Hours earlier, near the Claiming Circle, Thalia’s trap - her wards - had been cast at twilight.
An astral net, thin as spider silk but ancient as moonlight, tied to Mira's lingering glyph-skin and empowered by Thalia's returned strength.
Mira moved through the trees in silence.
Her borrowed form, faceless, lowly staff, slipped past warded stone and enchanted hedge.
The soul-drain dagger hidden in her cloak pulsed with dark energy, hungry for the power that would soon flow through the claiming circle.
She had spent months planning for this moment. The ceremony would leave Sienna vulnerable, her defenses lowered in the sacred act of bonding.
One strike during the c****x, when the moon's blessing peaked, and the prophecy would die with its chosen vessel.
She had reached the edge of the
