The lunar eclipse began at 11:47 PM, precisely as celestial mechanics had predicted for the past thousand years.
Seraphina stood on the penthouse rooftop, watching London's lights dim as the Earth's shadow began to consume the moon. Around her, ancient symbols had been drawn in silver fire—not the traditional patterns Morag would have expected, but new configurations that represented choice rather than sacrifice, partnership rather than isolation.
"You're certain about this?" Helena asked for the fourth time in an hour, her voice carrying the concern of someone who understood exactly how much they were risking. "The traditional trial has precedent, established protocols, known outcomes. What you're attempting..."
