Ashbourne no longer slept.
By the time dawn painted the horizon with streaks of blood and gold, the entire city pulsed with energy—nervous, frantic, alive. Word of the Hollow Court enforcer’s death spread faster than wildfire, and while some rejoiced, most understood the truth.
This wasn’t a victory.
It was a declaration of war.
I stood atop the eastern tower, the highest vantage point left in the city. The wind tugged at my coat, carrying the scent of ash, earth, and something else… roses. Mira’s roses. They’d begun to sprout in strange places—along stone pathways, between cracked walls, through the helmets of forgotten soldiers buried beneath rubble. Life, rising from death.
Below, our people prepared.
Witches traced new runes across battlements. Shifters patrolled the woods in the
