“I was so good!” Celia spinned in the middle of the living room like she was still riding the adrenaline. “You should’ve seen her face, Mira didn’t question it for even a second. Not once.” Barry laughed, leaning back against the counter. “I told you the crying would sell it.” “It wasn’t fake crying.” Celia shot back. “Okay, maybe a little. But still, I nailed it.” Michael smiled faintly, watching her move around the room, but the smile didn’t last long. Something caught his attention, a quiet unease he couldn’t ignore. His eyes followed her as she turned, and that was when he saw it. The bruise. It sat just beneath her jawline, dark and ugly against her skin. “Hey, Celia…” He called as he stood up. She stopped mid-spin. “Yeah?” He stepped closer, his voice lower now. “Your neck.” Her hand immediately went up, fingers brushing the mark. She hesitated for half a second, just long enough for him to know. “Oh. This? It’s nothing.” She said quickly. Barry straightened. “That does

Mira stared down at her hands, fingers slowly curling into fists. The ritual barrier around her was already fading, the markings on the floor dull and cracked, their purpose fulfilled. The elders stood at a distance, tense, watching her every breath. She frowned. “Uhmm…” She lifted her hands and turned them over. “Is this some kind of joke? I don’t feel any different.” There was no sudden rush, no overwhelming force crashing into her veins the way she was expecting. For a brief second, doubt flickered in her eyes. Then it hit her. It started deep in her chest, like a slow, heavy thud. Her heart beat hard once, then again, faster. Heat spread through her body, not burning, but alive. It poured into her arms, her legs, her spine, her skull. Mira gasped, her knees bending slightly as she steadied herself. The air around her trembled. Power flooded her senses, sharp, intoxicating, endless. It felt nothing like the totems. This was cleaner and way stronger. Like the power had always

Scofield Estate Danny paced the length of Mira’s study, his footsteps uneven and frantic. His phone was clutched in his hand like it might explode if he squeezed too hard. Sweat gathered at his temples as he kept refreshing the screen, scrolling through alerts, missed calls, and messages he didn’t want to read but couldn’t stop reading. “This can’t be happening!” He suddenly yelled, spinning toward the desk. “This makes no sense!” Mira sat comfortably behind her desk, one leg crossed over the other and her face casually rested on her knuckles. Jace stood a few steps behind her, arms crossed, watching Danny like he was an insect trapped under glass. Mira leaned back in her chair. “Why are you so upset?” she asked calmly. “I thought this would be good news for you. The people who threw you away are falling apart. Shouldn’t you be enjoying it?” Danny dragged a hand through his hair, his voice cracking. “Becky’s the one who did the stupid thing! She’s the one who threatened Michael

Mira’s scream ripped through the study as she slammed both hands onto the table, the impact cracking the wood beneath her palms. Papers scattered as the air vibrated with the force of her fury. “I should’ve just ripped his head off!” She shouted, her voice shook with raw anger, “The bastard even gave me a deadline.” She paced back and forth, breath uneven, crimson energy still flickering faintly around her like embers refusing to die. Michael’s face kept flashing in her mind. His expression, his glowing blue eyes, the way he had spoken to her like he still believed there was something left to save. The thought only made her angrier. Jace stepped closer and carefully draped a robe over her shoulders, covering the torn, burned remains of her clothes from the fight. “He seemed serious…” He said, trying to keep his voice steady. “What are you going to do now?” Mira didn’t answer right away. Her thoughts were too loud, one image refused to leave her mind… Michael’s arm, blown apart by

Snow City lay buried under thick layers of snow. The air was sharp, cold enough to sting the lungs, and the sky hung low and gray above the triplet mansions. Outside, in the open space between the buildings, Monica moved happily through the snow, completely unaware of the weight hanging over the people watching her. She was building a snowman, carefully patting the snow into shape, her gloves already soaked. Every now and then she laughed to herself, brushing snow off her coat or stepping back to admire her work. When the snowman was finished, she flopped backward into the snow and began making angels, her movements slow and playful, as if nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. Adrian and Richard stood a short distance away, both with their hands in their pockets, watching her quietly. “She seems to be having fun.” Adrian said at last, kicking the snow in front of him and sending a small spray into the air. His voice carried a tired edge. “At least that’s one person enjoy