Third Person P.O.V.
The clearing was hushed, the kind of silence that pressed down like a second skin. Magic still lingered in the air, heavy and electric, crawling across the ground like mist, refusing to die away. The ritual was done—Mason had marked Bella, the bond sealed under the silver gaze of the Goddess. Yet, instead of relief, unease hung thick, as though the night itself knew the cost of what had just been bound.
The sigils Claire had drawn glowed faintly, their light dimming but stubborn, refusing to vanish completely. The air smelled of ash, salt, herbs, and iron. It was holy and unsettling all at once, like standing at the edge of creation.
The moon shone freely now, no longer hiding behind clouds. It loomed overhead, watchful, radiant, spilling silver light across the circ
