The week that followed was quiet. Suspiciously quiet.
I stayed in Oakhaven, pretending to be a dutiful Coven witch. I brewed potions, I paid my rent, I dodged Sibal’s requests for energy top-ups by claiming residual depletion from the silver event. But every Friday evening, like clockwork, a black SUV rolled up to my curb.
I would get in. The driver would take me to Ironwood. And for forty-eight hours, I lived in a different world.
A world where I wasn't a battery. A world where I learned to fight, to track, to navigate the complex social hierarchy of a wolf pack.
But peace, as Guilermo had told me in the cabin, was just the silence between storms.
It was a Tuesday when the storm broke again.
I was in my apartment, packing a bag for an unscheduled trip to the coast to gather sea salt
