The morning after the council’s summons was heavy and gray. Rain streaked the tall windows of the Kaelith estate, mirroring the turmoil inside Elara’s mind. She sat at the kitchen table, staring at her untouched tea. Caelen sat opposite her, swinging his legs back and forth, his small hands clutching the stuffed wolf Dorian had given him.
“Mommy,” Caelen said quietly, “are they going to take me away?”
Elara’s chest tightened. She reached across the table, holding his hands. “No, baby. No one can take you away. Not while I’m here. Not while your father is here.”
Caelen’s blue eyes searched hers for reassurance. “Even… Uncle Riven?”
Her heart clenched. “Even him,” she whispered. “But I need you to promise me something. You have to trust me. Can you do that?”
He nodded solemnly. “I trust
