This creature preens.
“Well,” she says, voice carrying none of Bree’s usual startled breathlessness as she finally stills. “This is cozy.”
Rhett’s hands ignite, but there’s something desperate in the gesture—he knows something’s wrong but can’t articulate what. “What the fuck is this?”
“Rhett!” Jace startles again, now dragging a sheet half over both of them as he pulls her close, one arm moving protectively around her waist. His defense is immediate, automatic. He sees an attack on her where the others see necessary questions. “Jesus, what are you—”
“That,” I say quietly from the doorway, “is not Bree.”
The words cut through the chaos like a blade. Every head turns toward me, but the reactions are telling. Gray nods slightly—he suspected. Theo’s eyes widen with recognition, pieces clicking together. Thane’s expression doesn’t change, but his stillness carries agreement. Wes looks like he might be sick. Rhett just looks confused, fire guttering.
But Jace? Jace looks betrayed.
The woman meets my gaze steadily, and for just a moment, something flickers behind her expression. Something cold and calculating.
Recognition. And perhaps the faintest hint of wariness.
Good. She should be wary.
Then she blinks, and it’s gone, replaced by perfect confusion.
“Not Bree?” She tilts her head, the picture of innocent bewilderment. Her eyes widen in mock confusion, but the expression holds a beat too long—just enough to be wrong. “Then who am I, Stellan? Look at Jace.” Her fingers stroke through his hair with possessive gentleness, marking territory. “Does he think I’m anyone else?”
The gesture is deliberate. Intimate. Designed to use their connection against his judgment.
Jace’s jaw sets stubbornly, protective fury overwhelming any doubt. “She’s fine. She’s safe, she’s herself—stop attacking her!”
“Jace,” Gray says carefully, and I can hear the weight of his own suspicions finally finding voice. “Doesn’t she seem different to you?”
“Different how?” Jace’s brow furrows, genuine confusion in his voice.
Her Ether, black and fluid, curls around them both as if content.
His face sets with sudden determination. “The only thing wrong,” Jace continues, louder, drowning out whatever doubt was forming, “is you all barging in here like she’s some kind of threat. She’s been through a lot. Maybe give her five minutes to—”
“You know as well as we do,” Theo interrupts, his voice carrying unusual urgency, “by the time we reached the chamber, whatever happened had already happened. And now she’s here, but whoever this is, isn’t acting like Bree.”
For the briefest moment, uncertainty flickers across her features. A crack in the performance.
Then she leans into Jace, voice soft and wounded. “I don’t remember everything. It was… overwhelming. But I’m here now. I’m safe.” She looks up at him with perfect trust, eyes wide and vulnerable. “You kept me safe.”
The manipulation is flawless. She’s turned their reunion into proof of his protection, his worth. Made him complicit in defending her.
And that’s when I see it.
Black Ether threaded with silver, unfurling like smoke. It moves with purpose, seeking targets with predatory intelligence. The inversion of everything Bree’s Ether should be—darkness laced with light instead of light touched by shadow.
Rhett first—the one most confused by his own instincts. The dark threads wind around his wrists, and I watch his expression shift like a mask falling away. The fire beneath his skin gutters. His shoulders drop. “She… she looks okay.” The confusion in his voice is immediate, crushing.
Then Theo—the one whose visions threatened to expose her. The mist brushes his temples, and his eyes lose their sharp focus. “Maybe the visions were symbolic,” he mutters, pressing a hand to his forehead like he’s fighting a headache. His gift, suppressed.
Gray she handles more carefully—his resistance is stronger, his shifter instincts harder to subvert. The threads circle him like a predator testing defenses before finding the crack: his guilt about failing to protect her. The tension bleeds from his posture slowly. “If Jace says she’s fine…”
Wes simply deflates the moment the darkness touches his chest, his desperate hope winning over his Feeder instincts. “I knew it was her.” The relief in his voice is heartbreaking—he genuinely believes he’s found her again.
But when the mist reaches for Thane, something entirely different happens. The threads don’t just hesitate—they recoil. Like they’ve touched something that burns them.
Thane’s silver eyes remain sharp, calculating, completely unaffected. Whatever just happened, he felt nothing. But he’s smart enough to play along. His posture relaxes slightly, just enough to seem influenced. For a breath, his gaze flickers—not at her, but somewhere else. Like he hears something we can’t. “Perhaps we’re being paranoid,” he says, but I catch the deliberate choice of words. Perhaps. Not conviction—calculation.
