I reached out, brushing Cordelle’s arm in quiet thanks, then looked between the two of them—Zander’s fists still clenched, Remy’s jaw tight and bloody.
“This stops now,” I said. “I’m not some scrap of meat to fight over.”
Remy’s jaw ticked again. “Listen, Ash?—”
“No,” I snapped. “Youlisten. I’ve got enough enemies without the two of you turning on each other like dogs over a bone. I’m not your possession, Remy. And I’m not Zander’s either.”
Zander’s fists loosened. Remy said nothing more.
The silence that followed wasn’t peace.
But it was enough. For now.
The silence still lingered, thick and pulsing like a bruise beneath the surface of the room. The broken furniture, shattered dishes, and scuffed stone all bore the aftermath of what had just happened. But there was no time for pride. Or pain. Not when the clock was ticking toward something far worse.
I took a step forward, voice steady despite the war still simmering in my chest.
“We should be planning our trip to the Fae Sanctuary.”
The squad shifted slightly, some of the tension bleeding out of their stances, but not all of it. Not even close.
Remy let out a short, bitter breath. “For the king?” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard.
Zander flinched.
Only for a second, but I saw it—the subtle hitch in his breath, the slight stiffening in his shoulders. And then, slowly… he nodded.
Remy looked at him. Reallylooked.
And to my surprise, his posture eased. He rolled his bruised jaw once and exhaled.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll play nice.”
He looked at me, then at Zander again. “Temporary truce. Until the sanctuary’s behind us.”
His words were clipped, but not laced with venom this time. Just a weary understanding of how high the stakes had risen.
Zander gave a single, reluctant nod. “Agreed.”
I didn’t thank them. Didn’t need to. The fact that we were still standing, still breathing, still planning a mission together was enough of a miracle tonight.
For the king?
That was the problem.
Because none of us were sure who this mission was really for anymore. The king. The realm.
Or something darker neither side had named yet.
ChapterEight
The morning air felt thick with sleep and tension.
We moved through breakfast on autopilot, mechanical bites of bread and spoonfuls of porridge, no one speaking more than necessary. The squad sat close, shoulders brushing, but it was a silence carved from exhaustion. After the fight, after the discussions about the Fae Sanctuary, and Inderia’s grotesque spectacle… no one had slept well.
Even the other squads were quiet. Crownwatch had little of their usual smugness. Stormforge kept glancing toward the hall doors like they expected more bad news. Iron Fang sat in stiff silence, their usual banter strangled before it could even rise.
By the time we stepped onto the Ascension Grounds, the sun was barely burning through the clouded sky.
