I step forward. The Fade pulses against my skin, then—almost imperceptibly—pulls back. Just enough to breathe.
“Stand your ground,” I say, not raising my voice. “The magic is targeting pack bonds. Trust what you see, not what you feel.”
Nova’s eyes meet mine. The scar still pulses, but her hand closes into a fist.
Faelan watches us all with the detached interest of a researcher observing results. His attention flicks between Nova and the others, noting reactions and cataloging responses.
And that’s when I understand.
This chamber, this circuit, these suspended bodies—they were never the weapon. They’re measurements. Calibrations. This isn’t a battlefield.
It’s a test.
Faelan doesn’t need to win. He needs to see how we fail.
The pack bond warps between us. Callum’s stance shifts, head turning toward Ben like he doesn’t recognize him. Ben tracks the movement, muscles coiling tight. His gaze too focused, too predatory.
“Ben.” My voice doesn’t carry. The air absorbs it.
Harper moves toward Ben, but her steps falter. Uncertainty flashes across her face as she stops between the two men. She looks lost.
Kari’s knife lowers. Her body angles toward Rafe. Not attacking. Something worse. She takes a half-step in his direction, her expression caught between confusion and recognition.
Rafe doesn’t move. His jaw tightens. His eyes never leave the circuit, but his posture responds to Kari’s proximity.
The suspended bodies pulse in unison. The circuit hums. Faelan stands motionless, hands clasped behind his back.
“Stand down,” I order. The words ripple across the space but don’t land correctly. The pack responds in fragments. Lyanna’s hands still for a moment. Ben’s focus breaks, then reforms on Harper instead of Callum.
But it’s not enough.
The pressure deepens. Not crushing, but seeping into spaces between thoughts. Between loyalties. The bond lines connecting us blur at the edges.
Cold rises through my blood. Something that remembers what magic looked like before wolves named it. The sensation spreads up my spine, across my shoulders, into my core.
My angel blood. The part I’ve never embraced. I didn’t even know I had it until my brother, Rowan, tapped into his.
I don’t fight it this time. I let it flow. Let it clear pathways through the distortion.
“Focus on what you came here to do,” I say, pushing authority through the words.
The field adjusts. Subtle but real. Callum blinks, head clearing. Ben shifts his weight back, eyes finally tracking the actual threats. Kari’s knife raises again, pointed where it should be.
Faelan’s response is immediate.
Shapes rip from the twisted air—shadow-wolves with too many teeth, humanoid figures moving wrong with joints bending backward. They pour from the edges of the chamber like antibodies attacking infection.
“Defensive formation!” I roar.
The pack responds instantly. Callum and Lyanna anchor the left flank, her fae magic flaring as his claws extend. Ben and Rafe take the right, moving in perfect counterpoint despite never training together. Kari positions herself at the center, blades dancing as the first construct reaches her.
Harper ducks under a shadow-wolf’s lunge, her knife finding its throat. The construct dissolves into smoke, but two more take its place.
Callum tears through a humanoid figure, only to have it reform behind him. Lyanna’s magic burns it away, buying him time to pivot.
“They’re endless!” Ben snarls, kicking a construct back. “We can’t win by fighting!”
He’s right. These aren’t enemies—they’re distractions. Faelan keeping the pack busy while his real work continues.
