The heavy doors of the coven room exploded inward, raining down shards of black oak as Jodie stormed across the threshold. The air itself seemed to recoil, the torches guttering as shadows twisted away from her—not in fear, but in recognition.
She was the storm. The force of her entrance sent the coven members scrambling back, their robes fluttering like startled bats. Whispers hissed through the chaos, a chorus of panic and dread, but one figure remained still, untouched by it all.
Valiah Hundra.
Still seated at the head of the table, legs crossed, fingers steepled, her emerald eyes gleamed with a chilling blend of pride and pity. Every choice she'd made—every sacrifice, every whispered spell—had forged this moment. Jodie, her daughter, teetered on the edge of her boundless power, yet it was for a forbidden love for a bastard prince. It was both impressive and pathetic.
Jodie's hands shook, her voice a blade of raw betrayal.
"How could you do this to me?"
