Rage boils through my bear at the violation. Every instinct screams to hunt down everyone who's been sneaking around these sacred places and tear them apart for their arrogance. But rage won't stop what's coming. Only the council vote matters now, and if that fails, only direct action will suffice.
I continue the patrol, checking each site the brotherhood protects. The southern cove where selkies used to come ashore. The tidal caves where reality thins and magic flows freely. The standing stones on the clifftop that mark boundaries older than human memory. Everything is quiet, undisturbed, waiting.
By the time I return to the tower, the sun has climbed higher and the storm clouds have moved closer. Rain and electricity hang heavy in the air. Isla waits at the entrance when I pad up. She must have heard me coming.
Mist swirls around me as thunder cracks, silver light fading. Human again, naked and breathing hard from the patrol, I accept the towel she hands me.
"Everything quiet?" Isla keeps her voice steady, but tension locks her shoulders.
"Too quiet." I wrap the towel around myself and follow her inside. "Carrick's people have been to the eastern trenches recently. Fresh boot prints, disturbed equipment markers. They're preparing to move fast once the vote passes."
"If the vote passes." But we both know that's false hope. Carrick has too much money, too much influence, too many council members already in his pocket.
"When," I correct gently. "We need to be realistic about what's coming."
Her jaw works. "Then we prepare for the fight that comes after."
Declan arrives mid-morning with updates—the brotherhood is positioned throughout the village, ready to intervene if Carrick tries anything during the vote itself. Moira brings protective charms for Isla, small stones inscribed with runes that will make her harder to track magically. Jax takes up position outside the tower, standing guard while we get ready.
By early afternoon, we head to the council chambers. Isla dresses in professional clothes salvaged from her cottage—slacks and a blouse that make her look like the scientist she is rather than the selkie she's becoming. The pendant hangs around her neck, visible above her collar. She's not hiding what she is anymore.
The council chambers overflow with bodies when we arrive. The entire island seems to have turned out for this vote, faces anxious and divided. Some want the economic boost Maritime promises. Others remember what happened the last time outsiders came with money and grand plans. Nervous energy crackles through the crowd, making my bear prowl restlessly beneath my skin.
Isla takes a seat near the front. I stand along the wall with the rest of the brotherhood, positioned where we can see everything and respond to threats if needed. Carrick arrives with his entourage of lawyers and assistants, moving through the crowd like he owns the place. His attention finds Isla immediately. Hunger flashes across his face before he smooths it into a politician's smile.
Margaret Walsh calls the meeting to order. The room falls silent as she runs through preliminary business, but everyone knows why we're really here. When she finally calls for the vote on Maritime's development proposal, the tension becomes almost unbearable.
"All in favor of approving Maritime Development Corporation's proposal to dredge approach channels and construct infrastructure, please indicate."
Hands rise around the table. My gut sinks with each one that goes up. Angus Muir keeps his hand down, as do a few others, but nowhere near enough.
"All opposed?"
More hands rise, but I can already see it won't be enough. The count is close, close enough to give false hope, but when Margaret tallies the votes, the result is clear.
"The motion passes. Maritime Development Corporation's proposal is approved, pending final environmental and safety reviews."
The room erupts. Some people cheer, celebrating the promised jobs and economic growth. Others shout protests, voices rising in anger and fear. Isla stays quiet in her seat, but her hands clench in her lap, knuckles bone-white.
Carrick stands, all gracious winner, thanking the council for their wisdom and promising that operations will begin within the week. His attention finds Isla again, and this time he doesn't bother hiding the triumph in his expression. He's won, and he knows it. Legal cover secured, obstacles removed, path cleared for whatever dark ritual he's been planning.
Arguments and debates erupt as the meeting dissolves. I make my way to Isla, resting a hand on her shoulder. She looks up at me. Defeat pools in her eyes, drowning everything else.
"We knew this was coming." I keep my voice low. "This doesn't change the real fight."
"I know." She stands, shoulders squaring. "But it would have been nice to win the legal way."
"We'll win the only way that matters." I guide her toward the exit, away from Carrick's gloating and the council's self-congratulations. "By protecting these waters no matter what the vote says."
Rain starts falling outside. Heavy drops taste of salt and electricity, the storm finally breaking after building all day. We walk through it without speaking, both processing what just happened and what it means.
We're both soaked when we reach the tower. Isla changes into dry clothes while I build a fire in the hearth. My hands need the work, the familiar motions. Flames catch and grow, providing warmth that does nothing to ease the dread coiling tight in my gut.
"Grayson." Isla's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Take me somewhere. I don't want to sit in this tower thinking about what Carrick's planning. Show me something that matters."
She needs to remember why we're fighting. Needs to see what we're protecting beyond abstract concepts of duty and heritage. And maybe I need the reminder too.
"I know a place." The offer comes before I fully consider it. "My private cove. Where I first found Maritime's surveying equipment. Where my father used to take me when I was young to teach me about guardianship."
