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With dragons.

But why not? My kind existed with theirs for generations before things went downhill. Before we lost the protection of those who vowed to defend us.

Damn Cravens.

They were supposed to be our guardians. Fat lot of good they turned out to be. While they sat up in their ivory towers, living billionaire lifestyles, my family line has been living in hiding.

I move to the window, pulling back the thin curtain. Third-floor view of a parking lot and the brick wall of the next building. Hardly a fortress. Not even a proper home.

A mother should provide better.

You’re keeping her alive. That’s something.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. She deserves more than mere existence. More than the constant running.

What if they’re just dreams, though? Not every image in my head is a vision. The most powerful ones need specific circumstances to be brought out, and these dreams have simply popped into my head. Maybe it’s just the pressure. My mind playing tricks on me. A product of the constant pressure.

In the living room, I pry up the loose floorboard beneath the bookshelf and remove my mother’s divination cards, wrapped in silk that’s worn thin with age. My hands are steadier now as I shuffle, focusing my question:How immediate is the danger?

I lay three cards on the coffee table.

The Tower. The Moon. The Sacrifice.

A sob builds in my chest, but I swallow it down. There’s no time for that now.

The cards confirm what my visions have shown. Discovery. Danger. A price that must be paid.

My mind circles back to Elena screaming. The clock on the wall ticks forward. Each second brings the hunters closer.

Decision crystallizes like frost on glass.

There’s only one choice. And there’s no point in delaying the inevitable.

In my bedroom, I dress mechanically. Jeans. T-shirt. Boots made for running. I pack nothing—anything I take might give away Elena’s existence.

At my bedside drawer, I remove the silver locket—ancient Celtic knots housing equally ancient magic. The only true protection I can leave her.

Moving through the apartment, I pause in the tiny kitchenette and check the refrigerator. A macaroni and cheese dinner sits in the freezer. I made it yesterday, sensing what was coming. Some part of me already knew.

I scribble a note:Be good.Mac and cheese in the freezer.

Eight words for eight years of motherhood. Inadequate, but anything more might alarm her.

I press my lips to the paper, leaving the faintest trace of honey-scented lip balm, then tape it to the refrigerator door where she’ll see it when she gets up. Unless I’m back before then.

You will be. Of course you will.

But what if I don’t, and she’s left alone?

Mrs. Patel next door checks on Elena sometimes when I work nights. She’ll notice if I don’t return. She’ll call someone. It’s a thin hope, but the only safety net I can leave.

It won’t be necessary. This is going to work out.

I’ll go to them, make a deal that suits us all, and then I can get on with my life.

I creep back to Elena’s room. She hasn’t moved, still lost in peaceful dreams I can no longer provide. The locket slips over her head without waking her. I press my lips to her forehead, breathing in the scent of drugstore shampoo and childhood.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper against her skin, infusing the words with magic and will and desperate hope.

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