Sophia sets down a small vial of salt mixed with crushed rosemary.
“For grounding,” she says. “And courage.”
Naomi stands last, the book already open in her hands. At the last moment she asked if she could borrow it and was given permission. The pages are yellowed and crowded with handwritten notes in different inks—some careful, some cramped and spiky. She smoothes the paper carefully, like it might bite her.
Hanna never leaves my side.
She stands so close I can feel her warmth, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go. I don’t blame her—I’m afraid of that too…but it’s also what I’m hoping for.
I hold the token Whistler left in my palm. It looks small and unassuming—dark metal etched with symbols that seem to shift if I stare too long. It’s cool, heavier than it should be, and it hums faintly against my skin, like it knows where it wants to go.
Naomi looks up at me. Her voice is steady, but I see the tension in her jaw.
“Everyone knows where their artifacts go,” she says. “No one crosses the lines once we start. And if anything feels wrong—anything at all—we stop.”
Her gaze locks onto mine.
“Last chance, Jules. You’re really sure you want to do this?”
I think of Lucian…of the way he looked when he let me go. Of the dreams where he fades the way Hanna almost did. Of the certainty in my chest that if I don’t do this now, I’ll lose him forever.
“Yes,” I say. “I want to do this. I’m ready.”
Naomi nods and looks back down at the page.
“Who has the pin?”
“I do!” Tasha pulls out an antique silver straight pin with a wickedly sharp point.
My stomach flips, but I hold out my finger.
Tasha starts to poke me, but Hanna puts out a hand.
“Wait!” she exclaims.
She steps forward quickly, already tearing open an alcohol pad. She swabs my fingertip with brisk, professional motions, even though her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
Then she hugs me tight.
“I love you! Please be safe.”
“I’ll try.” I hug her back just as tightly.
She steps away, wiping her cheeks and Naomi nods at Tasha.
The pin pricks my finger, and I feel a sharp pinch of pain. A bead of blood wells up, bright red against my skin.
Naomi meets my eyes.
“Now you just need to go to each point of the pentagram and let a drop of blood fall. As you do, speak the spell I sent you.”
“Got it.” I nod and take a deep breath. The words are already in my head. I’ve been repeating them all day, letting them sink into my brain so I get them exactly right.
I step to the first point of the pentagram and let a single drop of blood fall into the flour.
I begin to chant.
By blood once given, by blood twice claimed,
