The council hall remained cracked, the air thick with the memory of magic that wasn't supposed to exist.
Magnolia hadn't slept.
She'd sat all night beside the small fire in her private chamber, the flames barely touching the cold that had sunk into her bones. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw silver not stars, not moonlight, but something wilder. Something trying to speak in the shape of her wolf.
When the knock came, she already knew who it was.
"Come in," she said quietly.
Beckett stepped inside, shrugging off his travel cloak. His boots were still streaked with dirt, and his eyes were sharper than usual no alcohol, no smile, just focus.
"I saw the light from the archives," he said, not bothering to greet her.
She nodded once. "It wasn't intentional."
"I didn't say it was."
Silence stretched between them.
Then he moved to the hearth and tossed in a fresh log. "You didn't shift. That's the good news."
"What's the bad?"
