Centuria Books · Soul Constellation
Soul Constellation — Read the First Chapter
In a world where two minds can merge, the real revolution isn’t the bond—it’s the door you can always close.
Chapter 1 – The Awakening
The fog curled around our cottage like jealous fingers, possessing every wooden beam and weather-beaten shingle. It transformed the morning light into something diffused and strange, as if the sun itself couldn’t quite reach us through the misty barrier between our world and everything else. From my cross-legged position on our living room floor, I could see the vapor pressing against the windows, turning our small sanctuary into an island adrift in a clouded sea.
Kieran sat facing me, close enough that our knees nearly touched, the heat of his body creating its own gravitational pull. His dark hair fell across his forehead as he leaned slightly forward, his eyes—those impossibly deep brown eyes that still made my stomach flip even after all this time—fixed on mine with quiet intensity.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and intimate in the stillness of our home.
I nodded, drawing in a breath that synchronized perfectly with his own—an unconscious harmony we’d developed over the year since we’d escaped the Severance Foundation and established our life in this remote coastal village. As our breathing aligned, I felt the familiar stirring of our bond, that invisible thread connecting his mind to mine.
This wasn’t metaphorical. This wasn’t poetic exaggeration. This was our reality: two consciousnesses connected in ways that defied scientific explanation. We were Tethered—an anomaly, a miracle, a potential abomination depending on whom you asked. After the Foundation had tried to study us, separate us, exploit us, we’d fled to this forgotten corner of the coast where the mist provided constant cover and the locals minded their own business.
I closed my eyes, feeling the walls between our minds growing thinner with each controlled breath. Most people spend their entire lives building fortresses around their thoughts, desperate to be understood yet terrified of being truly seen. Kieran and I had the opposite problem. There was nowhere to hide in our bond, no space for secrets or convenient lies. Every emotion, every thought, every desire flowed between us like water seeking its own level—immediate, unfiltered, impossible to disguise.
*I’m here,* his thoughts whispered against the edges of my consciousness, gentle as fingers brushing skin.
*I know,* I responded, not with words but with feeling—a warmth that traveled across our connection.
This was our morning ritual—twenty minutes of deliberately shared consciousness before forcing our minds to function independently throughout the day. We’d learned the hard way that without this “calibration” period, our thoughts would bleed into each other at inconvenient moments. Kieran would be examining a patient at his small medical practice in the village and suddenly be overwhelmed by my frustration with research. I’d be transcribing notes and find myself feeling phantom sensations from his physical examinations.
The first months after our escape had been chaos—waking up screaming from each other’s nightmares, unable to distinguish his hunger from my thirst, his memories from mine. We’d built this ritual as a form of control, a way to acknowledge our connection before establishing the mental partitions necessary to function as individuals.
I focused on the steady rhythm of our shared breathing. One breath. Two. Three. The boundary between us grew thinner with each exhale, our minds mingling in the familiar pattern we’d perfected. In this state, I could feel everything—the lingering tension in his shoulders from yesterday’s difficult patient, the quiet contentment that had become his emotional baseline in our peaceful exile, the undercurrent of desire that always hummed beneath the surface when we were close.
Four breaths. Five. Six.
The first wave hit without warning.
It felt like someone had reached into my chest and yanked—a violent, nauseating tug that seemed to pull something essential from behind my navel. The meditation room blurred around me, the wooden floors and whitewashed walls dissolving like fog beneath sudden heat.
*Sage?* Kieran’s voice, alarmed and suddenly distant. *What’s happening?*
I couldn’t answer. My body remained seated on our cottage floor, but my mind—my consciousness—was being dragged elsewhere. Cold stone pressed against my cheek. Not our wooden floor. Stone. My hands weren’t my hands anymore—they were smaller, with different calluses, the nails bitten to the quick. These strange hands clutched a rolled parchment with desperate intensity, the knuckles white with strain.
“They’re coming.” A man’s voice, urgent and low. “The Bishop’s men were at the lower gate. We have minutes at most.”
I looked up—except it wasn’t me looking. I was experiencing someone else’s perceptions, feeling through someone else’s skin. A woman, young and terrified, her heart—my heart?—hammering so violently I could feel individual ribs ache with each beat.
“Katarina, did you hear me? We must go. Now.” The man speaking wore a monk’s simple brown robe, his tonsured head gleaming in the light that filtered through a narrow window set high in the stone wall. Behind him, shelves of manuscripts rose toward a vaulted ceiling, thousands of handwritten texts filling the massive space. A library of some kind, ancient and hidden.
“The records,” I heard myself—her—say, the voice unfamiliar yet emerging from my own throat. “We can’t leave them.”
“We have no choice.” His eyes—nearly black with fear and determination—fixed on mine with fierce intensity. “The knowledge is in us now. In our bond. We are the records.”
A sound echoed from somewhere below—metal against metal, the shouts of men echoing off stone.
“My love,” the monk whispered, pressing his forehead against mine. “Remember your promise.”
A current passed between them—between us—at the physical contact. Not just emotion. Something more elemental. Power. Their minds connecting in a way that mirrored my bond with Kieran, yet different somehow. Older. Rawer. Unrefined.
