The morning air bit at my cheeks as I climbed onto the back of Tyler’s motorcycle. I shivered, clutching my jacket tighter as Sage handed me a small pouch.
“I haven’t finished the spell yet,” she said, voice low but firm. “It takes time to stitch power into something that will last. Protection spells aren’t quick fixes, Elara. They’re… armor for the soul. And yours needs it more than most.”
I glanced at her hands; her fingertips were already smudged with chalky residue from her runes and herbs. She looked tired, strained, but determined.
“Will it… actually keep them away?” I asked.
“It won’t stop them,” Sage admitted. “But it will slow them. Mask you, at least for a little while. I’ll keep working while you’re gone.”
I wanted to argue, to say I should stay and help, but Tyler swung on
