Lilith’s POV
The Briar Estate loomed against the moonlit sky like a monument to accumulated power. As Morgana and I approached the heavy oak doors, I could feel the familiar weight of Mother's expectations pressing down like a physical force.
She was waiting for us in the circular study at the estate's heart. Octavia Powell commanded attention simply by existing—tall, severe, beautiful in the way that sharp blades were beautiful. Dangerous and absolutely deadly.
"Report," she said without preamble.
"Rowan's awakened," Morgana announced with barely contained excitement. "Blood magic, Mother. Real power, not the pathetic scraps we always assumed she'd inherited."
I watched Mother's expression shift from mild interest to sharp calculation as Morgana described our confrontation in detail.
The way Rowan's wind magic had torn through my illusions. How her shields had become solid barriers of air that sent Morgana stumbling. The instinctive control she'd displayed despite having no formal training.
"Blood magic," Mother mused, rising from her chair with predatory grace. "Rare and… quite dangerous. No wonder it took so long to manifest—such power requires the right catalyst."
"Trauma," I added quietly, remembering the fear in Rowan's eyes when we'd cornered her. "Fear, desperation, genuine emotional upheaval. She's been living under constant stress for months."
"Exactly the conditions needed to unlock that particular gift…" Mother agreed, beginning to pace with the measured steps of someone whose mind was already three moves ahead. "This changes everything about our approach."
"Does it?" Morgana asked, her fire magic dancing around her fingertips with eager anticipation. "She's still our blood. Still bound by the family obligations she tried to escape."
But I could see the wheels turning behind Mother's eyes.
And I knew what was coming before she spoke the words.
"The ritual never required a powerless witch," she said slowly, each word chosen carefully. "It needed high witch's blood for the binding, and Rowan was simply the most expendable family member. The one whose death would cost us nothing."
The casual cruelty in her voice made something twist uncomfortably in my chest.
Rowan had been marked for sacrifice not because she was weak, but because Mother had decided she was worthless. Disposable. A calculation as cold as winter rain.
"But now everything has shifted," Mother continued, her storm-gray eyes gleaming with dark possibility. "Blood magic practitioners are extraordinarily rare. With proper training, those abilities could become potent beyond measure."
"So we bring her home," Morgana said eagerly. "Train her properly. Use those abilities for the coven's benefit instead of wasting them on corpse magic."
"Precisely."
Mother moved to the tall windows that looked out over our ancestral grounds, her reflection ghostlike in the ancient glass.
"We need to modify our strategy entirely. This isn't about punishment or sacrifice anymore—it's about reclaiming a valuable asset that we foolishly allowed to slip away."
Throughout their discussion, I maintained outward composure while internal doubts gnawed at me like acid.
Unlike Morgana, whose excitement about the challenge was palpable, I felt an uncomfortable sympathy for our youngest sister growing stronger with each passing moment.
I remembered fragments of our childhood that I'd spent years trying to forget.
Moments when Rowan wasn't the family scapegoat, when she was just a little girl trying desperately to belong. Before Mother's disappointment and Morgana's casual cruelty had shaped her into the defensive, wounded creature who'd fled months ago.
I remembered her tenth birthday, when she'd practiced for weeks to show Mother a simple light charm, only to have the spell fizzle pathetically. The way her face had crumpled when Mother had walked away without a word.
I remembered finding her crying in the garden afterward. And the way she'd looked up at me with such desperate hope when I'd sat beside her.
"Maybe I'll get stronger when I'm older," she'd whispered, her small hands still glowing faintly from her failed magic. "Maybe Mother will be proud of me then."
"Maybe," I'd agreed, though even at fourteen I'd known it was unlikely.
Mother didn't reward late bloomers or second chances.
Now, twelve years later, I wondered if this awakening was what Rowan had been unconsciously hoping for all along. The power that would finally make her valuable to our family, worthy of the love and acceptance she'd craved.
Except now that she had it, I wasn't certain she'd want to come home.
"What about our arrangement with the witch hunter?" I asked, voicing the concerns that had been building since our warehouse meeting. "Dominic can't be trusted. His hatred for our kind runs too deep for any alliance to be stable."
"The arrangement is temporary," Mother replied dismissively. "Once he helps deliver Rowan and we've extracted every useful piece of intelligence about coven locations, we'll eliminate the entire Order leadership. They've been a thorn in our side for centuries."
"You worry too much, sister," Morgana added with cruel amusement. "Let the hunters think they're using us. Their arrogance will be their downfall, just like always."
But my intuition screamed warnings I couldn't fully articulate.
Something about Dominic's cold eyes, the way he watched us like specimens rather than allies, suggested he was playing a deeper game than either of them realized.
He'd been too prepared during our meetings, too knowledgeable about coven politics, too eager to provide intelligence about other communities. Either he was remarkably well-informed for a simple witch hunter, or he had access to resources and networks that went far beyond what he'd revealed.
"Mother," I said carefully, "what if we approached this differently? Instead of using the hunter's connections, what if we made direct contact with Rowan? Offered her the choice to return voluntarily?"
"She fled once," Morgana snapped. "Why would she come back willingly now?"
"Her magic is becoming uncontrollable," I replied, remembering the horror in Rowan's eyes when we'd spoken. "She's probably terrified of hurting innocent people."
"An opportunity…" Mother mused. "Fear is always useful for motivation."
"We could offer her what she's always wanted," I pressed. "Acceptance. Training. A place in the family where her abilities are valued rather than dismissed."
Mother's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "You think she'd trust such an offer? After everything that's passed between us?"
"I think she's desperate enough to consider it," I said quietly. "And I think she cares about the people she's living with now. If we can convince her that staying puts them in danger..."
"Leverage," Morgana agreed, warming to the idea. "Threaten what she's grown to love, and she'll have no choice but to comply."
Something cold settled in my stomach at how easily my sister had twisted my suggestion into another form of cruelty.
This was why Rowan had run in the first place—because every kindness in our family came with strings attached, every offer of acceptance carried hidden costs.
"I could make the initial approach," I offered. "She trusts me more than either of you. If anyone can convince her to return willingly, it's me."
"See that you do," Mother commanded. "But remember—she comes home one way or another. If gentle persuasion fails, we'll use whatever methods prove necessary."
As the meeting concluded and plans solidified around capturing our youngest sister, I found myself making a decision that would have surprised the woman I'd been just months ago.
Perhaps it was time to make contact with Rowan directly—not as an enemy or even as family trying to drag her back, but as the only sister who might actually care whether she survived what was coming.
Because looking at the cold calculation in Mother's eyes, the eager cruelty in Morgana's expression, I was beginning to suspect that Rowan's new value to the coven might not protect her as much as I hoped.
And if that was true, she was going to need someone in her corner when the final confrontation arrived.
Even if that someone was the sister who'd helped hunt her in the first place.