“If they take me,” he continued, his breath warm against my face, “you must—”
“Sage! SAGE!”
Reality snapped back violently. I was on the floor of our cottage, my back arching off the hardwood as my body convulsed. Kieran knelt over me, his face contorted with fear, hands hovering uncertainly above my shoulders as if afraid to touch me.
“What’s happening?” His voice cracked with panic. “I can’t reach you—the bond feels—it’s like you’re being pulled away—”
Another violent seizure interrupted him, my body going rigid as my mind was once again wrenched from the present.
Smoke filled my lungs, acrid and choking. I was running, feet pounding against packed earth, the weight of a child in my arms. Not my child—hers. Whoever she was. Flames illuminated the night sky, a village burning behind us. The child sobbed against my neck, small arms clutched desperately around me.
“Hush, little one,” I whispered in a language I somehow understood though I’d never heard it before—something ancient, with guttural consonants and flowing vowels. “Your father will find us.”
*He’s coming,* a voice assured me inside my mind—not my thoughts, but someone else’s. A man. The child’s father. Connected to this woman as I was connected to Kieran.
Through the chaos and smoke, I could feel him—his determination, his fear, his desperate love—as clearly as if they were my own emotions. He was approaching from the east, circling wide around the men who’d set fire to their home. They would reunite at the river bend. They would escape into the forest. They would—
“Breathe! Sage, please breathe!”
I gasped, air flooding my lungs as the vision released its grip. Kieran’s face hovered above mine, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. His hands gripped my shoulders, shaking me gently but insistently.
“Stay with me,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Just stay with me.”
I wanted to reassure him I was trying, but another seizure ripped through me before I could form the words.
A different time. A different place. A grand ballroom in what felt like 19th century Europe. Crystal chandeliers blazed overhead, casting prismatic light across polished marble floors where couples whirled in intricate patterns. I wore silk and diamonds, the weight of an elaborate hairstyle pressing against my scalp as I stood perfectly still amid the swirling dancers.
Across the crowded room, a woman in an emerald green gown stared at me with such naked longing that my heart ached in response. Her blonde hair was arranged in fashionable curls, her slender neck adorned with a simple pearl choker that drew attention to her graceful collarbones. She looked like any other society woman—except for her eyes. Her eyes tracked me with desperate hunger, as if I were water and she had been wandering the desert for days.
*I can feel you,* her voice whispered directly into my mind, clear despite the orchestra and chattering guests between us. *Even from here. Even with all these people between us. Why is this happening to us?*
*I don’t know,* I—or the person I was inhabiting—responded. *But I’ve felt you my whole life. Waiting.*
The woman in green pressed a gloved hand to her lips, eyes widening with wonder and fear.
*Meet me in the garden,* she thought. *Ten minutes. Please.*
“—need to call an ambulance—”
“—try to get through to her—”
Voices faded in and out. Kieran’s panicked baritone. My own gasping attempts at speech. I felt his desperation bleeding through our bond, but I couldn’t respond. Couldn’t control the visions pulling me under like a riptide.
Flash. A trench in some forgotten war, the ground churned to mud, the air thick with gunpowder and death. Two soldiers huddled together beneath a makeshift tarp, their minds intertwined so completely they moved as one organism. They used their bond to sense enemy movements before they happened, saving not just themselves but dozens of their comrades.
Flash. A sterile laboratory. A woman strapped to a metal table while men in white coats monitored the screams that tore from her throat as they tested the limits of her connection to someone they held in another room. The agony of separation. The violation of something sacred.
Flash. Two young girls in what looked like 1950s America, holding hands beneath an oak tree, discovering with shock and delight that they could hear each other’s thoughts. Their wonder. Their promise to keep it secret.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
Dozens of pairs. Hundreds. Throughout history. Different times, different places, but always the same fundamental reality: two minds connected in ways that defied conventional understanding. Some discovered their abilities by accident. Others inherited knowledge from pairs that came before. All of them hunted. All of them afraid.
And beneath the fear, something else—a pattern I couldn’t quite grasp. A message trying to surface through these fragmented lives I was experiencing. Something vital. Something urgent.
When I finally came back to myself completely, the quality of light in the cottage had changed from morning gray to late afternoon amber. Hours had passed. I lay on our couch, a cold compress on my forehead, Kieran sitting on the floor beside me, his fingers interlaced with mine in a grip so tight it bordered on painful.
“You’re back,” he whispered, relief washing through our bond like a flash flood. “I thought—” He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. “I couldn’t reach you. It was like something was blocking our connection, pulling you away from me.”
I tried to sit up but immediately regretted it as the room tilted violently around me, the wooden ceiling beams seeming to rotate like the spokes of a wheel.
“Don’t move,” Kieran said, gently pressing me back against the cushions. “Your body has been through trauma. Three major seizures, plus whatever was happening in between.”
“How long?” My voice emerged as a rasp, my throat raw as if I’d been screaming.
“Almost five hours.” His voice was carefully controlled, but our bond betrayed his terror. “You’d come back for a few minutes, just long enough to drink some water, then go under again. I was about to break our rule and call for help, regardless of the consequences.”
Five hours. It had felt like minutes—or perhaps lifetimes. Time had lost all meaning during the visions.
