24:00 Hrs before the Ball
The packhouse was alive with noise and purpose. Footsteps echoed off stone floors, voices called out over comms, and faint music from the rehearsal in the ballroom drifted through the halls. Everyone had something to do. Everyone had a task, a role.
Charlotte wandered through it like a ghost.
Katya’s glamour spell had hidden the burns well—no one could tell by looking at her that the silver flames had nearly torn her apart from the inside out. Her skin looked smooth, even radiant. Her eyes, though ringed with faint shadows, glowed just enough to pass for rest. The magic was perfect.
And yet, she felt like a lie walking among the living.
The halls bustled around her. Warriors ran logistics, witches reinforced protection charms, and the kitchen staff prepped for the dozens of dignitaries expected at tomorrow’s ball. Kira was busy near the southern border, scanning old journals from her mother between shifts. Katya was in the east wing, working on reinforcing Az
