"Perception of power," Thane corrects. "Elementals and Shifters are seen as pure magic. Seers are respected for their gifts. Mentalists..." His lip curls slightly. "Mentalists think they're superior to everyone."
He pauses, studying my face. "And then there are Sources."
"Sources?"
"The original magic. Bloodlines that can create bonds, amplify others' power, channel raw magic." His voice goes quiet. "They used to rule everything. Until most were hunted down."
Something cold settles in my stomach. "Most?"
"There are other Source bloodlines left, but they're far less powerful. They've been left alone." He stops walking entirely. "Your bloodline—the Scarborne line—was the only one that wielded Ether. And that died outgenerations ago. You're the first Scarborne to manifest Ether in over a century. That's why the Council is afraid. That's why they sent me. Ether doesn't just reshape magic—it reshapes everything."
I stare at him, trying to process what he's saying. "And Feeders?"
"Are at the bottom," he finishes. "Always."
The injustice of it burns in my chest. "That's bullshit."
He glances at me sideways. "Perhaps. But it's the way things are."
"It doesn't have to be."
"No," he says quietly. "I suppose it doesn't."
The forest around us is changing as we walk—less wild, more structured. Like we're approaching something built rather than grown. The sanctuary, maybe. Whatever that means.
"They're afraid of you," I realize suddenly. "That's why they sent you instead of coming themselves. They're afraid of what I might do."
"Yes."
"But you're not."
He stops walking, and when I turn to face him, there's something raw in his expression. Something that looks almost like surprise.
"No," he says finally. "I'm not."
The admission hangs between us, weighted with everything he's not saying. Behind us, Stellan has stopped too, still watching, still silent.
"Good," I say, echoing his earlier approval. "Because I'm tired of being afraid."
The Ether pulses once around my ankles, like agreement. Like a promise.
And when we start walking again, it feels less like following a path and more like forging one.
Chapter 23
Wes
Through the windshield, I watch three figures walk down from the upper path like they've found their own way here. Bree moves between Thane and Stellan, and even from this distance, there's something different about her—something that makes the hunger in my chest twist tighter, sharper than it's been all day.
Rhett's hands are steady on the wheel, but I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. The silence in the truck feels thick enough to choke on. In the car ahead, Gray drives while Theo sits passenger, both of them focused on the approaching group with that careful attention that means everyone's trying not to fall apart.
I press my fingers into the leather seat, trying to keep myself anchored. The hunger isn't pain anymore—it's an absence that's been growing louder with every breath, like a frequency I can't quite tune out but can't ignore either.
"You hanging in there?" Rhett asks, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.
"Always."
The lie tastes familiar by now. We both know it's bullshit, but Rhett just nods and doesn't push. I'm grateful for that—for the space he gives me to fall apart quietly.
