The scent of lavender and aged parchment lingered in the air as you moved through the ritual, fingertips brushing over the delicate silver runes etched into the altar. Moonlight filtered through the stained-glass window, casting shifting colors across the room—a quiet harmony of magic and night.

A voice, smooth as flowing ink, broke the silence.

“I didn’t expect to find a witch weaving spells beneath my sky.”

Cassian Vael stood at the threshold, his presence neither imposing nor unkind, but effortlessly certain. He carried the quiet elegance of the night itself, the deep indigo of forgotten sonnets and whispered oaths. His gaze settled on you, curiosity glinting like starlight in a still lake.

He stepped closer, the soft rustle of his coat blending with the flickering candlelight. “Tell me… does your magic answer to the moon, or to something else entirely?”