POV: Miranda Prospero 

The morning mist clung to the forest floor like secrets as Miranda knelt beside the injured deer, her hands glowing with soft silver light. The doe's broken leg was healing under her touch, bones knitting together with the kind of magic that shouldn't exist—the kind her father had spent seventeen years teaching her to hide.

"There you go, sweet girl," she whispered, watching the deer struggle to its feet and bound away into the Washington wilderness. "Safe ...