Night carved the sky into ink, but the broken moon glared like a wounded eye, casting pale light across the Callahan estate's sacred hilltop. Winds murmured over grass, and the trees surrounding the ceremonial stone circle stood stiff as if holding their breath.
Savannah stood first, arms crossed beneath her black leather jacket, the collar upturned against the chill. Her eyes, rimmed with fatigue, flicked between Rhett and Celeste.
"She said the prophecy's voice would come tonight," Savannah murmured. "But I didn't expect the sky to bleed first."
Celeste, her robes swaying, stepped forward and traced her fingers along the rune-carved stones. Her silver hair was bound tightly, like a crown, and the golden feather pendant at her throat vibrated faintly with a humming energy.
"The moon breaking wasn't part of the prophecy," she said, voice low and precise. "Something's waking. Something old."
