Three days after the text, I had my answer about what "The Council is coming" meant. They didn't arrive with fanfare or dramatic declarations—just a simple knock on the cottage door at dawn, followed by the most terrifying display of supernatural bureaucracy I'd ever witnessed.
Five figures in identical black suits stood on our porch, their faces blank, their auras completely void of readable emotion. The one in front, a woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes like winter storms, held an official-looking document.
"Luna Ashworth," she said, her voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "I am Councilor Thorne. By order of the Supernatural Council, you are hereby summoned to appear before the High Court within seven days to answer for unauthorized use of Moonfire magic and the unla
