Stellan hasn't spoken since we left the driveway. He sits in the passenger seat, impossibly relaxed, watching the landscape roll past with that infuriatingcalm of his. Like he's not bothered by any of this. Like watching five men awaken to powers they don't understand is just another Tuesday.
The silence stretches until it becomes a weight.
"You've been quiet," Stellan finally says.
I don't look at him. "I drive better when I'm not dissecting domestic affairs."
His mouth curves—I catch it in my peripheral vision. "Domestic affairs."
"Whatever you want to call it."
"I'd call it inevitable." He shifts in his seat, angling toward me. "The Ether has already changed them. It's not just magic, Thane. It's identity. Their bodies are beginning to respond to her presence."
"I know what I saw."
"Do you?" There's something sharp in his tone now. "Because what I saw was five men discovering they've been incomplete their entire lives. And one girl finally understanding just a hint of what she's capable of."
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. "She's untrained. Dangerous."
"To who?"
The question hangs between us, heavier than it should be. Because the answer isn'tto the worldorto the magical balanceor any of the things I told the Council.
The answer isto me.
To everything I thought I understood about power and control. About being needed, but never wanted. About surviving in a world that sees Feeders like me—like Wes, like Stellan—as expendable.
But she didn’t look at us like that.
Not once.
"The sanctuary will help," I say instead. "Structure. Boundaries. Training."
"Will it?"
I finally glance at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Stellan's watching me with that unsettling directness of his. "I mean, are you taking her there because you think she needs the structure? Or because you need the distance?"
I don't answer. Can't answer.
Because he's not wrong.
The miles pass in silence. The road ahead is straight and empty, cutting through farmland that gives way to forest as we near the sanctuary. I should be thinking about defenses, about the other Council members who might be watching, about the possibility that Bree has enemies we haven't identified yet.
Instead, I keep thinking about the way she looked at me this morning. Not afraid. Not grateful. Just... assessing. Like she was trying to figure out if I was worth her time.
She's not what I was told.
"You're unsettled," Stellan observes.
I don't reply.
The silence stretches again, broken only by the hum of tires on asphalt and the distant sound of wind through trees.
And then, out of nowhere:
"Damn. Those really were good pancakes."
