Rome
We came to Ann Arbor to make sure Zara was safe.
That was the only purpose. A quiet, distant check-in. No contact. No interaction. We weren’t here to disrupt her life—just to confirm she was still where the witches said she was, still protected, still hidden.
But from the moment we crossed into the city limits, something felt off.
The magic here was thick. Twisting. Heavy in the air like fog clinging to skin. My wolf stirred uneasily, the energy too dark, too unnatural.
“I feel it,” Jackson muttered beside me, jaw tense as we walked along the edge of the university courtyard. “It’s her. Sparkle.”
“She’s here,” Travis confirmed, his tone grim. “I can feel her signature crawling over everything like a sickness.”
Sparkle—the witch who cast the spell on Zara as a newborn—had reinfo
