Lira paced her room. She no longer used this space for practicing magic; lately, it felt almost useless to her.

  She thought about Katherine, nervous tension making her feel like a live wire. She bit her thumbnail, anxiety coiling tighter inside her.

  Lira regretted realizing that Katherine’s outward calm was only a shallow fa?ade. Beneath it, Katherine was calculating and cold, her hidden aggression like that of a wild animal. The sheer number of weapons and pieces of armor Katherine kept in her room unsettled Lira. Her family paid their staff well, but she doubted it was enough to justify the small arsenal and the supplies Katherine maintained for her familiars.

  The fact that a beast had helped Katherine without being bonded to her until necessary made the secrecy even more surprising. Lira hated drawing comparisons between Katherine and a wild animal, but at the moment, that was the truth she couldn’t ignore.

  Lira remembered the first time she saw Katherine smile—a fleeting moment that now seemed like a mask. The memory only heightened her uncertainty about what Katherine might do if pushed too far. Now that Katherine herself—and by extension, her familiars—were in danger, Lira hoped desperately she wouldn’t take things too far.

  ...

  In the industrial part of the market district. Many shops had off buildings used for storage. One such establishment had grown to like Katherine as her loyal patronage allowed him to sell off his more exotic items more quickly.

  Katherine had spoken with the owner of the establishment beforehand requesting the use of his storage build for personal matters for an undisclosed amount of time. After a modest bribe he allowed the off building to be off-limits to his staff.

  Currently, Katherine was with the two problems she had following her. A female elf was currently screaming hoping the sound would pass through the temporary barrier around the building As Katherine had a hand on her using the magic Sparky’s bond had given her.

  “What are you doing?” asked her male captive in almost a shout. His face was bruised and swollen as he decided to provoke Katherine into fight and found out how bad of an idea that was. “You’re gonna kill her.”

  Katherine let go of the elf. The elf’s breathing was ragged, and blood dripped out of her mouth from the amount of screaming she had done. “Are you going to tell me why your patron wants me in their service.”

  The man scoffed. “The patron would have us slit your throat than let us near our halls,” he accentuated his opinion by spitting his disgust.

  “Oh, really than why is my friend losing her magic for avoiding to do just that?” Katherine asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Getting me in those halls you hold so dear? Honestly, the more I hear about your coven the more it sounds like a cult.”

  “The High One would never,” said the elf, regaining some of her strength.

  “Oh, don’t waste your words,” Katherine patronized. “They sound better when your kissing ass.”

  Shade and Luna had been lounging nearby. Katherine had given them food in the beginning to keep them occupied. However, the amount hadn’t seemed to be enough as they stayed in that spot. Are you glad you didn’t attack her or her allies? Shade asked Luna through the bond they had as mates. I am. Are you sure bonding with her was a good idea? Shade huffed, letting her know that he was entirely sure at this point in time as they watched her torture her prey.

  ...

  Lira’s anxiety gnawed at her, settling heavily in her chest as she wandered the estate in search of Katherine. Each empty hallway and silent room sharpened her worry, leaving her nerves raw and frayed. Hours had slipped by, and the persistent dread that Katherine might be doing something reckless refused to let her rest. Her mind replayed every warning sign in Katherine’s behavior, each hint of trouble quickening her heartbeat.

  “Damn it, Katherine,” Lira muttered under her breath, more to herself than to the absent friend. She paused to steady herself, pressing trembling fingers to the cool stone wall. If I were a warrior from another world, where would I go? she wondered, her thoughts racing through memories of Katherine’s unusual habits and favored haunts—a blend of curiosity, caution, and the fierce urge to protect.

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  Her reverie was abruptly broken when she collided with someone equally lost in thought. The impact startled her, and her hand braced against a form clad in battered armor. Expecting a guard or adventurer, she glanced up, only to find herself face-to-face with a priest.

  The priest—a man older than her father, perhaps even her grandfather—regarded her with gentle eyes that crinkled at the corners. A scar traced his chin, while the battered armor beneath his crimson clerical robes spoke of battles past, the fabric trimmed in solemn gold and black. “Sorry, Archbishop,” Lira stammered, her voice shaky with embarrassment and lingering nerves.