“What happened?” he asked, reaching up to stroke damp hair away from my forehead with trembling fingers.
How could I possibly explain what I’d experienced? These weren’t dreams or hallucinations. They were too detailed, too specific, too real. I’d been inside these people, feeling what they felt, seeing through their eyes, experiencing their bonds.
“I think—” My voice cracked, and Kieran immediately reached for a glass of water on the coffee table, helping me take small sips. “I think I saw others like us. Throughout history.”
Kieran’s expression hardened, a flash of fear bleeding through our connection before he could suppress it. “That’s not possible.”
“It felt real,” I insisted, struggling again to sit up despite the room’s spinning. This time he helped me, adjusting pillows behind my back. “More than real. Like I was actually there, living their experiences. Not watching—being them.”
He stood abruptly, pacing the small confines of our living room. Afternoon light filtered through the thinning fog outside, casting elongated shadows across the floor as he moved.
“It was a seizure, Sage. A medical event. I nearly called an ambulance three separate times.”
“Why didn’t you?”
His back stiffened. “You know why. We can’t risk it. Not after everything with the Foundation.”
The unspoken reality hung between us: medical tests would show our abnormalities. Our brain waves, when monitored simultaneously, displayed patterns that science couldn’t explain. Questions would follow. And questions about people like us never led anywhere good.
“Kieran,” I said softly, “what if we’re not alone? What if there have been others like us throughout history? Hundreds, maybe thousands of Tethered pairs?”
“Stop.” He turned, face pale beneath his olive complexion. “Just stop. We survived the Foundation by the skin of our teeth. We have a life here. A good life. Safe. Hidden.”
I could feel his fear through our bond—not just concern for my health, but absolute terror at the implications of what I was suggesting. If there were others, if this was something that had existed throughout history, then everything we thought we knew about ourselves was wrong. And if I was suddenly connecting with these past pairs, what did that mean for us? For our carefully constructed sanctuary?
“I need to understand what happened to me,” I said, my voice growing stronger with conviction. “This wasn’t random, Kieran. It felt… intentional. Like they were trying to show me something.”
“Who is ‘they’?” he demanded, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you even hear yourself? You had a medical event—possibly triggered by our meditation. Maybe we pushed too far this morning. Maybe our bond is evolving in ways we don’t understand yet.”
“Exactly,” I seized on his words. “Evolving. What if that’s what this is? What if our bond is… I don’t know… expanding somehow? Connecting to something larger?”
“What you need is rest.” He knelt beside me again, taking my hand between both of his. Through our connection, I could feel him struggling to project calm while his thoughts raced with worst-case scenarios. “Whatever this was—seizure, hallucination, extreme meditation state—we need to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I can’t—” His voice broke. “I can’t watch you go through that again. It was like you were being torn away from me, piece by piece.”
But even as he spoke, images from the visions flickered behind my eyes—the monk and his beloved in their ancient library; the mother carrying her child through fire; the aristocrat and the woman in the green dress; the soldiers; the laboratory victims. All of them connected like Kieran and me. All of them with secrets I somehow needed to understand.
“I don’t think I can stop it,” I whispered, certainty settling over me like a physical weight. “I think it’s only beginning.”
Through our bond, I felt Kieran’s determination harden into something like armor—his need to protect us, to preserve what we’d built. But beneath that protective instinct, something else flickered in the depths of his consciousness. A question he couldn’t bring himself to ask aloud:
*What if protecting you means fighting whatever this is?*
I closed my eyes, exhaustion dragging me toward unconsciousness despite the hours I’d spent in seizure. As I drifted off, fragments of the visions swirled together—the monk’s desperate eyes, the child’s sobbing breath against my neck, the woman in green staring across the crowded ballroom, the soldiers sensing danger before it arrived, the test subject’s screams.
They were trying to show me something. Trying to warn me.
But of what?
As sleep claimed me, one final image surfaced—a page from the monk’s manuscript, glimpsed briefly as he pressed it into Katarina’s hands. Ancient symbols arranged in a circular pattern around a central figure: two human outlines, their forms overlapping, sharing a single heart.
Beneath it, words in a language I couldn’t read in the vision but somehow understood as I fell asleep in our cottage by the sea:
*When all bonds awaken, the silence will end.*
Chapter 2 – Echoes of Luna
Three days had passed since my seizures, and Kieran had barely left my side. His protective instincts had transformed our small coastal home into something between a sanctuary and a medical ward. I’d catch him watching me when he thought I wasn’t looking, his eyes tracking my movements for any sign of another episode, our bond thrumming with his barely contained worry.
The morning light filtered through our kitchen windows, casting golden rectangles across the weathered wooden table. I wrapped my fingers around my tea mug, absorbing its warmth as though it might somehow steady me from the inside out.
“I’m going to check on those boxes we never unpacked,” I announced over breakfast, setting down my mug with deliberate steadiness to prove I was fine. “There might be something useful there.”
Kieran glanced up from his medical journal, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well. I could feel his exhaustion through our connection, a dull weight pressing against my consciousness.
“Useful for what exactly?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with concern.
