Talia's POV
The traces of sunlight fade behind the treetops, leaving a sky painted in purple and gold. The air carries the scent of foods from the kitchen mixed with the remnants of the victory bonfires from yesterday's festival. Laughter ripples through the streets, and I can see the Misfits already feel safe, but I can't stop feeling that those creatures aren't yet done.
I've got this sense that the battle's still on, and those creatures that ran away are definitely returning.
I'm on the watchtower, keeping an eye on the town with my arms crossed. The atmosphere feels peaceful except for the celebration noise. Even when my intuition is on high alert, sending warning signals, I still can't stop them from celebrating.
Bran's beside me, watching the town with me. He's been clingy lately
