Bree
I take a breath and step forward to the edge of the stone terrace.
The silence is complete. A hundred faces turned up toward me, waiting. Behind me, I can feel the guys' tension like a physical weight, but I'm doing this. Finding my way through on my own.
My voice comes out smaller than I meant it to, but it carries in the stillness.
"I don't know what's happening."
The honesty hangs in the air between us. I see a few people exchange glances, but no one moves. No one speaks.
"I didn't ask for this," I continue, my voice growing steadier. "But... I'm trying to understand it."
The Ether curls gently around my ankles, responding to something quiet and sure inside me. Not dramatic. Just... present.
"You're welcome here," I say, looking out over the sea of faces. "We'll try to make space for everyone."
I pause, searching for words that feel true.
"I'm not a leader. I'm not royalty. But if you're here because of the Ether..." I swallow hard. "Then I won't turn you away."
The Ether flickers like wind over a field, and for a moment, something shifts in the crowd. Not worship. Something quieter. Something that feels like hope.
Behind me, I sense Zira stepping closer. Grounding me in a way I didn't realize I needed.
That's when a voice cuts through the stillness.
"You speak like you're one of us—but you don't know what we've been through."
A man near the middle of the crowd pushes to his feet. He's thin, ragged around the edges, with the kind of hunger in his eyes that feels dangerous. The people around him shift away slightly, creating space.
I feel my chest tighten, but I force myself to stay steady. "You're right. I don't. But—"
"But nothing." He takes a step forward, and the air around him seems to crackle with aggressive energy. "You stand there in your pretty sanctuary, offering us scraps, and you think that makes you worthy?"
My mouth opens to respond, but the words never come.
Because he lunges.
The world slows and sharpens all at once. I see his face twist with hunger and rage, see the way his fingers curl like claws. He's fast—faster than human, faster than anything I've ever seen—and I'm frozen, my feet rooted to the stone.
Someone behind me shouts my name. The crowd gasps, some scrambling backward, others leaning forward. But I can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything but watch him close the distance between us.
He's three feet away when a flash of dark movement intercepts him mid-air.
Thane appears like he materialized from shadow, slamming into the attacker with brutal efficiency. The sound of the impact makes me flinch—bone meeting bone, the sharp exhale of air forced from lungs.
There's no hesitation in Thane's movements, no mercy. Just controlled violence, deadly and practiced. His fangs find the attacker's throat, and I hear the wet sound of punctured flesh, the man's sharp cry of pain and shock.
But the attacker doesn't go down easy. Even with Thane's fangs in his neck, he fights back, claws raking across Thane's ribs and tearing through fabric and flesh. The sound Thane makes—half growl, half grunt of pain—cuts through me like a blade.
Thane throws him aside with enough force that the man hits the ground hard and stays there. Unconscious. Bleeding from the throat but breathing.
The entire exchange takes maybe ten seconds. But it feels like a lifetime.
Gasps ripple through the crowd, but I don't hear them.
All I can see is Thane, still on the ground where they fought, one hand pressed to his side where dark stains are already spreading across his shirt.