“For understanding what happened to me,” I said, tracing the rim of my mug with my fingertip. “My research notes from before the Foundation, maybe some of Luna’s old papers…”
At my sister’s name, his expression softened. He knew what Luna had meant to me—my twin, my other half before Kieran and I had discovered our bond. Her absence remained a physical ache, a phantom limb I could still feel two years after her “accident.”
“I’ll help you,” he offered, closing his journal with a quiet thud.
“Actually,” I began carefully, watching his face, “I think I need to do this alone.”
His disappointment rippled through our connection like a stone dropped in still water. I felt it wash over me—the slight sting of rejection, his worry bubbling beneath—but he nodded, respecting my need for space.
“I understand. Just… be careful on those attic stairs.” His eyes held mine, conveying everything he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud. Don’t leave me. Don’t get hurt. Don’t have another seizure when I’m not there to catch you.
I stood and moved around the table, drawn to him like gravity. I leaned down and pressed my lips against his, feeling his concern dissolve into warmth as our bond amplified the simple contact into something that made my heart race. His hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing across my skin with such tenderness I nearly forgot why I needed time to myself in the first place.
“I’ll call if I need you,” I promised against his mouth, our foreheads touching. “I just need to sort through some things, physically and mentally.”
His fingers traced the line of my jaw. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”
Those four words—I’ll be here—carried the weight of every promise we’d ever made to each other. In a world that had tried to cage us, study us, separate us, Kieran’s steady presence was the only true safety I’d ever known. The attic stairs creaked under my weight as I ascended, flashlight in hand. Dust motes danced in the beam of light, swirling like tiny stars in the darkness. The space was cramped but orderly—Kieran’s influence was obvious even here. When we’d fled the Foundation, we’d grabbed whatever we could from both our homes, throwing possessions into boxes without much thought beyond immediate escape. Most things had found their place in our new life, but some boxes—particularly those containing painful reminders of what we’d lost—had been tucked away in this dust-filled upper room.
I moved through the space slowly, running fingers across cardboard flaps marked with hasty Sharpie labels. “Kitchen.” “Books.” “Winter clothes.” Then, in my own handwriting, a box simply labeled “Luna.”
My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t been ready to face these things when we’d arrived, raw with grief and the trauma of our escape. I wasn’t sure I was ready now. My fingers trembled as they hovered over the box, as if Luna’s name alone possessed some magnetic pull.
The box wasn’t sealed, just folded closed. I sat cross-legged beside it, took a deep breath that filled my lungs with the musty attic air, and lifted the flaps.
Luna’s scent escaped first—that particular combination of sandalwood perfume and the lemon candies she’d constantly sucked on—preserved somehow in the fabric of the scarves folded on top. The familiar smell hit me like a physical blow, bringing tears to my eyes before I’d even seen what lay beneath. I lifted the scarves carefully, my fingers recognizing the soft wool of her favorite blue one, the silky texture of the floral print she’d worn to our college graduation.
Beneath the scarves lay framed photographs—Luna and me as children, our arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, gap-toothed and sunburned at the beach; Luna in her cap and gown, her eyes bright with the future she thought stretched before her; Luna and me in our first apartment, surrounded by moving boxes and takeout containers, our lives still perfectly aligned, our paths still running side by side.
“I miss you,” I whispered to her smiling face, my voice breaking on the words. “God, Luna, I miss you so much.”
Below the photographs sat a small jewelry box containing the few pieces she’d treasured—our grandmother’s pearl earrings, the necklace I’d given her for our twenty-fifth birthday with our initials intertwined. And beneath it all, a stack of leather-bound journals.
My hands trembled as I lifted the top journal. Luna had always kept meticulous records of her thoughts, a habit that had served her well in her work as an environmental scientist. This journal was different from her work notebooks, though—personal, intimate. The cover was soft with handling, the pages slightly warped at the edges from where she’d written outside in the mist.
I opened to a random page, Luna’s familiar handwriting flowing across the lines:
April 17
It happened again today. That strange doubling sensation, like I’m feeling someone else’s emotions alongside my own. It lasted longer this time—almost three minutes by my watch. There was a sense of confusion that wasn’t mine, then curiosity. Whoever it is, they felt me too. I’m certain of it.
My breath caught. The air in the attic suddenly felt too thin, my heartbeat loud in my ears. I flipped back several pages, scanning entries with growing disbelief.
March 4
The headaches are getting worse. They come with that odd warmth at the base of my skull now. Dr. Reeves says it’s just tension, maybe migraines, but it feels like… I don’t know how to describe it. Like someone knocking on a door inside my mind.
The journal slipped from my fingers and fell with a soft thud to the floor. These symptoms—the headaches, the sensation of another consciousness brushing against your own—they were exactly what Kieran and I had experienced in the early stages of our bond forming.
Luna had been becoming Tethered.
My twin sister, who had teased me about my “weird brain thing” with Kieran, who had helped us understand our connection when we’d first discovered it, had been experiencing the same phenomenon herself. And she hadn’t told me. My hands shook as I grabbed the journal again, flipping forward frantically, scanning entries, desperate to understand.
May 2
I met with that neurologist today, the specialist S recommended. He ran tests but found nothing physically wrong. Of course he didn’t. How do you explain to a doctor that you’re feeling someone else’s emotions? That sometimes you wake up with memories of dreams you never had? He’d have me committed.
