I can still hear the wards humming beneath the floorboards—uneven, off-key. It’s the sound of exhaustion given form, like magic itself is struggling to stay awake. I pace the length of the kitchen, waiting for something to give—either the silence, or my nerves.
When Grams calls my name, I nearly jump.
Her voice is faint but sharp, the kind of tone that cuts through any pretense of calm. “Artemis. Come here.”
She’s propped up against her pillows, face pale as parchment, eyes brighter than they should be. Bella sleeps curled up at the foot of the bed, one hand clutching the blanket like an anchor. William stands in the hallway beyond, a black silhouette outlined by lamplight. He doesn’t come in. He hasn’t since this morning, as if crossing the threshold might make him something he doesn’t
