Graves Cabin's underground library sealed itself with a low, resonant sound—stone sliding into stone, wards knitting tight along the seams. The air shifted immediately. Old magic. Blood-bound wards. The kind that remembered who had last died beneath them.
Sera checked the wards to ensure they held before she spoke.
Secured communications flared to life along the inner wall. No image. No projection. Just confirmation tones, layered wards, and the unmistakable presence of Dorian monitoring remotely from Obsidian Ridge.
Amalia was with him off video.
So was the baby.
No one acknowledged it aloud. Some things were safer unspoken. All an attempt to keep baby Surri off Seraphine's radar.
Talia stood at Sera’s right, white streak stark against her temple, faintly luminous in the low light
