THIRD PERSON POV
The air trembled with blinding white light. Margot hovered above the bed, hair drifting around her head like a silver halo caught in an unseen current. Nathan held both her hands, refusing to let go, even though the radiance seared raw burns across his forearms. He gritted his teeth through the pain and pulled her closer, anchoring her with everything he had.
The next pulse of magic struck the room like a thunderclap.
Margot’s head snapped back, eyes blazing pure silver. Her lips parted.
Then she began to speak.
Not in English.
Not in the runic shorthand Leah had taught her.
Not in any dialect known to the pack.
The words burst out of her in a rapid, rhythmic stream. Harsh consonants. Rolling vowels. A strange cadence that felt both ancient and impossibly precise.
