"You're late," Valdris says.
"I wasn't summoned. I was dragged."
"Semantics." Marcus's voice cuts like frost. "The result is the same."
"Three more surges," Eris says, her voice hollow and distant. "Stronger each time. The girl is not stabilizing. She's escalating."
Every muscle in my body goes tight. They're talking about Bree—of course they are. But this time it's not just observation or strategy. Her power is escalating beyond what they expected.
It's not something they can ignore any longer.
"She's learning control," I say, keeping my voice level even as something violent claws at my ribs.
"Control?" Nyx laughs, sharp and mocking. "Darling, half the magical community felt her last flare. She's not controlling anything—she's broadcasting."
"The situation is contained—"
"The situation," Valdris interrupts, "is that an untrained Source is gathering followers and power in equal measure. You were sent to assess her, not court her."
The words cut deep. I force myself not to react, but something cold settles in my stomach.
"I've been monitoring—"
"You've been compromised." Marcus's tone is flat, final. "It was expected. Feeders are notoriously susceptible to Source influence."
Susceptible.Like what I feel for her is weakness. Like the way my entire existence has shifted around her presence is just magical compulsion.
But there's something else in his tone. Something that cuts deeper.
"Perhaps," Nyx adds with that razor-sharp smile of hers, "it's not her Ether that compromised you. Perhaps your appetite is simply... failing."
The words hit like ice water in my veins. Because she's not wrong.
Because I haven't been able to feed properly since I met Bree. Because every attempt leaves me emptier than before. Because what used to sustain me for centuries now tastes like ash and desperation.
The hunger twists, becomes something desperate and frightening.
"Seventy-two hours," Valdris says. "Bring her to the neutral ground at Thornfield. Alive, unharmed, and willing to submit to Council judgment."
"And if she refuses?"
"She won't," Eris says softly. "Not if you explain the alternative."
Something in her tone makes my blood run cold. "What alternative?"
Marcus smiles—thin and sharp as a blade. "If you fail to retrieve her, we're sending a replacement. Someone less... entangled."
The words ring like a death knell in my ears. Because I know exactly what kind of replacement they'd send. What kind of operative has no qualms about breaking an untrained Source into compliance.
"Who?"
"Phil Donnahue," Valdris says. "He's been monitoring her for the past ten years, most recently posing as her landlord. He volunteered. Quite enthusiastically, actually."
My stomach drops. Phil. I know the name from reports, but this is the first I'm hearing about a decade-long operation. The hybrid who's been in her life all this time—shifter instincts wrapped in mentalist precision.Close enough to hunt her scent, her Ether trails, and break her mind piece by piece whenever the Council gave the word.
"You can't." The words tear out of me before I can stop them. "He'll destroy her."
"He'll do what you apparently cannot." Marcus leans forward. "He'll bring her home."
