The air feels deceptively calm tonight. Warm with late-afternoon gold, almost gentle. I walk the edge of the southern fence, boots brushing brittle grass, each step pulsing faintly with the magic beneath the soil. The runes have dimmed since last night’s flare—steady but weaker, like a heart still recovering from shock.
Grams insisted on resting. Bella’s inside at the table, humming over her drawings. The house looks small against the horizon, like it doesn’t realize what kind of monsters want to rip its walls apart. I’m half-hoping the calm means we’ve earned a night of peace. The other half of me knows better.
William follows at a distance, his boots whispering against gravel. The sun catches his face, bronzing it, and for a second he looks more like a man than a creature who’s lived a
