The moon looked wrong.
It wasn't the usual full, clean coin hanging over Silver Creek. It had a faint blur at the edges, like someone had rubbed a thumb across glass. The light it spilled over the pine trees wasn't silver. It was… thin. Washed out. As if the night itself couldn't hold it properly.
Aria stood on the balcony outside the safe wing, barefoot on cold stone. The air smelled like wet earth and cedar. Normal things. Comforting things.
And still her skin prickled.
Behind her, the house was quiet in that strange way that came after a storm. Not the storm outside—there hadn't been one—but the storm of power. The ritual. The words spoken in a place that didn't belong on any map. The way the world had held its breath while Luna stepped into something too big for a child.
Kai pushed the glass door open without a sound. He moved like he always did now—careful, controlled, like every step had weight.
"You're up," he said softly.
Aria didn't look at him. "So are you."
