Mira did not sleep that night. The mountain was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes before a disaster—too silent, too self-aware. She sat on the edge of the narrow bed, boots laced and cloak folded beside her, counting her breaths as the bond hummed softly and alert in her chest. Seven nights remained.
Seven nights until she stood in a circle of stone with enemies on every side and her father watching her like a verdict.
No, she would not wait for a ceremony that decided her life without her consent.
She rose and crossed the chamber, careful not to let the chains on her wrists chime. The iron had been loosened after the council—trust wrapped in threat but they were still there, a reminder that protection was only another control word.
The window slit looked out over the
