“Thanks,” I said, sparing her a dark look.

“I’d be happy to go,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “But he doesn’t know me. You’re the one he cares about. You’re the one who can bring him around if he thinks the Keepers are telling the truth. You are the only one, Calla.”

“I know.” The reality of this scene was settling into my bones, making them ache. This was the only chance I had to make up for leaving Ren behind. If I ever could.

Cold winter air covered my body like a cloak. Its chill slipped beneath my skin, restless, already battling the tiny spark of hope crackling in my veins. In the short time since I’d joined the Searchers, I learned the true cost of the Witches’ War. Its casualties no longer strangers—Lydia, Corrine, Monroe, my mother, even Ansel—the weight of their deaths and my brother’s loss were now chained to me like an anchor threatening to drown me in a dark ocean of fear and regret.

This place was as quiet as that kind of death. Choked with the skeletal remains of my former life, casting twisted, ghoulish shadows. They posed no real threat—only snatches of the past, painful memories that clung to me like cobwebs.

Hope was real. Burning brighter than the stars that hung above us in this empty winter night. Corrine and Monroe were gone. They’d sacrificed everything for their son. And he was here. It was too late for them, but Ren could still be saved. And I was the only one who could save him.

This is only about love.

He was out there. Alone. Waiting for me in a house where only the ghosts of our past were welcome.

Staring at the wreckage of the life we could have had, I knew it wasn’t about love or Shay or the Searchers now. It was about sacrifice—and redemption, loss that could have new meaning.

Hope. A second chance. Ren could help us win this war. Together we could make the blood, the grief, the pain worth something. I knew I couldn’t leave him behind again. Not now and not ever. Even if it meant I’d end up sacrificing myself as well.