Adara was waiting in the pews. Lena's aunt, sixty years old, wearing a shawl and carrying rosaries that weren't for praying.
"You finally used it," Adara said to Lena, not even surprised. "Your mother would be proud. And terrified."
She turned to Arian. "You're him. The dhampir in the prophecy."
Arian scoffed. "I don't believe in prophecies."
"You don't have to," Adara said. "The prophecy believes in you. It says when vampires try to take the city, a child of both bloods will hold the scale. You are the scale, Arian. You decide if it tips."
Outside, windows began to rattle. They weren't alone anymore.