The ancient stones of Warwick Castle had witnessed eight centuries of human warfare, but nothing like the forces gathering on its grounds as the new moon reached its peak.
Seraphina crouched behind the medieval battlements, her enhanced senses cataloging enemy positions while her connection to lunar power flickered like a candle in a hurricane. Below in the bailey, Victor's private army moved with military precision—four hundred mercenaries equipped with weapons designed specifically for supernatural warfare.
"Silver-core ammunition, electromagnetic pulse grenades, something that looks like sonic disruptors," Marcus reported through her earpiece, his voice tight with professional concern. "They've planned for every advantage we normally rely on."
