The Graves kitchen was warded, sealed, and too quiet for the kind of meeting they were about to have.
Sienna stood at the table, barefoot, one palm braced on the wood like she needed the contact to stay grounded. Her other hand hovered low over her abdomen on instinct.
Four weeks.
Not visible. Not announced. But her body knew. Her wolf—if she even had one—knew. The world felt sharper, louder, closer to the edge.
Sera finished the last ward at the window and didn’t turn around.
“No one hears,” she said. “Not unless they’re inside the circle.”
Sienna swallowed. “You promised.”
“I promised.” Sera finally looked at her, gaze flicking to Sienna’s stomach for the briefest beat. “And I meant it.”
On the table, the telecam sat inside a ring of salt and black iron runes—Amalia’s work. The t
