The mansion woke before dawn. Cold light crept through the high windows, glinting off the chalk sigils Lammy had drawn the night before. Prince stood in the centre of the foyer, eyes closed, forcing his breathing to match the pulse of the wards. Every inhale carried a flicker of the Hive's presence; every exhale pushed it back. Sweat ran down his spine, but he kept going. He had to learn control before it learned him.
"Focus," Lammy said from across the circle. The boy's voice had steadied overnight; the tremor in his hands was gone. "Again."
Prince opened his eyes. Sparks of silver crawled over his knuckles, darting between his fingers like nervous birds. He imagined the Hive's whisper as smoke, imagined it burning away in his palm. The sparks brightened, then fizzled. He dropped his arms, gasping.
"Better," Lammy murmured. "Not perfect. But better."
Across the room Jed and Praise were working on their own routine. Jed had cleared a strip of marble floor and laid down padded mats. Praise faced him in a fighting stance, her dark hair tied back, eyes sharp. Jed showed her how to block a strike, how to pivot her weight. She stumbled once, then twice, then caught his wrist cleanly and flipped him almost off balance. Her laugh echoed in the empty hall.
"You learn fast," Jed said, rubbing his shoulder.
"I don't want to be useless," Praise replied. She glanced at Prince, who was wiping his nose. "None of us can afford that now."
By mid-morning the house felt alive with movement. Lammy scrawled reinforcement glyphs on window frames. Praise read aloud from her parents' journals, translating old notes about warding circles. Jed tested hidden doors and exit tunnels. And Prince moved between them all, feeling the Hive's shadow pressing closer with each hour. For the first time, instead of shrinking from it, he tried to meet it head-on.
At lunch they sat together on the library steps, eating in silence. The scorched symbol on the front doors pulsed faintly, as if breathing. Every so often the chandelier above them shuddered with a sound like distant thunder. Lammy tapped his chalk against his knee.
"They're testing us," he muttered. "Little pushes to see how strong we are."
"They'll find out," Jed said grimly.
Praise touched Prince's hand without thinking. "We're stronger than we were yesterday. That matters."
He squeezed her fingers, a flicker of warmth in the cold house.
The afternoon passed in drills. Prince practiced pulling thoughts from Jed's mind without hurting him. Lammy layered new sigils over old ones until the marble was a spiderweb of chalk. Praise ran messages between them, memorising counter-scripts, her bare feet smudging the lines. Outside, the sky turned a sickly orange, then grey. The woods around the mansion swayed in a wind none of them could feel.
As dusk fell the mansion grew quiet again. The candles guttered. Somewhere deep below, a door slammed by itself. They gathered in the dining hall to plan the next day's training. Prince stood at the head of the table, still not used to everyone looking at him when he spoke.
"We're not ready yet," he said. "But we're closer. Another day or two—"
He broke off at the sound of glass rattling. Jed had risen from his chair and was walking slowly to the tall window at the end of the hall. His shoulders stiffened. His claws pricked out without his willing them.
"What is it?" Praise asked.
Jed didn't answer. He parted the heavy curtain with one claw and peered into the dark outside. The gardens stretched away into a band of black trees. At first he saw only shifting shadows. Then one shadow didn't shift.
A tall figure stood at the tree line, motionless. Even at that distance Jed could see the faint gleam of runes across a dark cloak and the glint of metal where a left hand should have been. The figure's head tilted, as if it knew Jed was watching. For a heartbeat the night seemed to thin, and Jed felt a mind brush against his — cold, sharp, and furious.
He stumbled back from the window. "He's here," he whispered.
Prince, Lammy and Praise rushed to his side. Through the glass Prince caught a glimpse of the figure before the darkness swallowed it — a silver mask, a living-metal claw, eyes like embers. Then nothing but trees.
No one spoke. The Hive's echo roared in Prince's skull. Somewhere far away, a crow screamed and the sound shattered into silence.
The lieutenant had come to the edge of their sanctuary. And he was watching.