Lucien’s phone buzzed sharply in his pocket, dragging him from his spiraling thoughts. The name flashing on the screen made his stomach drop — *D’Argon*.

“Come home. Now,” was all the message said.

There was no emoji. No threat. Just urgency.

***

By the time Lucien stepped into the grand hall of the D’Argon estate, the air was heavy. His father stood by the window, arms behind his back, eyes fixed on the darkened sky. His mother, Luna D’Argon, was seated calmly, her fingers laced, her expression unreadable.

“You called,” Lucien said warily.

Alpha D’Argon turned slowly, his voice grave. “We’ve spoken to the Great Witch.”

Lucien’s breath hitched. “Why?”...