The magical signature turned out to be nothing—some kind of residual energy from breaking the binding that Morgana said would fade in a few days—but the panic it caused was very much something, and a week later half the visiting packs had officially withdrawn from the alliance.
Not dramatically. Not with declarations or speeches. They just—left. Packed up and went home like the last two months had been a temporary inconvenience instead of a war.
We were down to one hundred twenty-three fighters. Still more than we'd started with but significantly less than the two hundred we'd had at peak strength, and my brain kept running scenarios where the next threat came and one hundred twenty-three wasn't enough.
"You're catastrophizing again." Riven's voice cut through my spiral and I turned to find him leaning in the doorway of the training yard where I'd been practicing temporal magic for the last three hours.
