"That's not just a crow." Thane's voice carries an edge I haven't heard before.
I turn to look at him, then follow his gaze up to the tree. The bird sits perfectly still now, watching us with those too-intelligent eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"Shifter." His jaw ticks. "Council representative. Nyx." The name comes out like a curse. "She's... observing."
"Spying, you mean."
His mouth quirks, just barely. "Observing."
The wrongness I felt crystallizes into something colder. "Someone's watching us."
"Yes." His silver eyes are hard now, angry. "And she's not supposed to be here."
The crow shifts on its branch, and something about the movement makes my skin crawl. Like it's listening to every word, cataloguing every detail to report back.
"She won't leave," I say.
"No. Not unless you make her."
I frown, looking between him and the bird. "How?"
"Use your Ether."
The word hits different than 'mist.' Heavier. More real. "The mist?"
"The Ether," he corrects, and something in his tone makes it clear this distinction matters. "That's what it's called. What you are."
I stare up at the crow, then back at him. "How?"
"The same way you opened the path. The same way the forest answered you." His silver eyes study my face. "Set a boundary. Make it clear she's not welcome."
I close my eyes, trying to feel for that same instinct that guided me to the well. The mist—the Ether—stirs around my ankles, but when I reach for it, it slips away like trying to hold water.
"Idon't—"
"Don't think. Feel."
I try again, this time focusing on the feeling rather than the how. The sense of wrongness, of being watched by something that doesn't belong. The Ether responds, rising around me like a protective barrier, and I push that feeling outward.
Not welcome. Not here. Go.
The crow launches off the branch so suddenly I jump, black wings beating hard against the air as it disappears into the deeper forest.
My knees nearly buckle with the effort, but satisfaction floods through me anyway. I did that. I made it leave.
Thane steps forward instinctively—like he's going to steady me—but stops short. Hands hovering. Watching me.
"Why do you only let Jace touch you?"
The question catches me off guard.
I straighten slowly, bracing myself without help. "I don’t."
He doesn’t respond right away. Just studies me with that too-perceptive gaze, like he’s trying to measure something invisible.
“I saw him holding your hand earlier,” he says quietly. “At breakfast. The others hold back.”
