healers. She folded them tight and climbed the steps into the academy. Inside, the halls glowed with light through tall windows. Students drifted past in pairs, their slender wings shimmering. They looked at Venya, then looked away. One girl whispered. Another laughed. Venya kept her eyes on the book in her hands and found an empty seat at the back of the lecture. No one sat near her. They never did. She did not mind the quiet. She minded the not knowing. Every healer here could name their mother's house and their grandmother's craft. Venya could name nothing. She turned a page and tried to study, but the question circled her again. Where do I begin when I have no first thread to pull? After class she walked home alone. Her shelter waited beneath the trees, woven from layered branches and draped with leaves. It was small and hers. She had lived there as long as she could remember, left there as a child by someone she never saw. Venya lit a candle and knelt by her sleeping mat. She had searched this place a hundred times. Tonight she searched again, because she had nowhere else to look. She pried up the loose floorboard where she kept her few coins. Her fingers struck something cold beneath them. She pulled it free. An amulet, dark blue and gold, shaped like a shield. At its center, carved into the stone, a blue flame flickered without burning. She had never seen it before. It had been hidden under her own floor, in her own home, for all her life. Venya turned it in the candlelight. The gold edges were worn smooth, as if someone had held it often. On the back, scratched into the metal, she found three letters. They were not her name. They were not any name she knew. Her heart pounded. For the first time, she held proof that she had come from somewhere. Someone had owned this. Someone had left it for her. The amulet was her first thread, and now she had a place to pull. She closed her fingers around it. Tomorrow she would find out who those three letters belonged to. The quiet shelter felt different now, no longer the whole of her world but the start of a trail. Venya blew out the candle and lay awake, holding the flame that did not burn.

Venya carried the amulet to the academy the next morning. She held it out to every student she passed. A girl with silver wings stepped back. A boy turned his shoulder and walked on. No one would look at the dark blue stone or the three scratched letters. No one would answer her questions. By midday her hand ached from holding the amulet up to faces that refused her. She tried the healers in the great hall. One older student glanced at the flame carved in the stone. Her mouth tightened. She pulled her robes close and hurried off without a word. Venya watched her go. The quiet she had always lived in now felt like a wall. She could not learn where she came from if no one would speak the name of what she held. She climbed to the library alone. Tall windows threw colored light across the floor. Rows of books rose above her like cliffs. She did not know where to begin. She set the amulet on a table and sat, defeated. "That's a bold thing to wave around," a voice said. Venya looked up. A boy leaned against the shelf behind her. He had dark tawny skin and red eyes. His wings were black, veined with gold, the same gold that laced her own. She had never seen wings like hers on anyone. Her breath caught. "Daemon Fenrye," he said. He smiled like he already knew she had no friends. "You've been shoving that under everyone's nose all day. They won't tell you anything. Cowards." "You know what it is?" Venya stood too fast. Her chair scraped. He pushed off the shelf and crossed to the table. He did not touch the amulet. He only studied the blue flame inside the stone. "Shadowflame," he said. "That mark isn't healer work. It's old. The teachers here won't say the word out loud." He glanced at her wings, then at his own. His smile faded. "They look at you the way they look at me. Now I know why." Venya's face went hot. "Why won't they speak of it?" "Because it isn't theirs." He turned the amulet over with one finger. His eyes fixed on the three letters. For a moment his cockiness dropped. "I've seen these letters before," he said. "Carved over a door. Not here. Far from here." Venya gripped the table. "Where?" Daemon leaned close. His grin returned, but softer now. "That's going to cost you more than a blush, Nightwing." He straightened. "I'll take you there. But not today. Someone's already watching you carry this around." He nodded toward the gallery above. A figure stood in the shadow between two shelves, still, facing them. Then it was gone. Venya's heart pounded. For the first time, someone had named her thread. And for the first time, she knew she was not the only one holding it.