Fear spread faster than fire.
By nightfall, the city of Veyl whispered Anna’s name like a curse.
They did not call her witch.
They called her calamity.
From the tower windows, Anna watched torchlight coil through the streets below like veins of molten gold. Bells rang—not in alarm, but in warning. Doors bolted. Shutters slammed. Mothers pulled children indoors with hands that trembled.
“They’re afraid,” she said quietly.
Lexus stood behind her, unmoving, his silhouette carved from shadow and tension. “They should be.”
She turned. “That’s not comforting.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s honest.”
The chamber Aldric had given them was high in the keep—luxurious, warded, observed. The walls were stone veined with sigils meant to dampen magic. They tickled Anna’s skin like thorns pressing just
