The heavy oak doors of the stronghold library clicked shut behind me, sealing out the echoes of the castle halls. I made a straight line for the high-arched alcoves in the back archives, where the oldest, dustiest volumes on alchemy and potion-making were kept.
For hours, the quiet hall was filled only with the soft rustle of aged parchment and the scent of leather bindings. I pulled down stack after stack, spreading massive grimoires across a long reading table under the warm light of the wall sconces. I flipped through dense, fading ink, my eyes scanning tirelessly for any mention of liquid enchantments.
I was looking for a very specific balance—something that could hold a spell charge the exact same way my rune-carved silver bracelet did for Liz. The bracelet acted as a steady, contin
