Rhett is asleep in the chair beside me, his broad frame somehow folded into the space, head tilted back against the cushion. Even in sleep, one hand rests near his leg like he’s ready to reach for me if I need him. My chest tightens at the sight—this man who stayed awake to watch over me, who chose to sleep uncomfortably rather than leave me alone.
Who kept Phil’s existence in this a secret for days, maybe weeks.
The betrayal hits fresh, sharp as a blade between my ribs. Not just Rhett. All of them. Rhett, Gray, Jace, Theo, Wes, Thane, Stellan. Every single one of them knew Phil was coming for me and decided I couldn’t be trusted with the truth. Decided I was too fragile, too breakable, too much of a liability to handle my own life.
Yesterday that knowledge felt like drowning. Like proof that no matter how much they claimed to care, I’d always be the one they managed instead of trusted.
But as I sit here, the Ether stirring restlessly around my feet, something else rises beneath the hurt. Something far more complicated.
My body aches in ways that have nothing to do with physical injury. The Void left marks on me—not visible ones, but something deeper. Like parts of me were touched that shouldn’t be, awakened that should have stayed sleeping.
The black threads are still there, woven through my silver mist like veins. I can feel them even now, subtle and dark, threading through the Ether that pools around my ankles. They don’t hurt. That’s what disturbs me most.
They feel like honesty.
That darkness you fear in yourself? It isn’t corruption. It’s power.
Ethos’s words echo in my mind, and I hate how they settle into place like they belong there. Like they were always true, just waiting for someone brave enough to say them out loud.
I need to move. The sanctuary responds to my restlessness before I’m even fully upright—corridors shifting subtly to guide me away from Rhett’s protective sleep, stones humming with that gentle silver warmth. But tonight it feels insufficient. Like trying to fill an ocean with a teaspoon.
That’s when I hear the pacing.
I follow the sound toward the kitchen, bare feet silent on the cool stone floors. The sanctuary guides me through hallways that seem shorter tonight, more direct, like it understands the urgency thrumming under my skin.
Wes stands in the kitchen, moving back and forth like a caged animal. His dark hair is disheveled, sleep shirt wrinkled, and there areshadows under his eyes that speak of hours spent awake. He looks wrecked—beautiful and desperate and barely holding himself together.
The moment he sees me, he stops.
“I thought you were gone for good.”
The words burst out of him before I can say anything, raw and desperate. His voice cracks on the last word, and I hear everything he’s not saying: the terror, the relief, the need so sharp it’s almost physical.
Something in my chest responds to that honesty. To the way he’s not trying to manage me or protect me from his own feelings. He’s just laying himself bare, trusting me to handle it.
You give and give until there’s nothing left.
But maybe I’m tired of being the one who only gives.
Instead of keeping my distance like I usually would, I step closer. One deliberate step, then another, until I’m close enough to see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“I’m here,” I say quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Wes searches my face like he’s looking for proof, for some sign that I mean it. Whatever he finds there seems to undo him completely.
“Bree, I—” He stops, jaw working. “I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how to be without you.”
The admission hangs between us, vulnerable and electric. I can feel his hunger radiating off him in waves—not just for food anymore, but for connection. For me. The awakening magic in him calls to something deep in my chest, something that wants to answer.
The words steal my breath. No one has ever said that to me before—not like this. Not with such raw honesty that it feels like he’s handing me his heart and trusting me not to crush it. I’ve spent my whole life being too much for people, watching them step back when I needed them most. But Wes is stepping closer, making himself vulnerable, choosing me even when it costs him.
Their lies still sting. The way they all decided what I could handle, what I deserved to know. But standing here with Wes, seeing the raw need in his eyes… their betrayal feels smaller somehow. Less important than this moment where someone is finally being completely honest with me.
The power to take what you want instead of waiting to be given scraps.
For once, I don’t want to wait for him to decide I’m strong enough or ready enough or worth the risk. I don’t want to wait for permission from anyone.
I reach up and cup his face in my hands.
