The universe has a wicked sense of timing.
Just as we're crouched in the underbrush, hearts hammering, hoping Tobias doesn't bring the entire pack down on our heads.
A familiar silhouette materializes at the edge of the clearing. Even in the half-light, I'd know that rigid posture anywhere.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," I mutter, my magic instinctively curling around my fingertips like nervous electricity.
Ephraim steps into the moonlight, his coven robes pristine despite the forest trek, because of course they are. The Head of the Witch Hunter Squad wouldn't dare get a speck of dirt on his precious ceremonial garb. Three hooded figures trail behind him like well-trained shadows.
"Olivia," Jay whispers, his voice tight with tension. "Is that…?"
"Ephraim," I confirm, my stomach dropping faster than a stone in a well. "The coven's very own Angel of Death."
Lyra's claws silently extend beside me. "Friend of yours?"
