The rain hasn’t stopped all night.
It whispers against the windows in soft, endless sheets, steady as a pulse. Every drop feels like it’s counting down to something. I lie awake and stare at the ceiling beams, listening to the house breathe—the wards humming faintly, the old pipes creaking like they remember being touched by magic.
The talisman on my neck lies cool against my skin, its weight starting to become familiar. I reach up, tracing the etched rune Grams burned into the metal. The hum of my magic dulls instantly beneath it.
I hate it.
With a sharp tug, I lift the chain over my head. The moment the talisman leaves my skin, the air changes. My veins tingle, my pulse sharpens, and the world feels alive again—colors richer, sounds clearer, the scent of damp earth seeping through t
