Cass’s POV

"Cass!"

I bolt upright, gasping. I press a hand to my mouth, only to feel the sharp, metallic tang of blood. My tongue throbs where I bit into it—the pain is real.

Colt pulls away, his face etched with terror. "What happened?!"

"Ezra," I choke out, my speech slurred by the injury. "He was in my dream, but it wasn't a dream, Colt. It was real. It was that witch."

He stares at me, skepticism warring with desperation in his eyes. He takes his shirt off, pressing the fabric to my tongue to staunch the bleeding. After I recount the horrors of the white room and show him the tiny, unhealing pinprick on my finger, the color drains from his face.

"I want to dismiss this as a nightmare," he mutters, his jaw tightening. "But I can't take that chance."

By morning, we are in Warrick’s office. He is weary, but the gravity of the situation forces his attention. He calls for Lotus.

"Witches and their magic are real," Lotus admits, her voice trembling. "I’ve seen them. If you’re being targeted in your sleep, you need a

Light Witch

—a practitioner of good. And I know exactly where to find one."

"Ellsworth," she continues. "A small town two hours from here."

Within the hour, we’re in a convoy, leading a small army of pack warriors toward a sleepy, colonial-style town. The transition from the high-stakes danger of the pack house to the quiet, charming streets of Ellsworth is jarring.

While the others track the witch, Colt stays close, his presence a shield. We pass an ice cream cart and a bakery, and for a fleeting moment, I feel like a normal girl in a normal world.

"Maybe we should get ice cream later," I whisper to Colt, nudging his arm.

Dash laughs behind us. "My poor Curls have been deprived of the simple joys."

"Don't judge me," I pout.

"I'm not," Dash teases, his eyes twinkling. "I’m just saying, if Colt wasn't in the picture, I’d have dated you myself."

Colt’s eyes flare a dangerous, predatory green. Dash pales, immediately distancing himself by a dozen paces.

"I’m playing with you," I murmur, sliding my hand into Colt’s. "You’re the only one I want."

Lotus leads us to a quaint shop near the lake. The air inside smells of sage, incense, and old parchment—peaceful, not sinister. An older woman stands behind the counter, her eyes widening as they land on Lotus.

"I recognize you," the woman says, her gaze flickering toward the rest of us. "How is your friend?"

"We’re here on urgent business," Lotus interrupts, avoiding the question.

The witch’s expression settles into a wary, professional mask. "How can I help you?"

"We have a problem," I say, stepping forward. "Something—someone—is invading my mind."

The witch looks at me, her eyes drilling into my soul. She sees the mark, the lingering darkness of Ezra’s touch, and the confusion on her face transforms into a look of grim understanding.

"You aren't just dealing with a dark witch, child," she says softly. "You’re dealing with a tether."