Nova’s body seizes, spine arching at an impossible angle. Her head snaps back so violently I hear vertebrae crack. The voice pouring from her throat isn’t hers anymore—it’s multiple voices layered in a grating, inhuman harmony.
The salt line fractures, hairline cracks spider-webbing outward from where her knees press into the earth. The runes she’d drawn bubble and smoke, burning black.
“Everyone back!” Lyanna shouts, her hands already weaving a counter-spell, fingers trailing green light.
Rafe steps forward, face grim. “We need to shut this down. Now.”
The wolves scramble back, some breaking ranks entirely, ready to bolt. They know death when they smell it. The air reeks of burning ozone and that wrong, oily magic that isn’t Nova’s.
I ignore all of them.
One more step brings me to the edge of the broken circle. Magic ripples across my skin like wildfire, trying to push me back, rejecting my presence. It burns cold then hot, needles of pain driving into every pore.
Nova’s body convulses again. Her eyes are open but clouded over with a milky film. Blood trickles from her nose, her ears. The foreign voice grows louder, drowning out whatever remains of her.
I don’t touch the circle. I don’t break it.
I just speak.
“Nova.”
The voices continue, but there’s a hitch. A stutter in the rhythm.
“Nova, come back to me.”
Her body stills for a fraction of a second.
“I’m right here.” My voice drops lower, for her alone. “You have to come back.”
Her eyes flicker—just once—clarity bleeding through the white film.
“I’m waiting for you. Right here.”
The foreign voices falter. A tremor runs through her body.
“Come back to me.”
The circle collapses with a sound like thunder. Magic rushes outward in a violent blast, knocking several wolves off their feet. Fire erupts from the center, shooting upward in a column before vanishing into smoke. Wind whips through the clearing, carrying the scent of burned air and shattered magic.
Nova drops like a stone.
I move.
The circle where she knelt is now a crater of blackened soil, still smoking. Magic reeks in the air, sharp like a storm that just passed. No one breathes. No one crosses the invisible line she made.
I do.
Nova isn’t sprawled unconscious like I half expected. She’s on her knees, one hand pressed into scorched earth, fingers curled into the dirt. Her body shakes but doesn’t collapse. Her head hangs forward, hair spilling across her face in sweaty strands, but her spine stays straight—stubborn, always fucking stubborn.
I approach slowly. The pack behind me makes no sound, but I feel their tension ripple across the clearing.
Nova’s free hand lifts before I reach her—palm out, trembling but deliberate. I slow but don’t halt.
When I crouch in front of her, she finally lifts her head. Blood trails from her hairline down to her jaw. Her lips are cracked, pale. But her eyes find mine, clear and sharp. Whatever rode her body moments ago is gone.
I reach for her arm.
Her palm presses firmly against my chest, stopping me.
