Nova
Ijerk awake before dawn, my body reacting before my mind catches up. Something’s wrong.
The air feels dense, like before a thunderstorm—but there’s no humidity, no clouds. Just pressure building against my skull.
I sit up, scanning the dark cabin. Nothing moved. No one’s been here. But something pulled me from sleep as effectively as a hand around my throat.
I dress quickly—boots, dark pants, layered shirts. The knife goes in my boot. The obsidian blade in its thigh sheath.
Outside, the compound sleeps. A lone guard watches from the mess hall roof, but he doesn’t notice me slipping between shadows. I’ve gotten good at working around Dane’s surveillance.
The eastern boundary calls to me. That’s where I’ve set most of my markers—small detection spells disguised as natural objects. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screams “fae.” Just river stones marked with my sigil, buried at strategic points.
The forest feels wrong. Too quiet. No pre-dawn birds. No rustling. The trees stand unnaturally still, as if holding their breath.
I retrieve the first marker—a smooth gray stone near the creek bend. It’s warm to the touch. Vibrating slightly.
Not good.
Moving quickly, I check three more markers. Each one thrums with the same disturbed energy. The land itself is straining, like tectonic plates shifting underfoot.
“You feel it too.”
I don’t startle at Lyanna’s voice. I sensed her following me for the last ten minutes.
“It’s early,” I say, not turning around. “The calculations said forty-eight hours minimum.”
Lyanna steps beside me, her bare feet silent on the forest floor. She’s wrapped in a shawl that smells of protection herbs—sage and rosemary and something older.
“The energy’s off-pattern,” she says quietly. “If it shifts again like this, we won’t have a warning. Just fallout.”
I nod, my fingers closing around the stone. Its vibration matches the one building behind my ribs—steady, insistent.
“Your wards?” I ask.
“Holding. But responding.” She glances toward the eastern ridge. “They shouldn’t be this reactive yet.”
A sharp pain lances through my temple. I wince, pressing my fingers against the spot.
“You’re getting pressure headaches,” Lyanna observes.
“Started yesterday. Getting worse.”
She doesn’t offer sympathy. Doesn’t suggest rest, herbs, or magic. She understands what this is.
“The energy displacement is responding to proximity,” she says.
“To me,” I correct her.
Our eyes meet in the gray pre-dawn light. No point dancing around it.
“Yes,” she agrees. “To you.”
I pocket the stone and stand. “I should check the northern markers.”
“You should tell Dane.”
I shake my head. “Not yet. Not until I have more than a headache and some warm rocks.”
