Frankie:
The last remnants of Nettie's ashes swirled into the night, carried away by the wind, leaving nothing but a profound silence that felt like the world had stopped turning. The storm, once howling with rage, now stilled in the air, leaving an unnatural stillness.
The heavy weight of power hung in the atmosphere, a strange, tense pause—like the calm before the storm.
We stood there, rooted in the snow, waiting for anything.
Rowan was the first to move, but it wasn't with the usual grace of a victor. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes scanning the horizon with an unsettling, calculating stillness.
She seemed almost expectant, as though she were listening for something that wasn't there.
The flicker of power and revenge in her eyes had dimmed, but it was clear she wasn't ready
