Hallow's Edge
Stacks and stacks of them—old leather-bound grimoires, Warren family journals, spellbooks, prophecy collections, everything I’ve ever studied.
Liam wipes sweat from his forehead. “Delaney, you couldn’t have fewer books?”
I raise a brow. “You’re the one who insisted on carrying all of them at once.”
He grumbles something under his breath, and Grace pats his arm like he’s being dramatic.
We spread everything across the dining table. And the chairs. And the floor.
I can’t remember which book the prophecy is in. I’ve read so many over the years, searching for answers I didn’t know I’d need.
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