“He thinks he made me his weapon,” I say, placing both palms flat on the table, leaning forward. “But he forgot something important.”
The room goes still. Waiting.
“A weapon doesn’t choose where to aim.”
Silence hangs after my words. I keep my palms flattened on the map, eyes steady. Not challenging—just existing in my truth. I’m not a weapon, but I yield one. And I tell it where to aim.
“Tell me what I need to know,” I say, voice clipped. “No philosophical bullshit. No comforting lies. What did he build into me?”
Lyanna and Rafe exchange glances. The hesitation grates against my nerves.
“Specifics,” I press. “Start with function. What am I meant to conduct?”
Rafe steps forward, arms crossed. “A portal key. Most fae need physical anchors to cross between realms. Higher court fae can manage without, but it takes considerable energy.”
“Faelan wants a door,” I translate.
“Not just any door,” Lyanna cuts in. Her voice softens in that healer way—gentle hands on a wound. “Something permanent. Stable. Controllable.”
I shake my head. “I’m half-wolf. Why not use full-blooded fae?”
“Because wolves have pack bonds,” Rafe says flatly. “Magical neural networks. You’re wired differently from pure fae. You can channel energy without burning out.”
I notice Dane shift his weight slightly. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. Just watches me with unreadable eyes.
“So I’m a battery,” I say, testing the idea. “Or a conduit.”
“More like a focusing lens,” Lyanna corrects. “Your dual nature means you can—“
“Are there trigger phrases?” I interrupt. “Commands? Spells that would activate ... whatever he built in?”
Rafe shakes his head. “Not like that. It’s structural. In your magical signature itself.”
“Like DNA,” Lyanna adds. “He didn’t program you with commands. He shaped how your energy forms and flows.”
My fingers curl against the table. “Can I feel it happening? If he tries to use me?”
“Yes,” Rafe says. “It would feel like being pulled apart from the inside. You’d know.”
“Has it happened before?” I ask. “Those times I’ve felt ... drawn toward certain places?”
Lyanna’s eyes widen slightly. “Those weren’t random instincts. They were test runs.”
I straighten, mind racing through implications. “And the net he’s building now—how does it work?”
“Each breach point creates tension,” Rafe explains. “Like a spiderweb. When you move through that space, you strengthen the pattern. Eventually, with enough power—“
“He can use me as a gate,” I finish.
No one contradicts me.
I scan the hexagonal breach pattern on the map again.
“Can he track me?” My voice remains steady, clinical.
“Yes,” Lyanna says. “But not precisely. He knows your general location through the network he’s building.”
“And if I leave Ash Hollow?”
