Moira's POV

The witch's chanting fills the chamber with words that make my bones ache. Silver chains burn angry welts into my wrists and ankles, but pain means I'm still alive. Still fighting.

The dark magic presses against my skin like poison, seeking entry points to tear my babies from my body. Each syllable she speaks strengthens the spell, weaving invisible bonds of death around the triplets growing inside me.

'Logan. Lucas.' Their names echo ...