Lilian

(Chapter 58:Mira's Pov)

The storm outside had quieted, but the unease within me had not.

Lorenzo stood near the window of the safe house, watching the night with the stillness of a predator. His arms were crossed, his sharp profile bathed in the silver glow of the moon. I could still feel the weight of his touch from earlier, the ghost of his fingers brushing against my wrist as he guided me through my training. But now, his focus was elsewhere—his mind likely tangled in the same web of uncertainty as mine.

Because we were running out of time.

I sat on the edge of the leather couch, my hands gripping the edges of my sleeves. My uncle, Caelyn, paced beside the fireplace, his expression grim. Across from us, the old white witch—the woman who had given me shelter—held the remnants of the prophecy in her trembling hands. The ancient parchment was worn, the ink barely legible in places, but the words still burned in my mind.