The foul stench of blood still lingered in the morning air. The beasts had come in the dead of night, sniffed around the winged carcasses, devoured what was left, and left as quietly as they had arrived. There was no celebration afterward, only silence. A thick, weary silence that wrapped around the village like a second skin.
Adelaide stood near the wooden fence, her gaze distant. She hadn’t slept. Not properly. Not with the recent attacks, and not with the knowledge burning in her chest. The letter from Grand Witch Circe, the mention of a mirror—she couldn’t let it go. She needed to act.
She spotted Flint near the edge of Zaria’s house. He was trying to help secure what was left of the barricade. The villagers were doing their best to move on, repairing what needed repair, resting wher
