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“The witch!” he snarled.

Time slowed.

I threw myself between them. The bullet slammed into my shoulder, white-hot agony spinning me around. Blood soaked through my coat.

But I stayed on my feet. Stayed between Hayes and Lily.

“August!” Lily's scream tore through the clearing.

I turned my head just enough to see her—standing frozen, eyes wide with horror as she watched blood pour from my wound. Watched me sway on my feet.

“You'll have to go through me,” I gasped.

“No,” Lily screamed.

Threads blazed around her—too many, too wild, erupting like a star gone supernova. Gold and silver light streamed from her hands, from her eyes, from the air around her. Magic responding to pure terror and rage.

I tried to move toward her, but my left arm hung useless at my side. Blood ran hot down my ribs, soaking into my shirt. Each breath sent fresh fire through my shoulder.

“Lily, no—” The words came out weak, breathless.

Too late.

She braided the disparate threads into a single blazing cord of impossible complexity and flung it outward with desperate force. She didn't just create a barrier—it slammed into the tree line like the fist of an angry God, shattering lanterns, igniting pine needles in a perfect circle of crackling flame, and creating a wall of twisted reality that no bullet could penetrate.

Protecting me. Protecting everyone.

The cost was immediate and devastating.

Lily sagged to her knees as if invisible hands had struck her down. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Blood began to seep from her nose, then her ears. She had attempted something beyond her capacity. The backlash was literally tearing her apart from within.

She collapsed.

“Lily!” I stumbled toward her, but Hayes was already moving.

“Stop the redheaded witch!” The scream ripped from Hayes, raw and uncontrolled.

He had managed to reload, his young face twisted with righteous fury as he raised the rifle again. Not toward the Weavers this time, but toward me.

“Traitor!”

I drew my sword, the steel singing as it left its sheath. The familiar weight should have been comforting, but all I could think of was the boy I'd trained, the eager young man who'd looked up to me as a mentor.

“Hayes, stand down,” I shouted.

“You betrayed us! You betrayed everything we sworn to protect!”

“My mother was a Weaver, Hayes. My father lied.” The confession tore at my throat, but it had to be said. “I won’t murder for him anymore.”

His face twisted in revulsion. “You're one of them. You're tainted.”

He fired.

I dove. The shot went wide.

Hayes dropped the empty rifle and drew his sword, charging at me with a scream of rage.

I had no choice.