The moon was wrong tonight.
Not full, not new—just a sharp crescent, thin as a blade drawn across the sky. Its light spilled unevenly over the clearing, catching on stones and leaves as though it couldn’t decide what it wanted to reveal.
Aria stood barefoot at the center of the circle, the cold earth biting into her soles. She flexed her fingers, then her shoulders, trying to loosen the tension coiled inside her. It didn’t help. The Moonfire stirred beneath her skin like a restless tide, impatient and sharp.
“This is a terrible idea,” she muttered.
Lyr, leaning against a nearby oak, didn’t look convinced. “All the best ideas usually are.”
She shot him a glare. “You said that before I almost set myself on fire.”
“And yet,” he replied mildly, “you’re still here. Mostly unburnt.”
“That