  His answering smile was soft, the lines of his face settling into reassurance. “No need to apologize,” he replied, his tone low and steady. The distant clangor of the city seemed to hush around them. “War comes in many forms, and it seems you are fighting on many fronts. I have a little time before my next appointment. May I offer you counsel, if you wish?”

  Lira hesitated, her gaze flickering away. Part of her ached for support, but pride and wariness tangled inside her. “I shouldn’t keep you,” she said, polite but distant, though her hands fidgeted in her sleeves. Inwardly, hope warred with worry—what if Katherine had already gone off the deep end?

  The archbishop’s voice softened, weighted with genuine concern. “Young Lady Wynford,” he said quietly, pausing to let the offer linger. “As a member of the clergy, I would feel better if you accepted a moment of counsel—even if my church is sometimes seen as more militant. I don’t wish to add to your burden.”

  Lira’s shoulders sagged, and she finally allowed herself to sit beside him on a worn bench outside a bustling shop. She stared at the uneven cobblestones, voice unsteady as she searched for words. “It’s my friend,” she admitted, her composure threatening to crack. “She means more to me than most people realize. I’m afraid she’s about to do something reckless, and I need to find her before it’s too late.”

  The archbishop listened in silence, the bustle of the street receding from their little enclave. “From my recollection, Lady Wynford, can’t you track her using your magic?” he asked, his voice quiet and inviting confidence as he leaned in conspiratorially. “I hear you’re an exceptionally skilled witch. A tracking ritual should be well within your reach.”

  Closing her eyes, Lira felt a hollow ache where her magic had once been a comfort—a gentle hum beneath her skin, now replaced by emptiness. “I can’t,” she murmured, rubbing her temples as if to soothe the loss. “My patron revoked that ability just this morning. I haven’t been able to use the charm I made for her protection since yesterday.” She let her head fall back against the cool wall, blinking hard against tears. “I can’t lose her. Do you know how many people genuinely don’t care about my status as a witch? A handful—usually other witches. Add my family’s baggage, and the number shrinks even more. Katherine is the one person who never cared about either. That’s rare.”

  A memory surfaced: a night when Lira’s magic faltered during a ritual, leaving her raw and exposed to wild energy. Katherine had been there, steady and calm, refusing to let her panic spiral out of control. She’d stayed until sunrise, telling stories to anchor her, reminding her that she was more than just her magic. In that moment, Lira had realized how much she relied on Katherine’s unwavering support—and how unbearable it would be to lose her now.

  The archbishop offered a gentle, wry smile. “It’s almost as if your friend fell out of the sky,” he quipped, his tone lightening for a moment.

  Lira managed a fragile laugh, brushing away the threat of tears. “Crypt, actually,” she said, a spark of fondness brightening her exhausted features. She glanced at him, grateful for the brief moment of levity. “I’ve kept an eye on her ever since, just in case. My patron angered her by revoking my magic. Now I have to find her before anything worse happens.”

  With renewed urgency, Lira rose from the bench, determination flickering in her gaze. The archbishop’s parting question caught her mid-step: “Why don’t you follow the storm clouds?”

  Lira’s heart skipped as she noticed the gathering darkness overhead. Storm clouds were not unusual above the city, but these clustered with intent, swirling directly above the market district. The city’s bustle faded behind her as she pushed through crowded streets, boots splashing in puddles as the clang of industry and the scent of rain filled the air. Her path led her deeper into the industrial section, toward the shops beneath the ominous sky—odd, since none of these establishments, as far as she knew, had any reason to influence the weather.

  Inside one such shop, an elderly oreseeker manned the counter, shelves behind him lined with brushes, oils, feed, and tools for training familiars. The air was thick with anticipation as Lira strode in, her presence crackling with urgency.

  “Ah, how may I help you, madam?” the oreseeker asked, his voice warm with practiced cheer.

  “Where is she?” Lira demanded, her words clipped and her eyes stormy. She seized the man by his shirt, her tone brooking no argument. “The woman creating the storm clouds above your shop. She travels with dire panthers at her side—short hair, scars all over her arms. One on her face, along her cheek. Don’t lie to me and tell me she isn’t here.”