The barn smells like dust, old wood, and the faint metallic tang of magic.
For days I’ve been buried in books, runes, sigils, potion theory, spell structure, Warren history. My brain feels like it’s leaking out of my ears. But today? Today is different. Today I finally get to do something.
Liam and Noah have transformed the barn into a makeshift training range. Targets line the far wall, some wooden, some metal, some enchanted to move. A table is set up with jars, herbs, vials, and a cauldron that looks like it’s seen better centuries.
Noah stands beside me, arms crossed, trying to look calm. He’s not. I can feel the tension rolling off him through our bond, warm, protective, steady.
Grace hands me a small vial filled with shimmering blue liquid. “Focus potion. Just a sip. It’ll help c
