"What do you think?"
She considers the question, her gaze flicking between us with new speculation. "I think the abbey needed destroying. And I think whoever did it paid a heavy price for the privilege."
We don’t confirm her suspicions, but I see understanding in her eyes. By tomorrow, everyone will know we were there.
"The coven will have heard by now," I say that evening as we prepare for sleep. "Sister Morrow will want answers. Explanations."
"Let her try." Protective fury colors his voice. "You owe them nothing."
"I owe them years of training and shelter," I correct, though my tone lacks conviction. "Even if they were manipulating me, they still taught me to control my power."
"They taught you to fear it." He pulls me against his chest. "There’s a difference between control and suppression."
He’s right, but the coven represented authority for so long. Walking away from that requires courage I’m not certain I possess.
But I survived the Marshal. I channeled forces beyond mortal comprehension. Surely I can handle one disapproving coven leader.
The journey to the coven’s holdings takes two days. With each mile closer, my anxiety builds. Krath senses it—he can read me now in ways that go beyond magical awareness—and offers quiet support without trying to solve the problem for me.
When we finally arrive at the gates, Sister Morrow herself is waiting. She’s aged since I last saw her, new lines bracketing her mouth and threading silver through her dark hair. But her eyes are as sharp as ever.
"Rhea." My name comes out flat, carefully neutral. "We’ve been expecting you."
"Have you?" I keep my voice equally neutral, though I’m acutely aware of Krath behind me, a solid presence at my back.
"When the abbey exploded and every construct within fifty miles crumbled simultaneously, we knew you’d been successful." Her gaze flicks to Krath, lingering with undisguised suspicion. "Though the stories about your companion were... surprising."
"Krath Ashbane." He inclines his head slightly. "Former prisoner. Current partner to Rhea."
The possessive edge to that last word makes Sister Morrow’s eyebrows rise. "Partner. I see."
She doesn’t see, not really, but I don’t correct her.
"I came to collect my personal belongings."
"You’re leaving the coven?" For the first time, emotion cracks her careful neutrality. "After everything we’ve invested in your training?—"
"After everything you’ve invested in controlling my development," I interrupt, surprised by my own boldness. "I’m grateful for the training, truly. But I’m not yours to direct anymore."
"You’re making a mistake." Her voice hardens. "You don’t understand the forces you’ve been tampering with, the attention you’ve drawn?—"
"I understand them better than you think." I step forward. "I’ve stood at the heart of necromantic power and survived its destruction. I’ve channeled forces that reshaped reality itself. Your restrictions feel... quaint now."
Sister Morrow’s face flushes with anger. "Arrogance. This is exactly what we feared—that power without proper guidance would corrupt?—"
"I’m not corrupted," I cut her off. "I’m free. There’s a difference."
She opens her mouth to argue, but another voice interrupts from behind her.
"Let her go, Morrow."
An older witch steps forward—Sister Thane, one of the coven’s founding members. Her weathered face bears the marks of decades studying dangerous magic.
"She’s outgrown us," Sister Thane continues, her gaze assessing me with uncomfortable accuracy. "Whether we approve or not is irrelevant. She’s become something we can no longer contain."
"Thank you," I say quietly.
Sister Thane nods. "Don’t mistake acknowledgment for approval. What you’ve done—what you’ve become—carriesconsequences we can’t yet predict. But forcing you to stay would serve no one." She pauses. "However, know this: if your new power harms innocents, if you misuse what you’ve learned, we will respond. And we won’t be gentle."
