She didn't make it back to the safehouse.
The coven found her first.
Three Weavers dropped from the rooftops, their cloaks lined with threads that glowed a deep, ominous blue — the mark of Enforcers. Their leader, a tall woman with a gold-plated needle, regarded Arielle with cool, unblinking eyes.
"Arielle Torres," she said, her voice like glass. "By decree of the Conclave, you are to be contained. Your resonance exceeds sanctioned thresholds. You will surrender, or be dismantled."
Arielle's pulse raced. "Dismantled?"
"Your weave will be severed," the woman said without flinching. "Painfully, but necessarily. The tether cannot be allowed to root in another vessel."
The hum in Arielle's chest flared, threads around them trembling violently in response. She felt them, every bond in the vicinity, like tiny sparks begging to be drawn in. Her hands shook as the whispers coiled tighter. They'll cut you apart, Arielle. Take them first. Take their bonds before they take yours.
Her breath came ragged. "I don't want to fight you," she said, her voice cracking. "But I won't let you cut me open, either."
The Enforcers raised their needles, threads spiraling outward like blades. "Then you've chosen dismantlement."
Before the first strike landed, silver light slashed through the shadows. Selene dropped between Arielle and the Enforcers, their needle whirling in a blur. Threads snapped like glass as the Enforcers staggered back.
"She's with me," Selene said coldly. "And if you want her, you'll have to unravel me first."
The lead Enforcer's eyes narrowed. "You're already half-unraveled, Selene. Keep protecting her, and you'll finish the job yourself."
Selene glanced at Arielle, their jaw tight. "Run."
"I'm not leaving you again," Arielle shot back.
Selene's silver eyes burned. "Then fight."