Aethelstan eased the green door open and slid inside. Light streamed over his shoulder and slanted across a shelf of glass bottles that glowed softly with amber, jade, and indigo liquids. There was no sign of Magdalena. Nothing was broken or overturned. Everything was put away neatly, but covered with a layer of dust. It appeared the witch had left some time ago of her own volition.
His shoulders drooped with fatigue and futility. Bryn would die. Their sister had been his last hope.
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