The debate heats up from there. Theo advocating for strategic retreat—the sanctuary won’t shield them forever, they need mobility, options. Rhett pushing for defensive positioning—protect Bree, regroup, make them come to us. Gray suggesting they go on the offensive—confront Phil before he can make the first move, his eyes flashing again as he speaks.
I try to lighten the mood. “So option one: road trip. Option two: death match. Option three: I make more pancakes and we pretend none of this is happening?”
Nobody laughs this time.
That’s when I really look at them.Reallylook.
Bree’s got this faint glow about her, like she’s lit from within. It’s subtle, but once I notice it, I can’t unsee it. Silver light just beneath her skin, pulsing faintly with her heartbeat.
Wes looks… sharper. Like someone took an eraser to the softer edges of his features and left behind something that catches the eye. His cheekbones could cut glass, and when did his jaw get that defined? “Since when are your cheekbones sharper than mine?” I mutter, staring at him.
But it’s Gray who really makes me pause. When he talks about confronting Phil, his eyes don’t just catch the light—they glow. Faint, but definitely there. Like something wild and predatory is looking out through his face.
I nearly drop my fork. “When the hell did everyone get a magical upgrade while I was flipping pancakes?”
The table goes quiet. Too quiet.
“You noticed,” Stellan says, voice carrying that familiar note of amusement mixed with something darker.
“Hard not to,” I say, gesturing vaguely at the three of them. “Bree’s practically glowing, Wes looks like he stepped out of a magazine, and Gray’s eyes are doing that thing where they’re definitely not human anymore.”
Bree touches her face self-consciously. “Glowing?”
“Like someone put a dimmer switch under your skin and turned it up,” I confirm. “It’s subtle, but it’s there.”
The silence stretches, heavy with implications I’m not sure I want to understand.
“The bonding,” Theo says quietly, like he’s putting pieces together. “It’s changing all of you.”
“Into what?” Gray asks, and there’s an edge to his voice that makes my instincts sit up and pay attention.
“Into what you were always meant to be,” Stellan answers. “The Ether doesn’t just awaken magic—it evolves it. Deepens it. Makes it stronger.”
Thane’s gone completely still, his silver eyes fixed on Bree with an intensity that makes the air feel charged. There’s something in his expression—not anger, exactly, but a kind of predatory focus that makes my skin prickle.
Stellan looks directly at me. “The question is: what happens to those who haven’t bonded yet?”
The words hit like a slap. Because he’s right, isn’t he? The Ether has chosen most of us—I can see it in the way Gray’s eyes flash, in Rhett’s steady heat, in the restless energy crackling around the room. Hell, it chose me too, along with all the others. But bonding? That’s different. That’s Bree’s choice. And so far, she’s only made that choice once.
With Thane.
Which leaves the rest of us in some kind of limbo.
“They look like they didn’t sleep,” I say instead of addressing the elephant in the room. “In the good way, if you know what I mean.” I wiggle my eyebrows for emphasis.
Because it’s true. Underneath the glow and the sharpened features and whatever magical evolution is happening, they all look exhausted. Worn down. Like whatever they shared last night took more out of them than they’re admitting.
Bree’s eyes dart between Wes and Gray, and I watch something like panic flicker across her face. She looks at Wes first—soft, almost protective—then at Gray, and her expression shifts to something more frantic.
“I wasn’t—” she starts, then stops, color draining from her cheeks. “Gray and I didn’t—we weren’t together. Not like—”
The words hang in the air, and I realize what she’s just done. She’s confirmed she WAS with Wes while trying to clarify she wasn’t with Gray.
Thane’s coffee mug hits the counter with enough force to crack the ceramic. His silver eyes have gone cold as winter, fixed on the black threads in her mist with something that looks dangerously close to recognition.
“After the Void,” he says, voice deadly quiet. “You were with him after the Void.”
It’s not a question.
