Chapter 79
Svetlana strode out of the Blue Lake packhouse, her purposeful steps cutting a path toward the territory’s namesake water. The pack followed in a solemn, tense procession as she began to chant in rhythmic, haunting Russian, her voice carrying across the stillness of the night. Reaching the water’s edge, she swept her arms in a wide, commanding arc over the lake. Beneath her spell, the depths churned and groaned, giving way as she conjured a massive, fifty-foot-long-range trawler, its hull shimmering with the protective wards necessary to ensure Rylee’s safe passage across the vast, unforgiving expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.
“There, Rylee. A vessel sturdy enough to withstand the Atlantic’s wrath,” Svetlana said, her voice strained as she gestured toward the trawler bobbing rhyt
