The day after the council meeting, Rhea woke before the sun. Her dreams had been uneasy—a tangle of moonlight, fire, and shadowed figures she couldn’t name. She rose quietly, not wanting to disturb the others sharing the cabin, and stepped outside.
The forest greeted her with silence. It was a sacred sort of stillness, the kind that wrapped around her bones and reminded her that she belonged—at least partly—to something ancient.
Before breakfast, Isla called for sparring. Rhea had begun to expect it by now, though this time, something felt different. The energy in the air had changed. Tense. Expectant.
Lucci wasn’t with the group when she arrived. But another figure stood at the edge of the clearing—a tall, lean man with striking green eyes and dark auburn hair pulled back in a warrior’