But I know what this is now. I’ve been researching similar cases, reading between the lines of medical journals and psychological studies. There are others who’ve experienced this—people whose consciousness somehow extends beyond the boundaries of their own minds. Most are dismissed as delusional. Some are medicated into numbness. A few—the lucky ones—find each other.
I need to find mine.
Tears blurred my vision as I turned to the final entry, dated just three days before Luna’s car had inexplicably veered off a road she’d driven hundreds of times.
May 28
I felt them so clearly today—confusion giving way to realization. They know what’s happening too. We’re getting closer somehow, like two magnets pulling toward each other. The sensation is strongest when I’m driving along the coast road. I’m going to try again tomorrow, see if I can pinpoint the location. If this connection is real—and I know it is—then there’s someone out there who’s as frightened and amazed by this as I am.
I’ve decided not to tell Sage yet. She’d worry, try to talk me out of pursuing this. But once I find them, once I can prove what’s happening… she’ll understand. Of all people, my sister will understand this kind of connection.
The journal fell from my numb fingers, hitting the wooden floor with a soft thud that seemed to echo through my entire body. Luna had been experiencing a Tethered bond forming. She’d been actively searching for her bondmate when she died. The “accident” that took her life had happened on that same coast road she’d mentioned.
And I’d had no idea.
A bitter laugh escaped me, bouncing off the rafters of the attic. Luna thought I wouldn’t understand, when all along, Kieran and I had been experiencing the same phenomenon. If only she’d told me, if only I’d recognized what was happening to her…
My throat tightened as the truth crashed over me in waves. Luna’s bondmate was still out there. Someone who’d felt the beginning of that extraordinary connection, only to have it violently severed when Luna died. Someone who might have experienced that loss as a literal part of themselves being torn away.
Someone who might still be suffering, not understanding what had happened or why.
I gathered the journals to my chest, hugging them like I wished I could hug my sister one last time. The Foundation had been tracking people like us—that’s how they’d found Kieran and me. What if they’d been tracking Luna too? What if her “accident” hadn’t been an accident at all?
And if her bondmate was still alive, they were in danger too—especially now, with whatever was happening to me, whatever message these historical Tethered were trying to communicate through my seizures.
“Sage?” Kieran’s voice floated up the stairs, gentle but tinged with worry. “You’ve been up there for hours. Everything okay?”
Hours? I glanced at my watch, shocked to see he was right. The afternoon light had shifted, now casting long shadows across the attic floor.
“I’m coming down,” I called, gathering Luna’s journals into a neat stack. “I found something important.”
I made my way carefully down the stairs, clutching the journals against my chest. Kieran waited at the bottom, his eyes finding mine immediately. There was something about the way he looked at me—like he could see straight through to the parts of me I kept hidden from everyone else. When he saw what I was carrying, understanding washed over his features.
“Luna’s journals?” he asked softly.
I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. He reached for me, pulling me against his chest, his heartbeat steady against my ear. Our bond hummed with shared emotion—his compassion flowing into me, my grief and determination flowing into him.
“She was Tethered, Kieran,” I whispered against his shirt, the cotton damp from my tears. “Or becoming Tethered. All the symptoms we experienced—she described them exactly.”
I felt his shock ripple through our connection like an electric current. “Are you sure?”
I pulled back, opening one of the journals to the passages I’d read. As Kieran scanned the entries, his expression darkened, his fingers tightening on the leather binding.
“The timing,” he said slowly, his voice low and tense. “Her accident happened right after the Foundation first approached us.”
The implication hung between us, too terrible to voice aloud immediately. Finally, I said it: “What if they killed her? What if they somehow detected her bond forming and—” I couldn’t finish the thought, my voice breaking on the words.
Kieran guided me to the couch, his arm around my shoulders keeping me steady when I felt like I might shatter. He set the journals carefully on our coffee table, the worn leather covers a stark contrast to the polished wood.
“If that’s true, then whoever she was connecting with…”
“Is still out there,” I finished. “Alone. Maybe hurting. Definitely confused.”
“And possibly in danger,” Kieran added, his doctor’s instincts emerging. “The physical and psychological trauma of having a bond severed that abruptly…” He shuddered. “I can’t even imagine.”
I leaned into him, drawing strength from his solid presence, from the warmth of our connection. “We have to find them,” I said, certainty crystallizing within me. “Luna’s bondmate—they’re connected to all this. To the visions, to whatever message is trying to come through.”
Kieran took my hands in his, his expression grave, his eyes searching mine. “This could expose us, Sage. If the Foundation is watching for signs of Tethered activity, looking for Luna’s bondmate might lead them right to us.”
“I know,” I admitted, squeezing his fingers. “But I can’t ignore this. Luna was my sister. Her bondmate is out there somewhere, maybe thinking they’re crazy, maybe still feeling the echo of what they lost.” I looked up at him, willing him to understand. “If something happened to me, wouldn’t you want someone to find you? To tell you that you weren’t alone or imagining things?”
Through our bond, I felt his resistance soften, like ice melting under the heat of truth. He couldn’t argue against that—the horror of losing our connection was something we both feared more than death itself.
