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"Lily," I whispered, rousing her from her slumber. "It's time."

We made our way down the steps and into the open room where Garrick, Mira, and Adeline still remained.

"I should remain with him," Mira said quietly. "In case⁠—"

"You must go." Adeline's voice was steady despite everything. "He is stable. Sleeping. I shall watch him. But they need you."

Mira hesitated.

"Go," Adeline said again. "He would tell you the same if he were awake. They need you more than he does right now."

Mira's jaw tightened. Then she nodded once.

Beth stepped forward. "There is an alcove in the woods. Perhaps a ten-minute walk. The trees there have stood for centuries. Weavers used it long before any of us were born. Before the hunts. Before the fear." She looked at Lily, then at me. "This should be done where the forest can bear witness."

The words settled into the space between heartbeats. To bear witness, as if the trees themselves had memory.

I did not entirely understand what she meant. But something in my chest—beneath the pendant, beneath the corruption—recognized truth when it heard it.

"Very well," Beatrice said quietly. "Then we go to the forest."

The grey winter afternoon had given way to dusk. The bare trees stood black against a sky turning from violet to deep blue. By the time we reached the alcove, the moon had risen.

It was not what I expected.

We emerged from bare trees into a space that felt carved from time itself. Ancient oaks formed a natural cathedral—trunks wider than three men standing, branches interlocking overhead in patterns too perfect to be an accident. Moss-covered stone worn smooth from centuries of feet, of rituals, of magic performed in darkness and secrecy.

The moon hung full overhead, visible through gaps in the canopy. Silver light pooled across stone.

Beth built a fire in the center. The flame caught unnaturally fast and burned steady and bright without smoke. The Weavers filed in silently, arranging themselves around the circle. They lifted their hands, and threads began to manifest in a wash of gold.

Lily's hand found mine. Her fingers were freezing.

"Are you certain?" I asked quietly.

"No." She looked up at me. "But I'm doing it anyway."

We moved to the center. The fire crackled, throwing dancing shadows across ancient bark. The Weavers closed the circle behind us.

Beatrice stood just inside. "When I give the word, you must open completely. No hesitation. The bond will not form unless you surrender entirely to each other."

Surrender. I had spent my life being forced to surrender—to Father's will, to the pendant's control, to being less than human because it was safer for everyone else.

Yet this was different. This was choice.

"Begin," Beatrice said.

Twenty-odd voices whispered in unison—the ancient sound that resonated in bone and blood. Their magic moved as one, converging.

The pendant sensed it immediately.

Cold detonated through my chest. The corruption surged with violent desperation, clawing upward, trying to scatter me before the bond could form. The Weavers' magic slammed down, creating a cage around the corruption, refusing to let it spread. Their strain bled into me—Weavers pouring everything they had into keeping me whole.

"Now," Beatrice commanded. "Quickly."

Lily's hands rose to my face. Her eyes locked with mine—terrified and certain in equal measure.

"No walls," she said quietly. "No defenses. Just us."