The coastal pack smelled like salt and stubbornness.
Their land hugged a rocky stretch of ocean—narrow strip of woods, scattered houses tucked into the cliffs, a small town clinging to the bay like it wasn’t entirely sure it wanted to be there. To human eyes, it was just another weather-beaten fishing village. To Lyra’s wolf, the whole place pulsed with layered magic and old compromise.
“Welcome to Blue Harbor,” Cassian said, reading the hand-painted sign as they rolled past. “‘Where the sea meets the sky.’”
“Where the wolves meet the witches,” Lyra muttered, catching the faint, metallic tang of spellwork on the air.
He smiled. “Play nice.”
“No promises,” she said, but her wolf’s ears were forward, curious.
They parked near the end of a gravel lane that ended in a cluster of building
