INICIAR SESIÓN88Noah. I heard the raven before I saw it.A low rustle of feathers, a heavy thud against the windowsill, and then silence. Unnatural and waiting silence. I stood in the library, one hand still on the old map spread across the table, the other clenching slightly. I didn’t rush to the window. I didn’t need to. I already knew what it was.The raven was bleeding.Its wing dragged behind it, bent unnaturally. One eye looked glassy, the other still watching me. Even before I pulled back the latch and let it in, I could smell the faint tinge of silver in the blood. Not enough to kill it but enough to send a message.The envelope tied to its leg was black, matte, waxy, sealed with a deep crimson wax stamp shaped like a fang. There was no crest or initials. Just the plain threat.I untied it slowly. The raven didn’t protest. It only stood there, quiet with it’s feathers slick with rain and blood. I opened the letter.One word and a symbol of a dagger.Try.That was it. There were no threats
87Isabella. The woods were quiet, too quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet either. It was the kind that made you feel like you were being watched, like the trees knew something you didn’t.Sienna stood a few feet in front of me, arms crossed, hair tied back, expression already disapproving before we even began. Her idea of encouragement was, “Don’t die.”I wiped my hands on my jeans and tried not to look like I was stalling. “Okay. So. Shielding. Let’s start there.”Sienna tilted her head. “You want to start with shielding because it’s safe. And boring. And not remotely helpful if someone’s already coming at you.”“I just don’t want to light something on fire by accident,” I muttered.“You probably will,” she said, with zero apology. “But better here than in town.”I exhaled slowly and held out my hands. The energy was still hard to describe, like a hum under my skin, warm and pulsing, sometimes too much, sometimes not enough. It shifted depending on my mood, which was unfortunatel
86Sienna. I found Isaac in the back of the apothecary just after dusk. He was fiddling with a jar of nightshade, the way he always does when he’s nervous, or thinking too much. I caught him before he saw me.“Pop quiz,” I said, leaning against the counter.He looked up, startled, and yanked his hand back. A drop of clear liquid landed on the wooden surface.“Nice recovery,” I said.He blinked. “Sorry.”“Are we doing this again?” I asked, voice low.He swallowed. “That fast, huh?”I folded my arms. “Spark isn’t always a fast burn. Sometimes it smolders.”He picked up the jar. “Smolder, huh?”I shrugged. “That’s not a bad start.”He set the jar down carefully. “Tea?”I shook my head. “Wine, maybe.”He laughed softly. “Make it two.”I pulled half a bottle from behind the counter. Not fancy, but enough for tonight.***We met later in the forest, two hours after sun dropped. That’s where we always sort out meaning, whether it’s good, bad, or just meaningless.He was waiting at our usual
85Noah. The dagger came in a black box. There was no note or seal. It was just the blade, nestled like it was sleeping.It was silver and engraved with my name, and a crown.Isaac set it on the kitchen table like it might bite. “It was left at the gate,” he said. “No scent or tracks.”Of course there weren’t.I stared at it. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t need to. I’d seen that style before, centuries ago, when we were still pretending Edward hadn’t gone mad with ambition. It was the kind of weapon you sent as a message. Not for defense or declaration.It simply meant “come and die.”Isaac sat across from me, arms folded, eyes tracking mine like he was waiting for the explosion. I didn’t give him one.“This means war,” he said finally.“No,” I said. “That was already decided. This is just... confirmation.”He ran a hand through his hair. “What do we do?”I stood and walked to the back door, pushing it open. Cold air poured in. The river was just beyond the trees, dark and endless.I di
84IsaacI’ve always been good at slipping into the background.You get used to it, being second. Second born. Second choice. Second to rise, second to speak, second to be heard. I used to think it didn’t bother me. I told myself I liked it that way. It was quieter and simpler.But lately, with Edward breathing down our necks and Noah unraveling in slow, sharp pieces, I’ve started thinking about what it means to be second, and what happens when the first falls.The apothecary bell jingled as I pushed open the door. Sienna didn’t look up from the shelf she was rearranging. Dried herbs. Something floral and bitter in the air.“You again,” she said flatly.“You sound thrilled.”“I’m vibrating with joy. What do you want?”I stepped further in, holding something behind my back. “I brought you a gift.”She squinted suspiciously. “If it’s another dead animal, I’m lighting you on fire.”“Lesson learned,” I muttered, then revealed the flower. A single flamepetal, its orange-red glow still fain
83Isabella. A letter arrived on a Thursday. It was thin and cream-colored, the kind of envelope that tried too hard to look important. My name was written on the front in soft, loopy handwriting I recognized instantly. Nadia’s.I almost didn’t open it. I almost tossed it straight into the fire like the dramatic cliché she probably expected. But curiosity’s a petty thing. It likes to whisper things like What if it’s an apology? Or worse, What if she’s changed?I tore it open and read the first line.“You always were good at playing the victim.”I stopped reading there.There was no apology. She hadn’t changed, no growth from her at all. I don’t know what I expected, but I wasn’t particularly surprised.I walked to the fireplace and fed the letter to the flames without another word. The fire crackled as the paper curled in on itself, shrinking away from the heat like it knew it had no business being here.Sienna looked up from the couch. “That from rehab Barbie?”“Yeah.”“She still de







