Pages rustle as faction heads read. The human representatives go pale. The vampires’ eyes glitter with cold interest. Knox’s mouth curls in a very unkind smile.
“Verify this,” Dayna orders, already on her feet, raising the documents. Her voice carries—crisp, controlled, and utterly unimpressed. “Now. I want a full authenticity check—origin, timestamps, routing. Everything.”
She beckons an aide.
“For the record, this is highly irregular.” The aide snatches the paperwork and bolts.
The questioning continues while we wait, though it has lost its edge. The other councillors’ questions turn cautious, measured; no one wants to sound too much like Councillor Reep.
Within fifteen minutes, the aide returns, strides straight to Dayna, leans in, and murmurs in her ear. Dayna flips through the marked pages, expression icy.
She glances at Lander and gives a single, sharp nod.
“It’s all true,” she announces. “Fully verified. Origin signatures match Councillor Reep’s personal devices. The routing is consistent with internal Ministry channels. Nothing has been altered.”
A ripple passes through the hall—shock, anger, and something like grim satisfaction.
The shifter delegation goes utterly still—the kind of stillness that means violence is only a breath away. A couple of vampires smile with their teeth, and the human reps look like they might be sick.
Lander rises slowly, smoothing his sleeves. His movements are precise, almost elegant. Despite the wards that dampen his magic, the air changes—tightens. It hums as though a wire has been pulled taut and is about to snap.
“Councillor Kane—” someone begins.
Without a word, he stalks across the hall. Councillor Reep half-rises, spluttering protests, but Lander gets there first. He fists a hand in the councillor’s collar and hauls him bodily to his feet.
“You—you have no authority—” Councillor Reep yelps, thrashing.
“On the contrary,” Lander says, voice calm and deadly. “Conspiracy to break the treaty. Collusion with a rogue councillor. Authorising illegal magic on neutral ground. I’ve got more authority than you’re going to like.”
This is the man they thought they could point at me like a weapon.
He marches the councillor up the aisle. A couple of guards hurry to fall in step, but it is Lander who does the dragging, ignoring the man’s flailing limbs. Councillor Reep kicks once, stumbles, and is all but carried the rest of the way.
At the doors, Lander glances back over his shoulder, eyes briefly finding mine.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he calls, tone almost light. “I have some internal affairs to attend to.”
The doors swing shut behind them with a satisfying thud.
Chapter Forty-One
As night edges towards daylight,the Assembly reaches several decisions. Meredith Jackson and Samuel Trent are sentenced to death for repeated breaches of the paper mage treaty and for practising unwilling soul transfer magic. Their executions will take place at a neutral facility in three days.
I will not attend.
Timothy Reep and ten of the remaining eleven coven members receive lengthy custodial sentences in specialised prisons, stripped of office and rank. The fire mage is deemed too unstable and will spend the rest of her life in a warded, fireproof cell beneath the Magic Sector.
The treaty is amended and reaffirmed. The Vampire Court, the Ministry of Magic, and the Human Sector payreparations—the government accepts responsibility for its people.
The human guards are reprimanded: Detective Wallace loses his post on the police force, and the rest of his department will be investigated.
Paper mages retain full diplomatic immunity, and the wording that protects us is strengthened.
By the time I am released, Unity Hall feels wrung dry.
The last representatives drift away in tight, tense knots, voices low, faces drawn. Meredith’s name lingers over everything like smoke—executions, sentences, ‘necessary measures.’
Lark appears at my side. “Are you all right?” she asks.
