Dawn had not fully broken when they moved. The field still smelled of copper and burned pine, and the ward-line was a memory instead of a wall. Ravyn tucked Hope’s map into her jacket, met Grayson’s eyes, then Cassian’s, and said what no one wanted to hear. “We go now.”
No one argued. Wolves who could still shift took the outer ring. Others grabbed blades and coils of wire. Witches swept the longhall for anything that could ground shadow—copper, nails, salt, jugs of brine. Iris packed bandages. The other mothers stood in the doorway. When Ravyn turned, they didn’t wait to be asked.
“I’m coming,” Rachel said. “You can tell me to stay after my daughter is in my arms.”
“Same,” Maria said.
Elena’s voice was quiet. “You won’t keep me here.”
Moira swallowed whatever order she wanted to give