“Where do we start?” he asked finally, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist in that way he always did when he was thinking.
I pulled the last journal entry toward me. “The coast road. She felt the connection most strongly there. And she was keeping records—dates, times, specific locations where the sensation was strongest.” I flipped through more pages, showing him Luna’s meticulous notes. “Look, she even mapped the intensity of the connection like she was triangulating a signal.”
Kieran leaned forward, his analytical mind engaging with the puzzle. “If we overlay these points on a current map, factor in signal degradation over time…”
“We might be able to narrow down an area where her bondmate was located,” I finished, hope flaring for the first time since I’d opened that box.
He looked at me, our bond vibrating with shared purpose. “It’s still a needle in a haystack.”
“But it’s a start,” I insisted, clutching his hand. “And with what’s happening to me—these visions, these connections to other Tethered throughout history—maybe there’s a reason I’m experiencing this now. Maybe it’s all connected.”
Kieran nodded slowly, his fingers intertwining with mine. “We’ll need to be careful. Methodical.”
“Of course,” I agreed, though we both knew caution wasn’t my strongest trait.
“And if at any point it seems like we’re drawing attention—”
“We’ll pull back,” I promised, though we both felt my determination through our bond. I had no intention of stopping until I found the person Luna had been reaching for in those final days.
Kieran sighed, acceptance flowing through our connection. “Luna’s bondmate could have moved away after her death. They could be anywhere now.”
“Or they could still be right where they were,” I countered. “Feeling drawn to the place where the connection was strongest, even if they don’t understand why.”
A memory surfaced—Luna laughing as she accused me of being too romantic for a scientist. “You always want the story to have a happy ending,” she’d teased, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
Maybe she was right. Maybe this search was driven more by my need to make sense of her death than by any real hope of finding her bondmate. But as I looked at Kieran, felt the strength of our connection thrumming between us like a living thing, I knew I couldn’t ignore the possibility.
Someone out there had begun to experience what Kieran and I shared, only to have it ripped away without explanation. If Luna couldn’t find them, then I would. I owed her that much.
“We’ll start tomorrow,” I said, gathering the journals close. “First light.”
Through our bond, I felt Kieran’s concern still simmering beneath his support, but also his love—steady and unwavering as the lighthouse that guided ships safely to shore through the coastal fog. He wouldn’t try to stop me. He understood too well what it meant to be half of a whole.
“Tomorrow,” he agreed, pressing his lips to my forehead, his breath warm against my skin. “We’ll find them together.”
Chapter 11 – The Abduction
“Her pulse is stabilizing,” Kieran said, relief washing over him as he watched the monitor’s erratic lines smooth into a steadier rhythm. The soft beeping echoed through the small Montana clinic room, a comforting metronome against the howling storm outside. “The seizure pattern is consistent with what happens when a new bond forms too quickly.”
Kieran studied the woman’s pale face, her features relaxed now that the worst had passed. Her skin held a slight sheen of sweat, dark hair clinging to her temples. Medical instinct kept him moving efficiently, but his mind wandered to Sage, waiting for him states away.
The woman’s bondmate—a park ranger named Adam who’d driven three hours through blinding snow after finding Kieran’s emergency contact information through the Resonance Network—hunched forward in the chair beside her bed. His broad shoulders curved inward as if he could physically shield her from harm. His fingers trembled slightly as they entwined with hers, his thumb making gentle circles against her palm.
“Will she be okay?” Adam asked, his voice breaking on the final word. The fear in his eyes was raw, primal—the look of a man who’d just discovered what it meant to have half his soul residing in another’s body.
Kieran adjusted the IV drip and checked her pupils with a penlight, noting the slight but encouraging response. “She’ll recover. Your bond formed during extreme stress—her body coming down from that adrenaline spike is what caused the seizure.” He placed a reassuring hand on Adam’s shoulder. “The first week is always the hardest, but what you’re feeling right now? That panic, that overwhelming need to protect? It will settle into something beautiful.”
Adam nodded, wiping moisture from his eyes with his free hand. “It’s like—” he struggled to find the words, “like suddenly discovering a color I never knew existed.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” Kieran replied softly. “A whole new spectrum.”
Three days. That’s how long he’d been at the Montana safe house, one day longer than he’d promised Sage. Just one more night, and he would leave for Vermont at dawn. The thought of Sage waiting for him, her hand resting on her growing belly, made his chest tighten with such intense longing it bordered on physical pain. Through their bond, he could sense her peaceful slumber, untroubled dreams flowing between them despite the distance.
Eight months pregnant, and she still insisted on sending him calm reassurance through their connection. He’d tried to explain that he should be the one comforting her, but she’d just laughed, that rich sound that made his heart feel too large for his chest. “Our baby needs your skills out there,” she’d said, kissing him goodbye. “Just come back to us.”
His phone vibrated in his pocket, breaking his reverie. Eliza’s name flashed on the screen.
“Everything secure at the cabin?” he asked without preamble, his voice low as he stepped into the hallway.
“Yes, but there’s chatter on the NIA frequencies,” she replied, her voice tense in a way that immediately straightened his spine. “Increased activity in your area. You should move up your departure.”
Kieran glanced back at his patient through the partially open door. “I can’t leave yet. I have a woman recovering from bond shock.”
