“Bree?” Theo’s voice sounds far away, even though he’s right in front of me.
I can’t move. Can’t speak. The air feels too thin, like I’m drowning on dry land.
You don’t have to be unafraid. You just have to stand.
The words echo in my head, but they feel meaningless against the panic crawling up my throat.
Someone takes my arm—Rhett, maybe, or Gray—and guides me toward the doors. My legs move without conscious thought, carrying me forward even though every instinct screams to run.
The sunlight hits my face like a slap.
And there he is.
Phil stands just outside the sanctuary gates, hands clasped behind his back. That same predatory smile. That same easy confidence. The man who pretended to be just my landlord while installing cameras in my bathroom. While watching me, hunting me, waiting.
The sight of him hits me harder than I expect. My vision narrows until there’s nothing but his face, his voice, the memory of his hands on me that time at my apartment. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes, the way he pressed too close, spoke too softly about “arrangements” we could make about rent.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
Can’t—
“Breathe, darling.” Stellan’s voice cuts through the fog, sharp and unyielding. “He doesn’t deserve your silence.”
His words aren’t gentle or comforting but they’re just enough of a shock to drag me back to the present.
I suck in air, the taste of it sharp and real. My hands are still shaking, but I can feel my fingers again. Can feel the ground under my feet.
Phil’s smile widens as he watches me struggle to compose myself.
But something’s wrong. This isn’t the Phil I remember—the drunken, slovenly landlord who reeked of alcohol and stale cigarettes. This man is lean, handsome even, wearing a tailored suit jacket and expensive-looking pants. His posture is straight, confident, predatory. No trace of the stumbling drunk who used to leer at me in hallways.
Nothing is the same except his eyes. Those cold, calculating eyes that used to watch me through my apartment window.
The transformation makes my stomach turn. How long was he pretending? How much of what I thought I knew was a lie?
“There she is,” he says, voice carrying easily across the space between us. “My favorite tenant. Looking good, as always.”
The possessive tone makes my skin crawl. Around me, I’m dimly aware of the community gathering—families with children, elderly couples, all the Feeders who came seeking sanctuary. But they feel distant, like I’m watching them through glass.
“Phil.” The name comes out steadier than I expect.
“You look well,” he continues, like we’re having a pleasant conversation. “This place agrees with you. Though I have to say, I’m disappointed. When I heard you’d become some kind of queen, I expected… more.”
His gesture takes in the crowd behind me. I don’t turn to look, but I can feel their fear like a weight against my back.
“These are the followers you’ve gathered? Broken Feeders and frightened families?” Phil’s laugh is soft, almost fond. “Oh, sweetheart. Trying to save them? You couldn’t even save yourself.”
The words cut deep, not because they’re untrue, but because there’s enough truth in them to hurt. These people are scared. They are broken. And maybe I am too.
The Ether around my feet flickers, silver light dimming. The black threads that have been woven through it since the Void pulse like a heartbeat, dark veins spreading through the silver mist.
Phil’s eyes lock onto the corruption threading through my power, and his smile turns genuine for the first time. Hungry.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, like he’s looking at something precious. “Daddy will be so pleased to see how well you’re coming along.”
A low growl rumbles from somewhere behind me, sending a shiver down my spine. Thane.
