Lumi stepped forward.
"Lumi, no—"
"It's okay, Mama." She didn't look back. Just walked toward Magnus, small and brave and utterly alone. "I need to do this."
"Lumi—"
"I know what I'm made of." Her voice was steady. Ancient in a way no four-year-old's should be. "I'm made of you. Of Papa. Of Grandma Elena. Of every child Magnus ever hurt. I'm made of their pain and their fear and their hope."
She stopped in front of Magnus. The wolves around him shifted, uncertain, but none moved to intercept. They were waiting to see what would happen. Waiting to see who would win.
"And I'm made of something else too. Something he doesn't understand."
"What's that?"
"Love."
She raised her hand.
The light that erupted wasn't like before. It wasn't golden. It was white. Pure. The color of something
