The girl didn’t move.
She just stood there in the garden’s firelight—tiny, barefoot, wrapped in a dress made of ash and smoke, her hair flickering like candlewick. She looked no older than eight… but her eyes. Gods, her eyes. They were older than the moon, older than death.
And she was smiling.
“Kael,” I whispered, still tangled in his arms, skin slick from our lovemaking, heart still thudding from more than just pleasure. “Do you see her?”
He stiffened behind me. “I do.”
Mira burst from the back door of the cottage, her hands still glowing from the sealing spell. Selene came next, her bow at her side, no arrows drawn—but alert, cautious.
They followed our gaze.
And went still.
The fire pit hissed as the girl stepped through it, untouched by flame. Her bare feet kissed the stones l
