Third person's POV
The days that followed Karl's warning were unlike anything Camila had ever known.
She didn't feel like herself anymore.
She felt larger. Sharper. Like a blade tempered by grief and rage.
Her instincts shifted. She woke at the slightest creak of floorboards. Shadows seemed deeper now; whispers curled around corners like smoke. She wasn't just herself—she was something becoming.
Nathaniel tried to reach her—once, twice, a dozen times—but each conversation ended the same: in a heavy silence neither of them knew how to fix.
Because Camila didn't fully trust him.
Not with the life growing inside her.
Not with the truth of what she carried.
Instead, she trusted Cassie.
Together, they fortified her quarters. Ancient charms. Salt lines. Protective sigils from Karl's scrolls. Camila began gathering a network of allies—the disenfranchised, the exiled, the forgotten. Those who owed the old bloodline loyalty.
They called themselves the Vesper Pact.
