The sun had barely risen above the horizon, casting long shadows across Ashen Hollow, when Lena found herself standing in the clearing outside Iseult’s cottage, her fingers trembling as they traced the edges of the ancient grimoire. The weight of the visions from the previous night clung to her like a second skin, their vivid images seared into her mind. Every possible future—each one more terrifying than the last—had made it painfully clear: the power of the leyline was both her greatest gift and her greatest threat.
But she couldn’t afford to dwell on fear. Not now.
Iseult, her silver hair cascading like moonlight down her back, stood a few paces away, her eyes sharp and watchful. The old witch had sensed something shifting in Lena, something dark and powerful stirring beneath the surf
