Ravyn
The transport preparation area was a sterile chamber designed for one purpose: ensuring prisoners remained unconscious and manageable during relocation. Ravyn sat on a metal bench, her hands zip-tied behind her back, watching as guards moved equipment and other prisoners through the space with mechanical efficiency.
Sarah was three benches away, her eyes alert despite the obvious exhaustion. Marcus lay on a stretcher nearby, his condition worse than before—whatever Valerius had done to him as punishment for communicating was taking its toll.
But Ravyn’s focus was on the warm silver pendant pressed against her throat, hidden beneath her facility-issued shirt. Ever since Sarah had told her about Celtic magic, she’d been trying to understand how to access its power.
*Focus on the wa
