Matt’s P.O.V.
Everything was spiraling. Our leads were unraveling at the seams, and despite the hustle inside the war room—maps, files, potion vials, and names—we were running in circles.
I leaned against the edge of the central table, watching everyone move like chess pieces, trying to formulate the next step. Bella’s face haunted me—the deep, quiet anguish in her eyes growing darker with every passing hour. Time wasn’t just slipping—it was sprinting.
And Mason? Wherever he was, he didn’t have much left.
I needed to act. To lead.
It hit me like a jolt. My dad.
Retired or not, he had the wisdom of decades. If there was one person in this world who might know the kind of witch we needed—one we could trust—it was him.
I stood up. “I’m going to see my dad,” I told Rose, who gave a quic
