We both got up and went downstairs. The house was quiet, everyone asleep—or supposed to be. But when we reached the library, the faint glow of candles flickered under the door.
Asher and I exchanged a look, then slowly pushed it open.
Arlo was inside, kneeling on the floor, drawing symbols in black ink that pulsed faintly. His hands moved fast, like he wasn’t in control of them. He whispered words in a language I didn’t recognize, his voice low and strange.
“Arlo.” I said softly.
He froze. The candles flickered violently, then went out all at once.
When he looked up, my heart dropped. His eyes weren’t brown anymore—they glowed faint gray, like ash.
“Asher.” I whispered.
He stepped forward, keeping his tone calm. “Arlo, it’s us. You’re safe. You need to stop whatever this is.”
Arlo
