Callista awoke hours later in Lucien's room, wrapped in a soft blanket that smelled like pine and firewood—him. The pain from the ritual had faded to a dull ache, but something deeper lingered. A strange emptiness nestled in her chest, like a piece of her had been carved away. She sat up slowly, the weight of the world returning to her shoulders.
Lucien was beside her immediately, pulling a chair closer. "You're awake," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
She nodded, her voice raspy. "How long have I been out?"
"Almost a full day. Elira said your body needed time to adjust. You scared me, Callista."
"I scared myself," she whispered, her eyes downcast. "It felt like I was dying, Lucien. Like something inside me shattered."
He reached for her hand and held it tightly. "But you didn't. You fought your way back. That's what matters."
She gave a small nod, then looked toward the window. The sky outside was gray, overcast with the lingering tension of the storm that had passed.
"Elira," she said suddenly. "Where is she?"
"She left early this morning," Lucien replied. "Said she needed to return to the witches' coven—to deliver a message."
Callista's heart clenched. "She's going back to Sabrina?"
"She said they'll expect her to explain what happened… and she's not ready to reveal that she's sided with us."
Callista swung her legs off the bed and stood, ignoring the protests from her aching muscles. "We need to prepare. Sabrina knows the bond is broken now. And she won't stop."
Lucien stood as well. "We've already begun reaching out to allied packs. The Ironclaw Pack has agreed to meet, and there's word the Crescent Shadows may join if you're willing to speak with their Luna."
"I'll do whatever it takes," Callista said firmly. "I'm done running. I'm done being a pawn."
Just then, the door swung open and Ryder entered, his expression tight. "We've got news. From the border patrol."
Lucien's posture stiffened. "What is it?"
Ryder glanced at Callista. "There was an attack. Not large, but precise. They weren't trying to invade—they were sending a message."
Callista's brows furrowed. "What kind of message?"
Ryder handed her a piece of torn fabric. It was black, embroidered with a red crescent moon and a snake—Sabrina's personal sigil. Stained with blood.
Lucien's jaw clenched. "She's making her next move."
Callista stared at the fabric, her mind spinning.
"She's telling us she's coming," she murmured.
Lucien stepped closer. "Then we'll be ready."
But even as he spoke, Callista could feel it again—that subtle pull. The magic inside her wasn't dormant. It was shifting, growing, becoming something new. Whatever Sabrina had done in that final moment of the ritual—it hadn't left her untouched.
And deep inside, a flicker of something stirred. Not darkness. Not light.
Something in between.