TWENTY-THREE
The forest was too quiet. No wind stirred the leaves. No birds called. Even the insects had gone silent, as if the earth itself was holding its breath. Thea stood near the edge of the glade, her palms open and facing downward, the ground beneath her humming faintly with energy she had only just begun to understand. Thin threads of magic crawled along her skin like whispered promises — wild, ancient, and alive. She could feel the pulse of the land, the echoes of lives she had once lived here. Her bones remembered. Her blood remembered. And tonight... it would all end, one way or another. Behind her, Silas stood watching. He hadn't spoken in minutes, but she could feel the weight of his gaze pressing into her back — not possessive, not fearful. Just present. Anchoring. He didn't trust th
- Writer