A moment of silence stretched between them. “Be careful. Marcus says they’re getting more aggressive with captures.” Her voice dropped lower. “The ones they took last week still haven’t resurfaced.”
After ending the call, Kieran pressed his forehead against the cool wall, allowing himself five seconds of pure, unadulterated fear. Five seconds to acknowledge the tightness in his chest, the metallic taste of adrenaline. Then he compartmentalized it, tucking it away behind mental barriers where it wouldn’t leak through to Sage.
He turned back to Adam. “I need to teach you something—quickly. It’s a shielding technique that will help stabilize her.”
For ten minutes, he guided the ranger through the visualization exercises, watching as the man’s determined focus brought a gradual steadiness to their shared connection. Through his own bond with Sage, Kieran had become adept at sensing the energy patterns between other pairs, could almost see the invisible threads that connected them strengthening as Adam learned to protect their link.
“That’s it,” Kieran encouraged. “Imagine wrapping your connection in something that absorbs the energy—like the forest canopy absorbing sunlight.”
Adam’s face relaxed slightly as he found the rhythm. “I can feel the difference.” Wonder crept into his voice. “It’s like the static cleared from a radio station.”
A crash from the front of the clinic shattered the moment. Kieran’s body tensed instinctively as he heard heavy footsteps moving through the reception area. The distinct sound of tactical boots on linoleum, the controlled breathing of multiple people—it was a sound that had haunted his nightmares since Boston, when they’d nearly taken Sage from him.
“Into the storage closet,” he whispered, his fingers already disconnecting the monitoring equipment with the gentle precision he reserved for things he treasured. “Lock yourselves in and don’t come out until you’re sure it’s clear.”
Adam’s eyes widened, fear giving way to understanding. “They’re here for you, aren’t they?”
Kieran nodded grimly, helping him lift his still-unconscious bondmate. Her body felt like a delicate bird in his hands as they transferred her into Adam’s arms. Something in Kieran’s chest tightened at the way Adam cradled her—with that same fierce protectiveness he felt for Sage every waking moment.
“The back exit leads to the woods. Wait an hour, then head north. There’s a forest service cabin three miles up—someone will find you there by tomorrow.”
Adam hesitated, holding his bondmate close against his heart. “What about you?”
“I’ll buy you time.” Kieran pressed his emergency beacon into the ranger’s pocket, their fingers brushing in a moment that carried more weight than words could bear. “When you’re safe, activate this. It will alert our network.”
Their eyes met, a silent current passing between them—two men who understood what love demanded, what sacrifice meant when someone else carried your heart. Adam nodded once, then disappeared into the closet just as boots thundered down the hallway.
The door to the exam room splintered open with a crash that seemed to shake the very air. Six figures in tactical gear poured in, weapons raised. Behind dark visors, only their eyes were visible—cold, calculating, unmoved.
“Kieran Walsh. On your knees, hands behind your head.”
He complied slowly, even as every cell in his body screamed to run—not for himself, but toward Sage. Through their bond, he carefully built walls of calm, hiding his fear behind mental barriers so she wouldn’t feel his terror ripple through their connection. She was eight months pregnant—their miracle, their impossible dream growing beneath her heart. He would sooner die than let her feel his capture.
“You have the wrong person,” he said quietly, even as zip ties cut into his wrists.
The leader stepped forward, removing her helmet. Her eyes were winter itself, set in a face that had forgotten how to show mercy. “We have exactly who Director Marsh wants.”
The name sent ice through his veins. Marsh. The woman who had made her life’s work hunting people like him and Sage—people who had committed no crime except loving so deeply that their minds had woven together.
“There are no patients here?” she asked, scanning the room.
“I sent them home this morning.” The lie was effortless when it meant protecting others.
She studied him with clinical curiosity, her head tilted slightly. “Search the building,” she ordered without breaking her stare. “Thoroughly.”
A sharp sting in his neck made Kieran flinch. He turned to see another agent withdrawing a syringe, clear liquid disappearing into his bloodstream.
“What did you—” His words slurred, the room spinning in dizzying circles.
The commander watched him struggle to stay upright. “Just a precaution. We know how you communicate with your mate.”
As darkness crept in from the edges of his vision, Kieran focused on one thing—Sage’s face. The constellation of freckles across her nose that he’d memorized with his fingertips. The curve of her smile that had saved him countless times. The feeling of their baby moving beneath his palm, their future taking shape. *I’m sorry*, he sent through their bond before consciousness slipped away. *I’m so sorry, my love.*
—
Consciousness returned like scattered pieces of a broken mirror. The rumble of engines. The sensation of movement. The taste of metal in his mouth.
Kieran opened his eyes to find himself strapped to a seat in what appeared to be a military transport plane. His hands were secured with strange, glowing restraints that pulsed with blue light, casting ghostly shadows across his skin. When he reached for Sage through their bond, he found only muffled silence—not the severed emptiness he feared, but as if their connection had been wrapped in thick blankets.
His heart thundered until he forced himself to focus, pushing against the barrier. There—faint but unmistakable—the warm presence that was uniquely Sage. Still connected. Still alive. Still carrying their child.
