Isla's POV
The safe room was small. Hidden. Located three floors below the main packhouse where the walls were reinforced with ancient magic that Isla didn't understand.
Mira sat across from her while Cassian stood by the door, his body a barrier between them and whatever danger lurked outside. The old Elder's hands shook as she poured three glasses of water. Normal water. For a normal conversation about the most abnormal thing Isla had ever heard.
"The crimson mark," Mira began, her voice steady now despite her earlier panic. "You need to understand what it means. It's not just a symbol. It's a signature. A calling card."
"A signature of what?" Isla asked.
"The Crimson Coven," Mira said flatly. "Blood witches. Not the kind that exist in folklore. The real ones. Ancient ones. People who made pacts with forces that shouldn't exist, who learned to channel magic through blood sacrifice."
Isla's stomach turned.
