Dawn did not break so much as it seeped into the world, a slow bleed of cold, grey light that did nothing to warm the stone of the Academy. The profound silence following the entity's visitation had given way to a low, purposeful hum—the sound of a fortress preparing to march.
I had dressed in the dark, my fingers fumbling on the fastenings of the practical, dark-green riding habit Elara had secured for me. The fabric was thick wool, trimmed with plain braid, a far cry from the silks now packed away. The star-iron charm was a familiar weight beneath the high collar. My valise, containing the essence of my two lives—Selene's notes, Rosalind's legal documents, and Lucian's secret letter—sat by the door, a small, heavy promise.
A final knock. Elara stood there, already clad in Northern riding leathers the color of a winter pine, her cheeks flushed with excitement and the morning chill. "Ready?" she asked, her breath misting.
