“Not even a little,” Grayson muttered.
Ryder tapped the map, drawing their attention back. “If Zane’s going in, we’ll need to tighten our perimeter. Zach and I can cover the main roads leading to the mill. Grayson, you can coordinate from the fallback point here.” He pointed to a clearing south of the mill. “It’s close enough to respond if things go south but far enough to keep you out of sight.”
Grayson nodded reluctantly. He hated staying on the sidelines, but Ryder was right—his presence would do more harm than good. “And what about after? If Zane gets the intel, how do we extract him without drawing attention?”
“We’ll set up a decoy,” Zach suggested. “Something to draw their guards away long enough for him to slip out. A fire, maybe, or a noise distraction.”
Grayson shook his head. “Too risky. If they think we’re onto them, they’ll move the captives before we have a chance to intervene.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Ryder asked.
Grayson considered the options, and his mind ran through contingency plans. “We keep it quiet. Zane goes in, gets the information, and gets out without making a scene. Once we know where the captives are being held and how they’re being transported, we can plan a strike.”
“And if they catch him?” Ryder pressed.
“They won’t,” Zane said confidently. “I’m not planning on sticking around for tea and cookies.”
Grayson shot him a warning look. “This isn’t a joke. If they catch you, they’ll kill you. And then they’ll come after the rest of us.”
“I know the risks,” Zane assured them, his tone more serious now. “But if we don’t do this, those people don’t stand a chance. So either trust me or find someone else to do it.”
Grayson didn’t like it, but he couldn’t argue with the logic. Zane was their best shot at getting the information they needed without tipping off Theodore’s people. “Fine,” he said at last. “But you stick to the plan. No improvising unless it’s life or death.”
“Scout’s honor,” Zane agreed with a wink.
Grayson rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. Ryder folded up the map, and Zach began packing up the supplies. They had a plan—barely—but it was better than nothing.
As the meeting broke up, Grayson lingered by the door. His thoughts were still tangled in the past and the present. He couldn’t shake the feeling that history was repeating itself, that it wouldn't be enough no matter how carefully they planned.
And this time, the stakes were personal.
***
Grayson leaned against the doorframe, his heart heavy as he stared at Cora hunched over the table, mixing herbs into a small bowl. The faint scrape of a mortar against its pestle filled the room, and the rhythmic sound was the only indication of her focus. She hadn’t looked up since he’d walked in, and thatalone told him everything he needed to know about how this conversation was going to go.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Cora didn’t flinch. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she replied without glancing up.
The indifference in her tone twisted something in his chest. He stepped farther into the room. “I thought we were past this.”
“Past what?” She ground another bundle of dried leaves. “Trying to fix my life?”
“Cora.”
She let out a heavy sigh, finally setting the pestle down and straightening to face him. “Look, I know what you’re going to say. That this is dangerous. That I should stop before I hurt myself or someone else. But you don’t get to make that choice for me.”
“It’s not about making choices for you. It’s about keeping you safe.”
“Safe from what, Grayson? From you? From this bond? Because that’s what this is really about, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s about keeping you alive. Do you have any idea what breaking a bond like this could do to you? It’s not just some harmless potion, Cora. You could die.”
“Then that’s my risk to take.”
Her words hit like a blow, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He stared at her, trying to reconcile the fierce determination in her eyes with the ache growing in his chest. “Why does it matter so much to you? Why can’t you just…let this be?”
“Because I didn’t choose this,” she explained as her voice trembled slightly. “I didn’t choose you, or the bond, or any of this. It was forced on me. And I can’t—I won’t—live the rest of my life feeling like I don’t have control over it. That’s why I left my coven, remember?”
