Preparations for the Trial
The firelight in Draven and Isla’s quarters cast flickering shadows on the walls, but neither of them paid it any attention. Draven leaned against the heavy oak table, his arms crossed, watching Isla as she stood by the window.
“You know this isn’t about proving anything to me,” he said. “You shouldn’t even have to do this.”
Isla turned to him, her expression calm but firm. “It doesn’t matter. The pack needs to see it. They need to know Seraphine can’t twist the truth any further.”
Draven’s fingers tapped against the table, a rare sign of his agitation. “The Rite of Truth is dangerous. It won’t just test her lies—it’ll test you. And I don’t trust her not to sabotage it.”
“That’s why I’m not going to let her win,” Isla said, walking closer to him. Her silver hair framed her face, catching the light in a way that softened her sharp determination. She placed her hands over his. “They need this, Draven. And so do we.”
His gaze softened, but the tension in his body didn’t ease. “I’ll be watching her every move,” he said. “If she so much as—”
“She’ll try,” Isla interrupted. “We both know she will. But we’ll handle it.”
Elsewhere in the packhouse, Seraphine paced her room like a restless animal. Her crescent mark pulsed faintly as she whispered to herself. The shard of enchanted stone she had hidden glinted faintly on the table, a tool she had been nurturing in secret.
“They think they’ve cornered me,” she said, her voice soft but filled with venom. “They think this trial will give them what they want.” She leaned over the shard, her fingers trailing along its jagged edges. “But they’ve underestimated me.”
Closing her eyes, she let her shadow magic seep into the room. Tendrils of darkness began to curl and twist, seeking cracks, probing for weaknesses. “If they want a show, I’ll give them one,” she murmured.
Meanwhile, a pack healer Micah moved silently through the hallways, her senses finely attuned to the subtle shifts of energy. She paused near Seraphine’s room, her sharp eyes narrowing as she felt a faint vibration in the air, like a low hum beneath her skin.
“What is she doing?” Micah muttered, pressing her ear to the door. The magic emanating from within felt wrong—unnatural in a way that made her skin prickle. Without hesitation, she turned and sprinted down the hall.
Micah burst into Draven and Isla’s quarters, her breath coming fast. “She’s up to something,” she said, her voice urgent. “Something big. I could feel the magic from the hallway.”
Draven straightened immediately, his hand tightening on the edge of the table. “What kind of magic?”
“Shadow magic,” Micah replied. “But it’s stronger this time. She’s building something, and I don’t know what.”
Draven’s amber eyes darkened, a cold fire burning in their depths. “Then we’ll be ready,” he said, his voice low.
Isla stepped closer to him, her calm unwavering. “Let her try,” she said. “The truth doesn’t need shadows to win.”
