“Look up.”
Eamon didn’t have to say it twice. The courtyard halted mid-stride, mid-order, mid-argument, faces tipping as one toward the sky. The moon had cracked before; now it came apart. Not shards. Plates. Vast, slow petals of stone and light peeling back from a burning heart. Silver fire spilled out like the inside of a wound, bright enough to turn every shadow into an honest confession.
“Down!” someone shouted pointlessly, because there is nowhere to hide from a falling sky.
Sienna stepped into the open and lifted her face so the city could see their queen look unafraid of the thing that had fed their tides and their myths and their madness. The crescent at her wrist blazed. Lunaris rose under her breastbone like a tide summoned by a second moon. The goddess wanted out. Sienna kept
