Luna had been through many impossible mornings—waking up in a cave, surviving full moons with an unbonded mate, and once, tragically, mistaking foxberries for edible fruits. But nothing compared to waking up knowing she was expected to stand trial in front of the Lycan High Council with half of her hair singed and Mira unconscious in her arms.
Saffy snored gently in the corner, surrounded by no fewer than fourteen empty coffee cups. The walls of Mira's old herb shop flickered with protective wards, all faint now, like breath on a mirror.
"She's still not waking up," Luna murmured, brushing Mira’s damp bangs back. The spell backlash had drained Mira to the marrow. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow but steady, and her fingers twitched every now and then—dreaming or... still connecte
