Wylder moves between the tables, checking pulses. "They’re alive… barely.”
I miss the rest of what he says because I'm running, scanning faces.There.Second to last row.
“Violet.”
Her dark hair fans across the metal surface, longer than it was. She's thin—too thin—her cheekbones sharp. But her chest rises and falls. She’s alive… and beside her?—
"Lily." Her name tears out of me. My baby sister. Sixteen now. She’s unconscious and drained, but she’shere.
I move to start unhooking them, but Wylder grabs my shoulder. “Poppy, we can’t disconnect them. We don’t know what’s being done or how it works. If we just rip the tubes out, the magical backlash could hurt them."
An explosion rocks the building.
The ceiling cracks. Lights flicker. And through the walls, I feel it—a surge of power so massive it makes the earlier explosions feel like nothing.
The airsplits. The buildingshakes. A portal tears open in the center of the basement, edges blazing silver-white. Power pours through, wild and furious.
As figures step through, the four of us ready for another attack… but nothing comes.
A woman leads the new group. Dark-haired and fierce, her eyes blaze with grief and rage. Behind her, a dozen more witches enter, all wearing the same expression. All carrying the same magical signature.
The Draven family.
"Sienna?" I breathe.
Davina’s mother sweeps the room with her gaze, taking in the captive witches, the siphoning equipment, the horror. When she speaks, her voice shakes with barely contained fury. "Where. Is. Laurel?"
Behind her, Amber steps through the portal. Our eyes meet. For once, there's no sneer, no hatred. Just cold, deadly purpose.
"On the roof last we saw. Fighting Garrison and?—"
Sienna Draven raises her hands, and the power that erupts from her is staggering. The entire Draven clan channels through her, their combined magic forming a spear of pure elemental fury.
The column of energy punches straight up, through three floors of concrete, and the Draven witches rise in a tidal wave of vengeance.
The sounds from above intensify.
This is not just a battle anymore—it’swar.
Another thundering crack hits, and the building shifts and creaks around us. “The Dravens are going to tear the building apart. We need to get them out of here."
“How?” Asher looks to Wylder. “Any ideas?”
Footsteps slam down the concrete stairwell before Wylder can answer.
I raise my hands and turn, but there’s no danger.
Garrison is leading a group of the Order, and he takes in the gruesome scene in the basement. No hesitation. No speeches. He assesses the situation and starts pointing, barking commands.
“Portal them back to the infirmary, table and all. We’ll assess them once they’re safe. Go!”
His people obey his orders like a tactical strike team, and I’ve never been so relieved to not be the one in charge in all my life.
Magic snaps in the air. One by one, Order enforcers grab the metal tables and they’re gone.
Garrison directs the evacuation like a military general, and I couldn’t be more impressed. “The witches upstairs are safe, and your shadow friend has been extracted?—”
“What about Laurel? Did you get her?”
