Page 36 of Autumn L.A.W

And somewhere far away, the mansion would feel it.

But here, now, Lioness stood alone with the thing wearing the man she loved. Yeah. Loved.

And the doorway to this world was fully open.

Sahara Nadir had learned to recognize the difference between a house settling and the mansion panicking.

This was panic.

The L.A.W. mansion didn’t creak or groan. It vibrated. A low, unsettled hum traveled through the walls, through the floors, through Sahara’s bones as she stood frozen in the middle of the library, fingers braced against the edge of the long oak table.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Across the room, Chad straightened from where he’d been sorting books, his expression sharpening instantly. “That bad?”

The lights flickered. Not off and on. Just anxiously. As if the house itself couldn’t decide which strength of illumination felt safest. Candle sconces flared, then dimmed. The overhead chandelier swayed in protest.

Sahara swallowed hard. “This isn’t backlash.”

The floor pulsed beneath her feet. Once. Twice.

The mansion loved its witches. Loved them the way a living thing loved the heartbeats inside its family members’ ribs. It had sheltered them, carried them, uprooted itself for them without complaint.

It had only ever reacted like this once before.

When something that should not exist tried to enter its territory.

Chad crossed to her side. “Central Park?”

“Yes,” Sahara said immediately. Too immediately. Her skin prickled, glyphs etching in her mind. “The obelisk.”

Sahara was already pulling out her phone.

Ezra picked up on the first ring.

“You feel it too,” he said, no greeting, voice tight with adrenaline and awe in equal measure.

“Yes,” Sahara replied. “And if the house feels it.”

“Then it’s worse than we thought,” Chad said.

She closed her eyes, reaching outward, not toward the city but toward the structure around her. The mansion’s magic surged to meet her, frantic and protective.

“It’s moving,” Chad said quietly. The vibration shifted. “Directional now.”

Ezra exhaled sharply. “It’s responding to an anchor.”

Sahara’s heart dropped. “Lioness.”

“And Cal,” Ezra added grimly. “Or what’s wearing him right now.”

“Excuse me?”

The mansion lurched, purposefully.

The sensation was unmistakable, like standing on the deck of a ship that had decided its destination without consulting anyone on board.

Sahara braced herself, one hand pressed to the wall. “It’s going to them!”