Another step forward. The morning light catches something fierce in his brown eyes.
"She's Bree. She's the one who asked me to help when everything was falling apart. Who trusted me enough to let me see her scared. Who thanked me after." His voice wavers slightly, but doesn't break. "She makesspace for all of us, even when no one made space for her. And you… both of you… got scared the moment you felt it pulling back."
The pain in his voice is raw, immediate. Like he's speaking from wounds that are still healing.
"You keep arguing about whether you deserve her—like that's yours to decide. But it's not. She already chose. Even if she doesn't realize it yet."
He looks directly at me, and there's something in his expression that makes me want to step backward. Not fear. Certainty.
"You want to know what real is? She is. That's what scared you. Both of you."
The accusation settles over me like ice water. Because he's right, and we all know it.
Theo pauses, glances between us, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. More careful.
"And maybe it's not my story to tell. But there are things you need to know. About where she came from. About what she survived."
Something shifts in his posture, in the set of his shoulders. Like he's gathering courage for something difficult.
"About why the Ether didn't just find her—it chose her."
The words hang in the morning air, weighted with implications I'm not ready to face. Beside me, Stellan has gone perfectly still, that predatory alertness that means he's cataloging threats.
But Theo isn't done.
"She doesn't need saving," he says, and there's steel in his voice now. Certainty that cuts through every excuse I've been making. "But she deserves people who won't run the second they feel something. Who won't flinch when she lets them see the truth."
He turns then, starts walking back toward the sanctuary. Back toward her.
After a few steps, he stops. Doesn't turn around.
"What do you know about what she is?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.
Theo glances back over his shoulder, and for a moment, he looks older than his years. Tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.
"Enough to know she carries more than anyone should. And still chooses softness. If that scares you, you were never the one she needed."
Then he's gone, disappearing around the bend in the path like he was never there at all.
I watch the space where he vanished, trying to process what just happened. Trying to understand how the quiet one among them just stripped me bare with a handful of words.
Stellan and I stand in the growing silence, neither of us willing to be the first to speak.
Finally, he breaks.
"He's not wrong."
"No," I admit, the word scraping against my throat. "He's not."
"So what now?"
I don't answer immediately. Can't answer immediately. Because for the first time in centuries, I'm not sure I know.
What I do know is this: I came here to assess a threat. To determine if Bree Holloway was the weapon the Council feared she might be. To decide if she needed to be controlled or eliminated.
Instead, I found a girl who tries to make breakfast and doesn't flinch when she looks at me.
That's a problem I wasn't prepared for.
