The cold had found her.
Even nestled in the warmth of the Swiss estate, Ariella could feel the shift in the air. The wind that seeped through the windows was no longer just alpine winter—it was something older. Something watching.
Eleanor had stopped sleeping through the night. Several months had passed and she was rapidly growing and evolving.
Each evening, the child would cry out in her dreams, whispering words that made no sense, sometimes in languages Ariella didn't recognize. Runes began appearing in frost on her bedroom windows—delicate and intricate, like snowflakes carved by hand.
Ariella had cleaned them away the first few nights.
But they always returned.
The First Crack
Leo found her in the training room at 4 a.m., slamming her fists into a reinforced punching bag so hard that the chains above rattled.
Her hair clung to her face, sweat trailing down her temple, knuckles raw. She didn't even stop when he called her name the first time.
