BLEEDING VELVET

Aren was already awake when Almond opened her eyes.

Not moving. Not blinking.

Just watching her.

Moonlight slipped through the cracks in the roof, painting lines across his face. They looked like runes. Or scars. Or secrets.

She didn't speak.

Didn't have to.

He finally whispered, "I dreamed of the altar again."

Almond sat up slowly. Her dagger slid into her hand like it had missed her.

"Did he say anything?"

Aren blinked once. Then said, too calmly:

"He asked what color you'd bleed if he kissed your heart."

Kairo and Velda were already packing. The ruins had grown colder. The woods too quiet. Even the birds seemed scared to sing.

They traveled south this time—back toward the lands that still had people. Maybe help. Maybe witnesses.

But the trail they followed wasn't made of footsteps.

It was made of bodies.

Three by noon.

Seven by nightfall.

Each one marked with the Prophet's sigil. Burned into their chests like wedding vows.

Velda whispered, "He's feeding again."

Kairo didn't answer.

He just looked at Almond.

Because the last two corpses? They had her name carved into their thighs.

The village they found wasn't listed on any map.

It had no name.

Just a sign nailed to a tree:

BRIDES DON'T COME BACK

Aren stepped over the threshold first.

He didn't even flinch.

Almond walked through the center of the village like it was already hers.

Until a child appeared.

Small. Dirty. Hollow-eyed.

And whispered:

"You shouldn't be here. He's building the second altar."

Almond dropped to a knee. "Where?"

The girl pointed to the well.

And then vomited blood.

The well wasn't just a hole in the ground.

It was a spiral staircase of bones.

They descended for hours, the air getting thicker, sweeter—like perfume and decay.

At the bottom: a door.

Velda tried to open it.

It laughed.

Almond stepped forward.

The door spoke:

"Only wives may enter."

Aren turned to her. "You don't have to."

"I do," she said. "Because I'm not just his wife. I'm his goddamn widow."

She pressed her hand to the bone sigil.

The door opened.

And darkness welcomed her home.

Inside, the second altar was unfinished.

An obsidian floor.

Thirteen candles—one unlit.

A mirror.

And a figure sewing something that looked like skin.

He turned.

It wasn't the Prophet.

But it was his twin.

Eyes black. Mouth stitched shut. Hands covered in rings made from bone.

"You're not ready," he hissed.

Almond stepped into the circle.

"I've never been ready. That's why I survive."

He lunged.

But Aren tackled him first.

And something inside Aren roared.

The twin screamed.

And bled shadow.

When it was done, the candles had all gone out.

Aren lay still, shaking.

The twin had vanished into the walls.

And the mirror—

The mirror now showed Almond in a wedding dress made of fire.

"Third altar," Kairo said, stepping in. "It's calling you."

Almond looked down at her hands.

One word had been carved into her palm while she wasn't watching:

WIFE