The illusion doesn’t last.
“Anyone know what the hell is up with Bree lately?”
Zira’s voice cuts through the kitchen chatter like a blade. She stands in the doorway, dark curls wild from the morning wind, eyes sharp with the kind of focused irritation that means someone’s about to get uncomfortable.
Every fork stops midair. The easy banter dies.
Jace nearly drops a pancake. “What—what do you mean?”
Zira rolls her eyes and stalks to the counter, helping herself to a mug like she owns the place. “Don’t play dumb. The Council’s coming in less than two weeks, and she’s acting like it’s a fucking holiday instead of the end of the world.”
Rhett’s shoulders tense immediately. “She’s handling it.”
“If by ‘handling it’ you mean spending yesterday afternoon debating whether the napkins should be silver or pearl, then sure.” Zira pours coffee with sharp, precise movements. “She’s handling it perfectly.”
“She’s been different since the chamber,” Theo offers carefully, diplomatic as always. “But maybe she’s still adjusting to—”
“Adjusting?” Zira’s laugh has no humor in it. “She spent three hours yesterday discussing floral arrangements. For the people coming to kill us. She’s not Bree anymore.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Even the morning light streaming through the windows seems dimmer, like the words have weight enough to push back against the sun.
I set down my mug with deliberate care. “Enough.”
Zira turns that sharp gaze on me, but there’s understanding there. We’ve had this conversation already, in private. This performance is for their benefit.
“Walk with me,” I say quietly.
Zira hesitates for the appropriate beat, then follows me toward the back door. Behind us, the boys sit in heavy quiet, pretending they can’t feel the foundation of their world shifting beneath their feet.
The garden air is cool against my skin, a relief after the stifling tension of the kitchen. Birds call from the mira trees, and somewhere in the distance, I can hear the soft hum of the sanctuary’s wards—magic woven so deeply into the stone it’s become part of the architecture.
We walk toward the chamber path without speaking. The performance is over now; we can speak freely.
When I went to Zira three nights ago, I knew she’d understand immediately. She’s seen enough of the magical world’s politics to recognize when something is wrong, and she cares about Feeders in a way that makes her dangerous to those who would harm us. Thane’s revelation about the Council’s ban made her the perfect ally.
“The latest count?” I ask as we move out of earshot.
“Forty-three since we started,” she reports, voice low and efficient. “Thanks to you and Thane keeping her distracted, we’ve been able to bring them through after dark. The word is spreading faster than we expected.”
“Good. How many are staying?”
“About half. The others take the Oath and leave, but they’re stronger now. Different.” She glances at me. “They’ll remember this when the time comes.”
I pause, considering. “We need to move on the others soon. Get them through before the ban takes effect.”
“The guys?”
“Wes and Thane, specifically. Any Feeders who haven’t taken the Oath yet.” I keep my voice low, even though we’re well away from the sanctuary now. “Once the Council ban goes into effect, it won’t matter what she says. They’ll strip magic from anyone who tries.”
“And the others? The non-Feeders?”
“They should be fine. The ban only applies to Feeders.” I consider the timeline. “But Wes and Thane need to go through tonight. Before the Council realizes how many we’ve already gotten through.”
Zira nods, then fixes me with a sharp look. “You should too.”
I don’t argue. She’s right.
“What about all of them though?” she continues. “Bree’s guys. If they all take the Oath, become stronger… the Council might see that as too much power gathered in one place. Too much threat.”
