**~ Cyrius's POV ~**
They told me to stand back as they lit the candles around the half-fallen tree—where they had placed the babies. The air shifted, thick with incantations and strange power. The atmosphere was no longer natural; it had turned darker, heavier.
Then they started crying.
First Heather, then her brother.
Sharp, guttural cries. Cries that pierced through me like daggers.
I stepped forward immediately, heart racing, but one of the witches held me back.
"Don't worry," she said quickly, her voice calm but her eyes watching me closely. "They're fine. It's just the beginning of the sacrifice. I'm sure they'll survive it."
Survive it? The hell did she mean by that?
She could see it in my eyes—I wasn't playing around. I didn't care how powerful their little spell was. I wasn't about to let these babies suffer.
