They were supposed to leave at dawn.
Kyson had already packed the truck, the supplies neatly stowed, the engine ready to hum.
Xander had finished securing the protective wards around the remote cabin, his magic a silent hum of defense, just enough to buy them time if someone—or something—tried to return, if the unseen presence decided to reveal itself. Maverick was expecting them by mid-afternoon, a beacon of hope for answers.
But Lyra didn’t make it past the front door.
It started subtly. A shiver down her spine, like a ghost passing through her. Then warmth—at first bearable, like the gentle flush of a fever. But it built quickly, insidiously, layer by layer, until it was a searing burn beneath her skin, a fire igniting in her very core.
She stood there, fingers curled against the
