Cade's arm tightened around her waist, and Lyra realized she was swaying on her feet. The weight of responsibility, of ancient magic and terrible purpose, was settling over her like a lead blanket.
"I can't do this," she whispered. "I'm not equipped for ancient seals and magical prisons. I make pottery explode when I'm nervous."
"Your chaos magic is actually perfect for this," Nico said, surprising her. "The seal requires constant small adjustments tomaintain stability. Chaos magic is inherently adaptable, able to respond to changing conditions without conscious direction."
"That doesn't make me feel better."
"It should." Cade's voice was quiet but certain. "You're not doing this alone."
Lyra looked up at him, startled by the unshakable certainty in his tone. "What do you mean?"
"The founders' binding required three bloodlines," Nico explained. "Witch, wolf, and fae. The seal is stronger when all three are present and working together."
"You're saying we're all connected to this thing now?"
"We always were," Cade said. "We just didn't know it until you woke everything up."
Lyra stared down at the rune, at the soft light leaking through its crack, and felt the weight of centuries pressing down on her shoulders. Her grandmother's legacy wasn't just an inn—it was a responsibility that stretched back to the founding of Mistwhisper Falls itself.
"Holy sage," she breathed. "What have I gotten myself into?"
"Something much larger than any of us expected," Nico said. "But also something that might finally bring balance back to this town."
"Balance?"
"The seal has been weakening for decades," Nico explained. "Without active founder bloodlines to maintain it, it's been slowly degrading. Your awakening the rune might actually be the key to strengthening it again."
Lyra looked between them—the grumpy wolf shifter who'd carried her to safety and the mysterious fae who seemed to know far more than he was telling—and felt something settle in her chest. Fear, yes, but also a strange sense of rightness.
Maybe this was what she'd been looking for without knowing it. A place to belong. A purpose beyond just fixing up an old inn.
"Okay," she said, surprised by how steady her voice sounded. "Where do we start?"
5
LYRA
The emergency town council meeting was called for seven o'clock sharp the next morning, which Lyra discovered was apparently the supernatural equivalent of being summoned to the principal's office.
She'd spent a restless night at The Moonbeam Lodge, her dreams filled with visions of ancient bindings and hungry things stirring beneath stone floors. The silvery marks on her palm had pulsed gently all night, like a heartbeat she couldn't ignore. Every time she'd started to drift off, she'd felt something vast and patient testing the edges of its prison, and she'd jerked awake with her magic coiled through her hands.
Now, standing outside Mistwhisper Falls Town Hall at six fifty-eight in the morning, Lyra wondered if it was too late to get back in her car and pretend none of this had ever happened.
The building itself was a study in supernatural bureaucracy—a Victorian structure that had been lovingly maintained but clearly adapted for non-human needs. The windows were tinted just dark enough to accommodate light-sensitive species, and she could see what looked like reinforced doorframes designed to handle above-average strength. A discrete sign by theentrance read "Supernatural Community Services - All Species Welcome."
"At least they're upfront about it," Lyra muttered, checking her phone for the third time. Seven o'clock exactly. Time to face whatever passed for justice in a town where werewolves had official paperwork.
The reception area was surprisingly normal—comfortable seating, generic office plants, and a water cooler that hummed quietly in the corner. The only hint that this wasn't a typical municipal building was the receptionist, a woman who appeared to be in her forties with silver-streaked hair and eyes that reflected light like a cat's.
"Lyra Whitaker?" the woman asked, her voice carrying the faint accent of someone who'd learned English as a second language. "I'm Diana Moonwhisper. The council is ready for you."
"Great," Lyra said, trying to project more confidence than she felt. "I don't suppose you could give me a hint about what I'm walking into?"
Diana's smile was sympathetic but not particularly reassuring. "Elder Ruth has been awake since four AM researching founder protocols. I'd suggest being very respectful and very honest."
"Noted." Lyra followed Diana down a hallway lined with what she assumed to be official portraits of previous council members. Some looked human. Others definitely didn't. "Quick question—is there any chance this is going to end with torches and pitchforks?"
"Oh, no," Diana said cheerfully. "We haven't used torches in decades. Much too dangerous with all the supernatural fire hazards."
