Chapter 167

Celine

I wake up before the sun.

It is not unusual. The coven sleeps lightly, and so do I. Northwood is quiet in that fragile way that only exists right before morning—no birds yet, no wind strong enough to move the branches, just the low, steady breathing of the earth beneath everything.

For a moment, I lie still on my pallet, staring up at the wooden beams above me. The air smells faintly of ash