His Silent Luna (Verity and Felicity) novel Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

Cassian’s Perspective

The instant her eyes fell on the final line of that letter, everything shifted.

Her face went pale, as if the color had been drained away by an invisible frost creeping slowly over her skin. Her lips parted just a fraction, trembling so subtly it was almost imperceptible. Her hands began to tremble violently, fingers curling inward like she wanted to fold herself into nothingness. Her shoulders slumped forward, her spine curving inwards, as if the very weight of the words pressed down on her like a physical force.

Her gaze remained locked on the paper, unblinking, as though looking away might somehow make the name vanish—or worse, follow her into darkness.

Veyran the Hollow.

That name—she knew it. I would stake everything I had on it.

“Verity,” I murmured, my voice coming out deeper and rougher than I intended, the low growl beneath the surface unmistakable. “You’ve heard of him.”

Her head gave the slightest, almost imperceptible jerk—a twitch barely noticeable but enough to answer.

She scrambled for her paper and charcoal, nearly dropping both in her trembling hands. Then, with shaky, uneven strokes, she scribbled something down. When she held it up for me to see, the charcoal left dark smudges across her fingertips.

“I’ve… heard the name,” she wrote.

That wasn’t enough. I narrowed my eyes. “Heard it, or met him?”

Her jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in her face tightening as if she was locking some secret behind her teeth. Slowly, painstakingly, she wrote again, each letter seeming to weigh heavily on her hand.

“I haven’t met him. Not… exactly.”

Before I could press her further, Kin stepped forward, arms crossed, his voice sharp and unforgiving. “What does that even mean? Either you’ve met him or you haven’t.”

She flinched at the harshness in his tone. Caleb’s eyes flicked toward Kin with a warning glance, but he held back for now.

“Verity,” I said, lowering my voice to a calm but firm tone, each word a deliberate strike between us, “you’ve been in the Darklands before, haven’t you? Tell me where. Tell me how far you went.”

The hesitation in the air was thick, almost suffocating. Then, slowly, she began to write.

“Not far. I stayed near the outer edges. I didn’t want to go deeper… until I had no choice but to.”

“You stayed on the edges,” I repeated quietly, “and yet you survived. Most don’t last a single night there.” My gaze sharpened. “How?”

She kept her eyes fixed on the paper, avoiding my gaze as she wrote.

“I stayed there for three years. It was a miracle I lasted so long. I was captured and escaped from the rogues multiple times. After a while, I learned where not to step. Where the ground sinks. Where the air feels wrong. Where the voices start.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. “Voices?”

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, raw fear shining in their depths. She wrote faster now, the charcoal strokes uneven and jagged. “They’re not real,” she scrawled, as if trying to convince herself. “I think. They whisper from the trees. They promise things.”

The room seemed to shrink around us, the air turning colder, heavier. Caleb’s eyes flicked toward me, but I didn’t break my gaze from her.

“Why would he want you?” I asked softly, but the growl beneath my voice was unmistakable. “What could you possibly be to him?”

Her hand remained still. Her breathing grew shallow. I noticed a slight tremor in her fingers before she let the charcoal fall to the floor.

“Verity,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper but filled with all the weight I could muster, “what does he want with you?”

Her eyes met mine for a fleeting moment. Something inside them cracked—fear, shame, maybe regret—before she quickly looked away.

Her lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came. Her gaze flickered between the three of us, then back to the letter, as though it held answers she was too afraid to voice.

She swayed once. Then again.

“Verity—”

Her knees gave way beneath her, and I caught her before she hit the ground. Her body went limp, her head resting heavily against my arm. Her breath was shallow but steady.

Not dead. Not hurt—at least not yet.

But whatever secrets she held about Veyran the Hollow… they had already drained the strength from her completely.