Isolde's POV
The vision hit me like a rocket. One moment I was grinding herbs in my cottage, and the next I was on my knees, my eyes filled with terrible sights.
Purple fire swallowing the sky. A black moon where no moon should be. Zeke's body lying in a circle of blood. And Sienna—her eyes glowing half-ruby, half-shadow—standing over him with a knife.
"No!" I gasped, fighting my way back to reality.
My cat, Nyx, was licking my face when I opened my eyes. The bowl of herbs had spilled across the floor. My hands were trembling.
In forty years as a witch, I'd had many visions. But none like this. None that made my blood freeze.
Something was very wrong.
I stumbled to my feet and went to the window. Outside, the day looked normal. Birds sang in the trees. The sun shone bright. But to my witch's eyes, the air itself seemed wrong—like cloth stretched too thin, ready to tear.
"Someone's messing with dark magic," I whispered to Nyx. "Big magic."
I needed answers. Fast.
