I don't want to stop, Lestan. There’s still so much we don’t understand. Her voice trembled with quiet urgency. I keep thinking about who else might be suffering because of this. How am I supposed to sleep with all that hanging over me?

She leaned into his embrace, letting the warmth of his body anchor her spiraling thoughts. For a moment, she allowed herself to savor the comfort he offered—the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the quiet strength in his arms.

Her silver gaze lifted to his face, brows knitting with concern. How are you holding up? This is a lot. Are you sure you’re okay to keep going?

She pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, a fleeting gesture of affection, before turning her attention to the corrupted waters trickling nearby.

Cleanse the land.

The phrase echoed in her mind. But what would that truly take? Lestan had mentioned bayleaf and parsley, simple herbs with ancient weight. Would that be enough? Would prayers be needed too?

Prayer was foreign to her, some distant ritual she’d never learned. Were there sacred words? Specific rites? There was so much she didn’t know, so much to learn from her witchblood husband.