The door shuts behind us with a solid, final sound.
I lock it. Not out of fear, but out of habit. Then I reinforce the wards, careful and methodical, pressing my palm to the frame until the familiar resistance settles into place. The cabin responds the way it always does, a quiet hum through the wood and stone, a sense of lines drawn and respected. Protection does not always announce itself. Sometimes it simply holds.
Inside, the air feels smaller.
Not claustrophobic. Contained. Like everything unspoken has been pulled into the same space with us and is waiting its turn.
Caleb stands near the table, arms crossed, weight braced like he is expecting impact. His control is tight, visible in the way his jaw clenches and releases, in the way his eyes keep flicking to the walls as if they mi
