They would burn me at dawn.

The pyre stood ready in the execution square...a jagged tower of timber waiting to devour me. No trial. No last words. Just fire. Just ash.

Magic showed up.

Five years later, I’m in chains. That’s the story.

No questions. No answers. Just me, locked up.

Iron cuffs gnawed at my wrists, my body hollowed by hunger.

The damp stone walls pressed in, suffocating, and the scent of distant smoke curled through the narrow window... a cruel promise of what was to come.

Then... a sound.

Not the heavy boots of guards. Lighter. Quieter.

The cell door creaked open, and a shadow slipped inside. Not a guard. Not the executioner. Which meant I had a new problem.

Great. I wasn't even going to make it to the pyre... just shanked in my cell instead.

The figure moved with deliberate grace, each step precise. A gloved hand reached for me, and sharp eyes gleamed beneath the hood.

"Can you stand?" The voice was low, steady, devoid of pity.

I blinked, my thoughts sluggish. “Who...”

“No time,” the stranger cut in. “Hold on.”

A firm grip closed closed around my arm before I could protest. The air around us shimmered, warping like heat off desert sand. A sudden weightlessness yanked at my stomach.

Then the world lurched.

Cold bit into my skin, the wind slicing around the rags I barely recognized as clothing.

My head swam, nausea clawed up my throat. My knees buckled, but she held me upright. "Breathe."

My breath came in sharp gulps as I took in my surroundings.

We were outside, standing in the prison's shadow.

Above, torchlight flickered along the walls.

No shouts. No alarm.

No sign that anyone had seen us.

I swallowed hard. "What the hell was that?"

My voice was rough, foreign even to my own ears.

She didn't answer. She scanned the perimeter, her hood shifting just enough to reveal a smirk. "You're scrawnier than I expected."

I scowled. "Lean, not scrawny." My back hair hung in uneven strands, greasy and unkempt.

"...Jason," I rasped. My name. I hadn't spoken it in weeks.

She exhaled, her smirk widening. "Good, You're still in there."

Then after a beat, she added, "Veyne."

My breath caught as it hit me.

A Variant. She had to be. No augmentor could move like that, and no conjurer could manipulate space itself.

This wasn't magic as I knew it. It was something else entirely.

The kind that shouldn't exist.

Her expression hardened. She glanced over her shoulder, muscles tensing.

"Ready for the next jump?"

My stomach churned at the thought, but I forced a nod.

She gripped my arm again and the world twisted once more.