After the ceremony, Mira and Kaela exchanged one of those loaded looks—the kind that could hold whole conversations without a single word spoken. I'd seen it before when they tended wounds or read the weather, but this time it felt different. Heavier. Like they'd glimpsed something in me I hadn't quite caught myself yet.
Three days later, they summoned me to the clearing at dusk.
Not for sparring. Not for grueling endurance drills or Ronan's relentless combat training. This was something older.
"Sit," Kaela commanded, her voice sharp and steady—the same tone she used when setting snares. When she said something, the world listened. I lowered myself onto the ground, cold enough to bite through my leggings and settle deep in my bones. Mira laid a woven mat before me and placed a bowl of boiled herbs in my lap. Steam curled upward, carrying the sharp scent of iron and smoke with a wild edge—like the smell of lightning just before it crashes.
