Jackson’s POV

When the witch left, the house felt too quiet. Her smoke had barely cleared and already the silence pressed against my ears like a warning. I stayed on the floor long after she vanished, tasting ash and anger in the air. Kneeling had been a humiliation I hadn’t expected to swallow. But humiliation could be useful. It sharpened something inside me. Hunger turned to plan.

I forced myself to stand. My limbs trembled, not from the spell she had thrown but from the realization ...