The packhouse transformed into a war camp with the kind of efficient chaos that only comes from people who've danced with death before and lived to perfect their footwork. I watched from the kitchen doorway as supernatural beings who'd normally eye each other with territorial suspicion moved together like parts of a single organism, united by the simple fact that if we didn't win this, there wouldn't be territories left to dispute.
The twins stood at the center of it all, and the sight of them stole my breath every time I blinked. My babies—except they weren't, were they? They commanded the room with quiet authority that sat on their young shoulders like inherited armor. Leo's hands traced battle patterns in the air while Oscar laid out tactical positions using salt shakers and coffee mug