“The restraints disrupt neural pathways associated with Tethered connections,” a voice explained, smooth as polished stone.
Kieran turned to find a woman watching him from across the aisle. Her pressed suit and perfect posture seemed out of place against the stark interior of the aircraft. Dark hair swept into a flawless knot at the nape of her neck, not a strand disturbed despite the plane’s turbulence. Her eyes were striking—amber so light they appeared almost golden in the harsh cabin lighting.
“Director Marsh,” he said, recognizing her from television appearances where she’d portrayed herself as a champion of “neurological freedom.”
She inclined her head, the gesture almost regal. “Dr. Walsh. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
“Where are you taking me?” His mouth felt like sandpaper, his thoughts sluggish from whatever drug they’d administered.
“Home.” Something almost wistful crossed her features, softening the sharp angles of her face for just a moment. “To the place where it all began.”
Through the small window beside him, Kieran could see nothing but clouds and the occasional glimpse of rugged mountain terrain far below. They were flying east—away from Sage, away from Vermont. With each mile, he felt the strain on their bond like a physical pulling in his chest, as if invisible hands were slowly prying apart something essential inside him.
“The rangers won’t be found,” he said, needing her to know that at least one part of her plan had failed. “They’re safely hidden.”
Marsh’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in those strange amber eyes. “They’re irrelevant. You were the only extraction target.”
“Why me? There are hundreds of Tethered pairs now.” He shifted, the restraints digging into his wrists, leaving angry red marks on his skin. “We’re hardly special anymore.”
“But only one pair carrying a triadic child.” Her eyes dropped to his restraints. “Only one man whose bondmate’s pregnancy represents the fulfillment of prophecies my organization has spent millennia preventing.”
Ice flooded Kieran’s veins. They knew about the baby. About the triple bond.
“How did you—”
“We’ve been monitoring your network since Boston,” she interrupted. “Your security protocols are impressive, but they can’t account for human error. People talk. Especially people in awe of a miracle pregnancy.”
She leaned forward, the movement causing her necklace to slip from beneath her collar—a small silver pendant in the shape of a broken circle. “Did you know that particular genetic markers for Tethered potential run in families? That siblings often carry the same neurological architecture required for bonding?”
The plane hit turbulence, jostling them, but Marsh remained perfectly poised, one hand lightly touching the armrest, the other resting in her lap as if she were seated at a business lunch rather than a military aircraft.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Kieran replied, though a cold suspicion was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.
“Luna Emerson didn’t die in an accident,” Marsh said, watching his face carefully. “She died because she was beginning to form a bond with someone the Silentium couldn’t allow her to connect with.”
The revelation hit Kieran like a physical blow. His breath caught, lungs refusing to work as the implications crashed through his mind like a wrecking ball.
“You killed Sage’s sister.” The words came out as barely more than a whisper.
“Not personally.” Marsh’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather. “But yes, the organization I lead terminated a bond that would have complicated our mission considerably.”
Kieran strained against his restraints, rage burning away the remaining fog of sedation. “Who? Who was she bonding with?”
Something flickered in Marsh’s eyes—an emotion too complex to name. “Someone who understood the dangers of what your kind represents.”
Before Kieran could respond, the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Director, we’re beginning our descent. ETA twelve minutes.”
Marsh stood, straightening her already immaculate suit. “We’ll continue this conversation at the facility. I have much to show you, Dr. Walsh.”
The plane banked sharply, descending through cloud cover to reveal a landscape unlike anything Kieran had ever seen. Jagged mountain peaks surrounded what appeared to be a massive stone structure built into the side of a cliff—part natural formation, part architectural wonder. A narrow landing strip had been carved into the mountainside, ending at what looked like massive hangar doors built directly into the rock.
“Welcome to Threshold,” Marsh said as the plane touched down with a jolt. “The oldest continually operated Silentium facility in the world.”
Guards appeared as soon as the plane’s door opened, flanking Kieran as he was escorted down the steps. The mountain air hit him like a slap—thin, cold, and strangely charged, as if the atmosphere itself carried an electrical current. His ears popped painfully with the altitude.
They led him through vaulted stone corridors that seemed impossibly ancient, the walls inscribed with symbols he didn’t recognize. Modern security systems had been seamlessly integrated into the structure—retinal scanners beside doorways carved with pictographs, climate control systems humming quietly behind stone grates.
After passing through what felt like miles of corridors, they arrived at a circular chamber. The room’s domed ceiling was lined with copper and crystal, arranged in intricate geometric patterns that caught and reflected the light in mesmerizing ways. In the center stood a platform of dark stone, surrounded by equipment that blended cutting-edge technology with materials that looked centuries old.
“What is this place?” Kieran asked, unable to keep the wonder from his voice despite his situation.
Marsh gestured to the platform. “The convergence point of seven major ley lines—natural energy currents that flow through the earth’s crust. The Romans discovered this location in the second century. The Silentium has maintained it ever since.”
She ran her hand lovingly across one of the ancient consoles, her fingers trailing over symbols worn smooth by countless hands before hers. “Early practitioners believed these energy lines could communicate with the gods. We now understand they’re simply natural phenomena that amplify certain neurological capacities—particularly those associated with Tethered connections.”