AISLYNThe decision settles in my chest like a stone the moment I sheath the knife.

Not relief.

Commitment.

“Stay close,” I murmur. “And don’t speak unless I do.”

The witch nods immediately. Too quickly. Fear sharpens her movements, strips away whatever calm she tried to wear earlier. Up close, I can feel it radiating off her, tight, contained, like a scream held behind teeth.

We leave the old observation wing together.

Every step beyond it feels louder than the last.

Redmoon does not ...