The peace from the fairy lights lasted exactly twelve hours.
By morning, I was dragged straight back into a world where joy died and logic took naps. I was halfway through glaring at a bowl of oatmeal, questioning its existence, when a trembling omega approached my table like I was a bomb.
“Miss Ayla,” she whispered. “The Elders are asking for you in the council room.”
I paused mid bite.
Asking for me was never actually asking. It was more like summoning an unwilling ghost.
Ronan stiffened beside me. He had not sat down to eat. He was leaning against the wall like a shadow that had learned how to look judgmental.
“Now,” the omega squeaked, as though she expected me to bite her.
I put my spoon down and sighed. “Fine. Let us go see what ancient disaster they want to blame on me today.
