Silverbound

Headlights. That’s the last thing I see before everything goes dark.

A sharp throb pulses through my skull like a warning siren as I float somewhere between awake and not. My ears ring. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been underwater too long.

Then— A voice.

“Whoa, hey—Raina, don’t open your eyes just yet. You’ve got some serious head trauma.”

It’s a man. Calm, but firm. I don’t recognize the voice, and I can’t see him. My eyelids are like bricks.

“Wh…wh—” I try to speak, ask who he is, but all that comes out is a pitiful string of grunts.

“You also shouldn’t try to talk,” he adds gently. “Just breathe. I’m Doctor Theo Rook.”

A door bursts open with a soft thud against the wall, followed by hurried footsteps. Another voice—quieter, hesitant—speaks from somewhere near the doorway.

“Is she awake?”

“Yes, Connor, she’s awake,” Doctor Rook replies. “Do you want to help me ease her into the light? Start by dimming it a little.”

I hear soft muttering, too low to catch the words. Then a faint hum pulses through the room. Like something... shifting. Magic?

“Okay, Raina,” Doctor Rook says, closer now. “Try opening your eyes for me.”

I blink slowly, wincing at the faint glow above. The world is hazy at first—blurry, like someone wiped Vaseline over my vision. Everything hurts. But then the shapes sharpen, and the first thing I fully see is a man with messy hair and glasses leaning over me with a calm, analytical gaze.

“That’s good, Raina. You’re doing great.” He turns his head. “Connor, help me sit her up. Gently.”

I close my eyes again as they shift me. The world tips sideways, and for a moment, I feel weightless.

When I open them again, he is there.

The most handsome person I’ve ever seen.

He stands beside me, worry etched across his features. Wavy chocolate brown hair curls messily above stormy grey eyes that seem like they’ve seen too much for someone our age. There’s a thin scar cutting through one of his eyebrows, like a blade once kissed his skin and left a memory. He’s wearing a black sweatshirt and black sweatpants—casual, but somehow effortless. Like he could walk onto a runway or a battlefield and not miss a beat.

“I’m Connor Ashford,” he says, and the sound of his voice is enough to still everything inside me. Smooth, quiet, a kind of slow, grounding timbre that settles low in my chest and refuses to leave.

He extends his hand.

His middle finger is wrapped in a silver band—simple, but strange. I raise mine to meet his, my movements sluggish and weak. But when our hands touch, I freeze.

His palm is warm—unexpectedly warm. Not just the heat of skin, but something deeper. Like sunlight slowly breaking through a cold morning. His grip is firm but gentle, steady without smothering. Calloused, but not rough. It feels… safe.

For just a heartbeat, the whole world pauses.

There’s something in his touch—something strong, unspoken, like his soul is whispering, I know how to hold on. I won’t let go.

Then he does let go, and just like that, the cold creeps back in.

“Raina,” Doctor Rook says beside me, clipboard in hand, “I want you to try talking again. Just a little. This’ll help us test your memory.” He pauses. “Tell me your last name.”

I blink. The answer rises without hesitation.

“Voss,” I croak, voice raw and dry. “My name is Raina Voss.”

Doctor Rook nods and scribbles something down. “Good. That’s a very good sign.” He looks up at Connor. “Alright, now slowly—keyword: slowly—turn the lights up.”

Connor nods once. He mutters again, and the lights begin to brighten gradually, like the sun rising behind a curtain.

The second the room gets brighter, my head explodes with pain. I groan, hunching slightly, pressing my fingers against my temple.

“Yup,” Theo mutters, not unkindly. “She’s mildly concussed.”

I squint at Connor. “Did he just… use magic?”

“He certainly did,” says a new voice—cool, sharp, a little smug.

I twist toward the sound and see another man in the room. Older, dressed in a long grey coat with silver trim, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“Which is against policy,” he adds with a pointed glance at Connor.

“Rowan, please,” Theo sighs. “He’s helping me. With your project.”

“Project?” I echo, my voice rising despite the pounding in my skull. “I am not a project.”

“You are,” the man replies, as if it’s obvious, “for my son.”

Wait— What?

I glance from him… to Connor… and now I see it.

Same jawline. Same stormy grey eyes. The resemblance is undeniable.

“That’s your dad!?” I blurt.

Connor winces. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

My face flushes hot. I should’ve seen it, but… y’know. Head injury.

“What project?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Yes, tell her, Rowan,” Doctor Rook says with a sigh. “She deserves to know.”

Rowan crosses his arms. “She is the one chosen for the Ashford Bond. She is to be your wife, Connor, upon her eighteenth birthday.”

I blink.

Then laugh.

“Wait. What!?” I shout, ignoring the explosion of pain ricocheting through my skull. “You were in my head—and now you’re saying I’m part of some… magic arranged marriage? I’m not some medieval plot twist! I’m a person!”

Connor sighs. “Dad, leave it. It’s her first day conscious. Can we not do this right now?”

But I can’t stop staring at Rowan, my blood buzzing with disbelief and a strange flicker of something else—something I don’t understand yet.

“You were in my head?” I whisper.

“I needed to confirm your memory state,” Rowan says without remorse.

“No, you didn’t,” Connor mutters, stepping slightly in front of me. “That was you snooping again. Stay out of her mind. She’s not your puppet.”

I clutch the blanket around my shoulders, heart racing.

This place. These people. Something’s wrong here. Something big.

And whether I want to be or not… I’m already in the middle of it.