NORA POV
By the time the morning sun filtered through moonstone-tinted glass, Embergate’s council hall was alive again—once more forging magic from worry. I stood at the center, Liana cradled against me, as rune-smiths and weavers reinforced wards on thick silver cords. Moon-bloom lanterns swung overhead, casting soft, shifting patterns across marble floors.
Yet beneath the ritual, tension hummed.
I felt the thread pull—a silent tug from deeper strands. I glanced at Ronan, Starielle, and Kalen. They recognized it too.
“We’re binding over wounds,” I murmured. “Not just weaving—warning.”
Starielle reached across my arm, her touch steady. “Your wards echo outward. Powerful. But the Thread’s danger is patient.”
I nodded, meeting each gaze. “We hold them, but we must also learn them.”
K
