Blood of the Pack
A whisper hissed in Alice’s mind: The ritual’s now, weapon.
A note fell from her backpack, unnoticed until now: Break or burn, weapon. The rally decides. The crescent moon symbol glared, and the lights dimmed, the crowd’s cheers slowing to a drone. Alice’s hands glowed brighter, heat surging, and she froze, the ritual’s pull tightening. She bolted for the exit, Kane’s voice calling, Liam’s plea echoing, Mira’s whisper lingering, Rhea’s taunt biting, Elara’s touch fading. The cult’s plan was a noose, and she was its knot.
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