Nana's Pov
The air in my chambers is heavy today. It smells of dried sage, bitter iron, and the electric static of a storm that refuses to break. Outside, the Woodbury woods are dead silent. Even the trees are holding their breath.
I sit in my high-backed chair, my palms flat against the worn velvet. My daughters are here, but they are miles away. Dorothy paces, her silk robe hissing against the floor like a snake in the grass. At my feet, Seraphina traces the ancient carvings of the Bone Ring. We're talking about nothing, trying to pretend the Hartwell's name isn't fading.
Then, Seraphina's phone vibrates on the floor. She grabs it, her eyes racing across the screen.
"Oh my God!" Seraphina leaps up. The radiance on her face is blinding.
"What is it, child?" I ask, my heart giving a dull, painful thump.
