Years had passed. Not in a blur, but in the slow, sun-dappled rhythm of peace.
The ferals had vanished into myth, and the urgency of war had dulled beneath layers of music, routine, and daily joy. Just as Tina feared, the world was forgetting.
But not everyone.
Not Jax, the lead singer of Moonchild. He was well aware of the end game. Every performance was preparation for battle, every note he sang a rallying cry. The witch visited him in dreams, appearing as a benevolent, motherly figure, and he played along. He pretended to trust her completely, made her believe he had fallen hook, line, and sinker for her "Good Witch" facade.
Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. He'd heeded that advice.
