POV: Alpha Jackson Reynolds
The first rays of dawn bled through the heavy velvet curtains of the Royal Suite, casting long, gray shadows across the room. I woke before the light, my heart still racing with the silver-hued echoes of the Goddess’s message. Beside me, Amethyst stirred, her eyes snapping open with a clarity that told me she hadn’t lost a single detail of the dream.
"Jumanah McDonagall," she whispered, her voice raspy from sleep but firm with purpose.
"The Iron-Mist Valley," I added, sitting up and rubbing my face. "The Goddess doesn't speak in riddles when the stakes are this high. If she says this Jumanah is the key to protecting the twins from Gretchen Stinkford, then we move today."
We didn't linger. The peace of the morning felt like a thin veneer over a brewing storm.
