The front hall of the estate was a cavern of shadows and soft, pulsing light. Outside, the night air had turned crisp, almost metallic, as if the valley itself had stiffened in anticipation. The wards that usually hummed reassurance were eerily silent, holding their breath.
Callum's wings pressed tightly against his back, the edges brushing faintly against the air, ready to unfurl in a heartbeat. His hands rested lightly on Samantha's shoulders, grounding both her and himself. Nova, cradled against his chest, seemed almost to recognize the shift—her small, luminous aura pulsing faintly, as though alerting him to something beyond the threshold of comprehension.
The front door had parted with barely a sound, sliding aside as if drawn by some unseen will, and there he stood.
