The journey to Aethelgard—the Thorne family’s private island off the coast of Newfoundland—was a grueling twelve-hour transit in a muffled military-grade transport plane.
When the wheels touched down on the rusted, overgrown runway, the world felt different. There were no skyscrapers, no paparazzi, and most importantly, no signal. The island was a natural Faraday cage, protected by jagged mineral cliffs that scrambled most satellite frequencies.
"Welcome to the end of the world," Isabella muttered, jumping down from the cargo bay. She took a deep breath of the air, which tasted of salt, pine, and ancient dust.
Lucian helped Elara and the kids down. Leo looked around with wide eyes, gripping his father’s hand. "Are there monsters here, Dad?"
"No, Leo," Lucian said, scanning the dark tre
