Tik… tik… tik…
A gecko chirped from the ceiling, loud enough for Eira to notice—especially on a night like this. The night when something miraculous was about to happen.
Eira had known since dawn that something in the air had shifted. The wind carried a faint metallic scent, like old moonlight. The candles burned shorter than they should, and every sound in the cottage felt too loud, too alive.
"It will be tonight," she had said, more than once.
Marla had argued that she was imagining things. Shannon had tried to believe that she was wrong. But now, as the red moon climbed higher, they could all feel it—the pull, the weight, the quiet that came before a miracle.
The fire had been stoked three times. Water boiled in the pot again. The cradle Shannon built stood by the window, waiting, its wood polished until it caught the moon's reflection.
