            She sat up, staticky curls sticking to her cheeks, fingertips tracing over the denim covering her scar from the Retinacula ritual. The ritual had required three things—a bond, a blood sacrifice in the form of a rune, and the words themselves. And while the wound on her inner thigh had somewhat healed, it was still there. She had the Latin words memorized. It was just the bond she was unsure of.