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Her gaze remained on him a moment longer, her hand throbbing in its new bindings. As she settled onto the bed, his shadow shifted across the room toward the window.

Everyone was gathering into the long hall.

Lysander’s hand ghosted at her back, never quite touching, but close enough to steer her through the press. His presence was steady.

At the head of the hall, Alcaeus sat. The hall fell silent as he rose.

“Unfortunately,” he began, “one of our own was murdered.”

A sharp breath rippled through the hall.

“As such,” he continued, eyes sweeping over them all, “Sacrosanctity is now in effect.”

Hushed whispers broke out among the witches, with mothers tucking their younger children closer.

Idonea’s gaze darted through the crowd and caught on Edik. He was pale, ghastly so, with hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes.

The Magistrate stood, but didn't speak immediately. His hand rested on the table too long.

"Brother Alcaeus and I have discussed this at length," he said. "I have not been in full agreement. The southern rotations are already strained. Removing the children means removing their mothers, and removing the mothers means we lose two-thirds of our active hands within the day. Quotas will not be met this season. The Order will ask why."

"The Order will be told the truth," Alcaeus said evenly. "There is a daemon."

"And the Order will ask whose oversight failed to contain it." The Magistrate looked at Alcaeus for a long beat. Then his gaze swept across the witches in the hall. "I have lodged my objections. They are noted. Brother Alcaeus has overridden them."

A silence. "Those under age, and mothers, will depart today for Rusegrad. Meet at the stables by midday."

He offered his hand to Elzhbeta. She rose from her chair, her face composed, and they both walked out, silent.

Rusegrad was a town within Valadova, a country bordering both Zorya and Velzarija.

A collective murmur surged, but no one protested. A flicker of warmth broke through Idonea’s fear. Relief. At least the youngest would be safe.

Around her, the hall shifted into slow chaos.

Lysander remained by her side. Idonea leaned in, keeping her voice low.

“What’s Sacrosanctity?”

Lysander didn’t look at her, not at first. He stared at Alcaeus, his expression unreadable. “The Templars are in charge, out-ranking the Magistrate, and any other laws.”

Her heart stuttered, a sudden and unwelcome rhythm. “Why, with a Grand Templar on route?”

His mouth curled. “Because he wouldn’t come unless it was.”

The hall was nearly empty now; only the parentless witches remained. The old enough, the expendable.

Idonea swallowed against the rising dread. If it had been her choice, she would’ve sent them all away. No one needed to be here.

Alcaeus scanned the room. “The rest of you will relocate to the terraces along the square. A curfew will be enforced. No one leaves their quarters without an escort.”

His eyes landed on Idonea. Every gaze turned towards her. Waiting to see what she’d do.

She waited, too. Waited for someone, anyone, to object. No one did.

The witches bowed their heads instead. They murmured assent.

Lysander’s shoulder brushed against hers. “They’re too afraid to speak,” he said under his breath.