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"You're definitely dangerous." I bump his shoulder with mine. "The mysterious part is debatable. So why do your closest allies stick to your family name?"

A long silence falls between us. When he finally speaks, a haunting echo of old memories fills his tone.

"It started as a matter of rank in the pack," he says while looking straight ahead. "Morvane carries a specific history and authority. By the time I hit sixteen and insisted on a little professional distance, the title just stuck as a sign of respect."

"Morvane." I test the name, enjoying how it permeates in the open air. "I like it. It suits the soon-to-be leader in those old photographs."

"That person belongs to the past."

"I wouldn’t say that." I study his profile and witness how afternoon light catches the gold flecks in his eyes. "He's just protected under seven years of dedication and professional armor."

He turns to face me, expression unreadable. "What about you? Serenity seems awfully zen for someone who attracts chaos like a magnet."

"My mother's idea of irony." I laugh, though it has a sharp edge. "I’ve been told that I was born during the most violent celestial storm in decades, screaming loud enough to wake the dead. She thought giving me a peaceful name might balance the cosmic scales."

"Did it work?"

"Look around," I gesture to our current situation—hiding in an abandoned cabin while supernatural assassins hunt us across the Midwest. "What do you think?"

"I think your mother had optimistic expectations." His smile transforms his entire face, exhibiting glimpses of the boy who once wrestled with his brother in the dirt.

"Most people call me Rene." I share it instinctively, even though Darius Morvane radiates an aura of strict formality. But the afternoon warmth and this rare moment of absolute peace have invited a vulnerability I usually keep strictly locked away. "Serenity sounds like someone who meditates and drinks herbal tea instead of hunting monsters for a living."

"Rene suits you better." He finishes his sandwich and leans back on his elbows. "Sharp and direct. No unnecessary flourishes."

Heat creeps up my neck at the casual compliment. We sit in comfortable silence and watch clouds drift across an impossibly blue sky. This feels dangerously normal—a peaceful afternoon two people might share if they were totally free from danger.

Evening approaches faster than expected. The setting sun paints the forest in shades of amber and gold, beautiful and treacherous. I feel my magic stirring restlessly beneath my skin as energy builds toward tomorrow night's peak.

"I need to try something." I stand abruptly to brush crumbs from my jeans. "A meditation technique my grandmother taught me before she died. It might help stabilize my power."

Darius's expression sharpens. "What kind of technique?"

"Lunar channeling." I avoid his eyes, knowing he won't approve. "Creating a controlled connection to draw off excess energy before it builds to dangerous levels."

"Out of the question. After what happened at the estate? You want to deliberately tap into the same power that nearly destroyed your family's mansion?"

"That's exactly why I need to try this." I face him directly so he can see my determination. "The meditation creates a release valve. Small, controlled bursts instead of explosive surges."

"Or it kills you."

"Everything kills me these days." I head toward the tree line, where shadows gather between ancient oaks. "At least this way I'm making the choice."

He follows, of course. The man is driven to step in and manage a crisis the moment it arises.

I find a clearing twenty yards from the cabin where moonlight will have clear access once darkness falls. The grass feels soft beneath my feet as I position myself cross-legged in the center, hands resting on my knees.

"Rene." The sudden warmth of my nickname skips a beat in my chest, slashing straight through the adrenaline. "This is reckless, even for you."

"Stay close." Blocking out my surroundings, I feel for the familiar hum of energy thrumming beneath my consciousness. "If something goes wrong, your presence helps ground me."

The meditation begins simply—inhaling fully, allowing my awareness to expand beyond the boundaries of flesh and bone. Magic responds, and the power saturates my veins with an overwhelming force.

At first, the meditation establishes an effortless, guided momentum. My breathing levels out while the familiar hum of moonly energy responds to my call. The magic kindles faintly around my hands to release controlled flashes of light.

"Good," I murmur, more to myself than to Darius. "It's working."

But as the moon climbs higher, everything changes.