Back in Mystic Valley, a teacup rattles across the wooden table. It skids to the edge and rocks there, one more inch from falling, yet never tips over. Eliana stands motionless, a bundle of dried rosemary pressed so tightly against her chest that brittle leaves snap beneath her fingers. The warmth drains from the kitchen so quickly her skin prickles. One breath ago, afternoon heat drifted from the stove. The next, frost crawled across the kettle. The flame bent sideways, no longer reaching for the pot but toward something unseen in the center of the room. Outside, the birds go up in a single frightened mass, a black eruption from the tree line, wings cutting the sky in directions that don't make sense for where they're trying to go. The rosemary slips from her fingers. It scatters across the floor. *** "We..." Elias stops mid-sentence at the council hall. The muscles in Elias's shoulders tense up. His jaw clenches. The pen slips from fingers that suddenly refuse to obey
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