She felt the field move at six-forty.
Not the whole field — the centre held, the valley still warm, the configuration's six threads steady. But the boundary — the outermost edge of the hundred-mile reach — was no longer where it had been an hour ago.
It had crept north.
Half a mile, perhaps. Lena felt it the way you feel a tide come in while you're standing on a beach — not a sudden arrival, but a slow, continuous, undeniable advance, the water that had been at your ankles now at your shins, with no moment you could point to where the change had happened.
"Remy," she said. She was in the back of the car, Halloway beside her, Flynn and Jax in front with Damon driving, the moor blurring past in the last hour of daylight. "It's moving."
"I feel it," Remy said. His voice came through the
