Grandma smiles, reassuring.
A warmth spreads through me, the kind that feels like roots reaching down to touch other roots.
“Those stones in the hills,” I say slowly.
“They weren’t just warnings. They were records.”
“Of what?” Ash asks.
“Of us.”
The mountain wind brushes over us, carrying the scent of snowmelt and pine sap. The hum slips lower, settling deep in the stone, into bone, into blood.
Grandma looks toward the ridge. “More will feel that song.”
Ash nods. “Yeah. They will.”
Outside, dawn waits—and for the first time in a long time, it feels like home.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
ASH
The council table is busier than usual, two seats set in the middle for Josephine and me.
I still feel her awe. The warmth of knowing Mags accepts her freely. The quieter scrutiny as she eyes the others, measuring their motives and loyalties.
My hands are folded in front of me, and Mags beams with pride.
“The signal reached Raven’s Ridge,” Clay grumbles, removing and folding his reading glasses as he speaks.
“And stabilized,” Mags emphasizes.
A few members frown. But there’s no panic. No obvious alarm or even displeasure. More an unending ripple of curiosity as they catch eyefuls of her without staring.
“We’re still waiting on a government response,” Wilton says.
“If there is one,” Mags replies.
He sits back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Only time will tell.”
“No more spikes?” Clay asks. “No more destabilization?”
Wilton shakes his head, face guarded.
“Peace,” Josephine adds. “Peace together.”
I wrap my arm around her, unable to hold back. No one objects.
It’s the story written in stone. The story written in us that the Sentinels couldn’t erase.
I send steadiness to her through my touch. She smiles up at me like she needed it, still skeptical about some of the folks here.
In truth, I am too. Not everyone here feels settled. Not yet.
Josephine studies me for a moment, then whispers, “Are all the Wildbloods in this room? Is this all of you?”
