His eyes glowed blue.
Not the soft, dreamlike blue of moonlight no, this was something ancient. Wild. The kind of color found only in magic untouched by mercy. Witchfire. The very same that coursed through Ophelia's blood.
And now it was in my son's eyes.
I couldn't breathe. I didn't even blink. I just stared down at the child in my arms as the glow pulsed, alive and terrifying.
Lucas took one slow step forward, hands raised as though approaching a feral beast.
"Clara," he said gently, "has this ever happened before?"
I shook my head. "No. Never."
Auren blinked again. The glow flickered once, dulled, then flared brighter. He wasn't in pain. He wasn't even alarmed. He just looked up at me like he was seeing me for the very first time.
"Mommy," he said, "she's not gone."
My throat tightened. "Who?"
He turned his head toward the window. "Grandmother."
Lucas swore under his breath. "Impossible. We destroyed the tower. We broke the circle."
