Salem POV
I knew what Eve wanted to attempt was dangerous. Dangerous was too mild a word—it was catastrophic. The spell she spoke of, that dark ritual, was not meant for mortal tongues or fragile souls. It was the kind of magic that could unmake a witch from the inside out, burning the body, shredding the spirit, and leaving only ash where life used to be. I had seen it before, long ago, when the world was still half wild and witches were braver—or perhaps just more foolish.
But Eve… she was no mere witch.
She was Sentinel. The last of her kind.
I had known it the first time I scented her power beneath the layers of insecurity and inexperience she carried like armor. It was faint then, buried deep under fear and uncertainty, but it sang to something ancient inside me. It called to my bones—to my scales—to the bloodline that refused to die.
