Narla went to her shop—escorted by Wyatt, who refused to let her out of his sight—and gathered every candle she’d made since the surge transformed her magic. The mate-revealing ones, the protection ones, the truth ones she’d started experimenting with after Aero’s revelation.
If her flames could strip Derren’s glamour, she needed to be ready.
Ember watched from his perch as she packed, his dark gaze fixed on her hands as though measuring each candle against some private standard she’d never been told.
“I know.” She paused, one hand on a candle that shimmered with violet light. “I should have trusted someone sooner.”
The owl hooted. Reproachful.
“You tried to tell me.” She set the candle in her bag. “That first day Wyatt came in here after the festival—you practically pushed me toward him.”
Another hoot. Smug this time.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
Wyatt appeared in the doorway, and Narla’s breath caught the way it did every time now. Every time he walked into a room or looked at her or said her name.
“Ready?” His gaze swept over her, warm with a sensation that made her skin flush.
“Almost.” She crossed to him, rose on her toes, pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Thank you. For earlier. For everything.”
His arm snaked around her waist. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I want to.”
She felt his smile against her temple. “Then you’re welcome.”
They walked to Wolf Moon Brewery as the sun set, painting Haven Shores in shades of orange and pink. Wyatt’s hand stayed at the small of her back—proprietary, protective, grounding. She leaned into the touch.
The brewery was already crowded when they arrived. Theo and Avine at one table. Leo and Junie at another. Aero, Cassia, and Delos near the bar, the fire dragon looking uncharacteristically serious. Beck behind the counter, pouring drinks with mechanical efficiency. Hux in the corner, phone pressed to his ear.
Everyone looked up when Narla and Wyatt entered.
She braced for judgment. For questions about the attack, the constructs, the choices that had led them here.
Instead, Avine crossed the room and pulled her into a fierce hug.
“Don’t you ever scare us like that again.” Her voice was thick. “Do you understand me?”
“I’ll try.” Narla’s arms came up, returning the embrace. “No promises.”
“Good enough.” Avine pulled back, wiping at her face. “Now, come on. We have a war to plan.”
The next two hours were a blur of strategy and logistics.
Theo outlined the pack’s defensive positions—wolves at every entrance to town, rotating patrols through the night. Leo detailed escape routes and safe houses. Aero marked locations on a map where dragon fire could be deployed without risking civilian casualties.
Avine spread a hand over the harbor section of the map. “And I’ll seal the water.” Her voice was quiet but certain. “If he’s sending constructs up from the depths, I hold the surface. Keep reinforcements from climbing through while the rest of you fight.” Her gaze moved across the table. “The harbor is deep and old. There’s enough down there to hold them.”
Junie presented her potions—a dozen vials of shimmering liquid that smelled faintly of ozone. “One vial, properly dispersed, affects everyone within fifty feet. Magical disguises stripped to their fundamental form for approximately ten minutes.”
“And if his form can’t be stripped?” Wyatt leaned forward, his shoulder brushing Narla’s. They’d claimed seats next to each other without discussion, their chairs close enough that their bodies touched. “If the glamour is too strong?”
Junie’s gaze shifted to Narla. “Then we have a backup.”
All eyes turned to her.
Narla swallowed. She pulled one of the surge-charged candles from her bag. “My flames reveal essential truth. Who someone truly is, not who they pretend to be. If Junie’s potions don’t break his disguise, maybe this will.”
