The violet-eyed elder stood once more, and the glowing circle around Opal dimmed slightly.
"The Jury has reached its decision."
Opal's breath stilled.
"For the killing of Serena Rose—witch of the Southern Circle, ally to the Crossbreed Council—you will not be executed."
A ripple of murmurs swept through the chamber.
"But your life, as you've known it, ends here."
The elder's gaze bore into her.
"Opal Renee White, you are hereby exiled from your hometown of Dusk Hollow. You are forbidden from ever returning. Your hunting license is revoked. You are barred from all sanctioned practices—no staking, no tracking, no supernatural bounty work. If you are found in violation of this ruling, your sentence will be revisited… and death will not be delayed a second time."
Opal stood frozen. Not shocked. Not angry. Just… hollow.
She was being erased.
"That is the only way," the elder finished coldly, "you keep your life."
But before the guards could move, a voice rang out from the gallery.
"This is a mistake."
A tall man stepped forward, robes black with silver embroidery, eyes like chipped obsidian.
"She murdered someone in cold blood. What makes you think she won't do it again now that she's gotten away with it?"
Opal's heart thudded painfully.
"She's not remorseful. She's just good at crying when she needs to. You're all being manipulated—again. And when she kills someone else, don't pretend you didn't see it coming."
"Enough," Caesar's voice cut through the air like a blade.
The man fell silent, jaw clenched.
But Caesar didn't defend her.
He didn't even look at her.
He simply nodded to the guards.
"Take her out."
Two guards stepped beside her—Anara alongside them.
Caesar moved ahead without a word, flanked by his men. He didn't glance over his shoulder. Not once.
Opal's legs carried her forward, but her soul lagged behind.
Every step felt like a goodbye she hadn't prepared for.
She looked at the back of Caesar's head, willing him to look—just once.
He didn't.
Not when they reached the gates.
Not when she crossed the threshold.
Not when the heavy iron doors slammed behind her.
It was over.
What they had, what they built, the child they shared—buried beneath duty, pride, and silence.
A soft voice spoke beside her.
"Hey."
She turned.
Anara.
Her tough exterior was cracked, her eyes softer than Opal had ever seen them.
"I know what that felt like," Anara said. "I've had to walk out of rooms like that before. Feeling like the only thing keeping you alive is the fact that they haven't found a reason to bury you yet."
Opal didn't say anything.
She didn't have to.
Anara opened her arms—and Opal fell into them.
The hug wasn't gentle. It was firm. Solid. Like something real to hold onto in a world made of ghosts.
They stood like that for a long time.
When Anara finally pulled back, she reached into her coat and handed Opal a small slip of paper.
A phone number. Scrawled in tight, messy handwriting.
"You ever need someone? Call."
Opal stared at it.
Anara tapped the paper once. "I mean it. Doesn't matter what time it is. Doesn't matter if you're halfway across the world."
She stepped back, shoulders squared.
"Just… be careful, alright? Don't let what they think of you become who you are."
Then, with a nod, she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the compound.
Opal stood there, clutching the paper, the echo of the verdict still ringing in her bones.
She was free.
But the cost of it would follow her forever.