The practice courtyard was Elodie’s idea, and I had agreed to it because the waking was real, ongoing, and unmanaged. And unmanaged things, I was learning, had a nasty tendency to manage you instead.Elodie had chosen the inner practice courtyard—a small, enclosed space away from the pack's main thoroughfares, with high stone walls on all four sides and the sacred flame basin relocated to the center for our session. Nara was there with a notebook, which was Nara’s default equipment for any event she attended, her pen already poised to document my potential catastrophe. Constance was there too, though nobody had specifically invited her. She had brought a fire bucket and a damp cloth and set them just inside the courtyard door with the practical, dry expression of a woman who had decided that preparedness was a significantly more useful virtue than optimism.I stood at the edge of the circle Elodie had marked on the ground, the stone beneath my boots humming with a faint, rhythmic puls
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