Inside, Lyanna looks up from her work table, fingers paused over a bundle of dried herbs. Her eyes narrow slightly, reading the resolve in my posture.
“You’ve decided,” she says.
I nod once. “I’m going to force whatever Faelan left inside me into the open.”
Lyanna sets down her tools with careful precision. The silver blade catches the light from the small window. Her movements are measured as she turns to face me fully.
“Do you know what you’re risking?” she asks.
“Yes.” My voice comes out flat.
She studies my face for a long moment, then moves to a small cabinet built into the wall. Her fingers trace the carved patterns before selecting a jar.
“This isn’t just extraction,” she says, voice calm but firm. “What he left behind will fight back. It will try to use you. Reshape your frequency.” She places the jar on the table between us. “If you can’t maintain your own magic, your own self, it could sync you to Faelan permanently.”
I don’t flinch. “I don’t need him out. I need him exposed.”
The distinction matters. I’m not looking for a cure. I’m looking for proof.
Lyanna nods once, accepting my decision without further argument. She reaches for a small leather pouch on her shelf, adds three items I can’t identify, then pulls the drawstring tight.
“If it gets too deep, burn this,” she says, placing the small satchel in my palm. “It won’t save you. But it might stop him.”
Her fingers brush mine as she transfers the pouch. No magic in the touch, just the brief connection of skin against skin. The weight of the satchel is almost nothing, but I feel its significance.
I slip it into my jacket pocket and step back toward the door.
Outside, twilight has deepened across the compound. The spaces between cabins fill with blue shadows. Across the yard,Dane stands perfectly still, watching. I can feel the intensity of his gaze even at this distance.
I don’t stop. Don’t speak.
Just begin.
I kneel at the center of the clearing, salt heavy in my palm. The first line of the circle is nearly complete, a perfect curve against the dark earth. My heartbeat is steady. My hands don’t shake. I’ve done this a dozen times before.
But never with him watching.
The air shifts before I hear him. A low-pressure change that makes my skin tighten. Dane’s scent reaches me first: cedar, steel, and anger. His footsteps are deliberate.
I don’t stop. The salt falls through my fingers in a controlled stream, completing the first boundary. I reach for the chalk.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice is tight, controlled, right behind me now. Close enough that if anyone is watching from the treeline, they’ll see his stance but not hear his words.
I don’t turn. “What needs to be done.”
“Stop.” The single word carries all his authority. When I continue marking the inner circle, he says it again, lower. “Stop.”
I finish the line I’m working on, then stand to face him. His jaw is clenched, eyes burning gold at the edges. Not shifted. Just furious.
“You don’t get to order me around, Dane. Not with this.”
His nostrils flare. “You’re forcing whatever’s inside you into the open. Without telling me.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
He steps closer, invading my space. “This isn’t about permission. It’s about you being reckless with your life.”
“My life.” I spit the words back at him. “Mine to risk.”
