The seasons were strange inside the veil. Time bent, sped, slowed—whatever the wards willed. Three months had passed by the calendar, but the children grew as if years had slipped into their bones. Toddlers now, with strong legs and voices that carried through stone walls, they filled the compound with laughter and words that often felt older than they were.
Ravyn still woke some mornings expecting to cradle infants. Instead, she woke to Dorian tugging on Grayson’s hair demanding “training” or to Alaric crawling into Cassian’s lap with a book he had no business knowing how to read. Her heart swelled and ached at once—joy and dread wrapped in the same skin.
Her triple knot pulsed when they were near, the arcs of the mark humming in answer to their voices. She had grown used to its steady
