The rain fell in a gentle hush, soft enough that Nova almost didn’t hear the knock at the door.
She stood in the kitchen with River in her arms, swaying absently as he gnawed on the edge of his teething ring. The fire crackled low. Outside, mist wove through the trees, and the morning light filtered pale and silver through the windows.
The knock came again—three measured raps.
Kade moved first, stepping to the door and pulling it open with caution. But when the fog parted, a familiar figure stood on the porch.
“Adelia,” he breathed.
The elder witch looked unchanged—ancient and ageless all at once, with a spine as straight as a staff and hair that tumbled like silver vines down her back. Her dark eyes flicked toward River with something like reverence.
Behind her stood Rose, the young
