On camera.
Breaking every law we have.
“That’s not you,” Sloane whispers, sliding her hand into mine. Her conviction surges through me, warm and absolute, anchoring me in place. “That can’t be you. You’re here.”
“It’s an illusion.” Hades steps closer to the screen, his necromancer’s senses reading the death residue even through the digital feed. “Look at the edges. The way reality shimmers around it. Someone’s projecting that image.”
“Viktor.” The name comes out as a snarl, my Bloodfire surges so violently the shadows in the room reach for me alive and hungry. “This is his endgame. Make it look like I’m exposing the supernatural world. Force the Coven to execute me. Leave the club leaderless and vulnerable so he can swoop in and take control of every Eternal Sins MC chapter.”
On screen, the attack continues. Police sirens wail in the background. More cameras appear, drawn by the chaos, and I watch myself,not myself,turn the second victim.
Then the third.
“Hex,” I bark, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Can you—”
“Already on it.” His eyes glow that electric blue, technomancy blazing as his fingers become a blur across the keyboard. “Scrambling facial recognition. Flooding social media with deepfake tags. Making it look like an elaborate hoax. But C-Crave…” Hex’s voice cracks slightly. “It’s spreading too fast. Someone’s boosting the signal, paying for promoted posts, pushing it through every channel simultaneously. I can slow it, but I can’t stop it completely.”
“The supernatural world is seeing this too,” Ronan adds quietly, his fae senses reading probabilities. “Every faction. Every court. Every territory. They’re all watching you… watchingthisbreaks theLaw of Silenceon live television.”
Sloane’s fury coils up with mine, her Bloodfire catching alight from the heat of my rage. The magic inside her spikes, wildand dangerous, so I catch her hand, grounding her before it detonates.
Control.
We need control.
Before anyone can speak, Oracle detonates.
There’s no other word for it. One moment, he’s standing by the fireplace, the next, his entire body ignites with flames so intense that the air around him warps and shimmers. Phoenix fire, the kind that burns through lies and illusions, that sees truth where others see only shadows, erupts from every pore, turning him into a pillar of living flame.
“Back!” I shout, pulling Sloane away as the heat becomes unbearable even for me.
Everyone scatters, but we can’t look away. Oracle’s head snaps back, his eyes rolling until only white shows, and when the flames surge higher, so hot they burn blue-white at the edges, his mouth opens.
The voice that emerges isn’t his.
It’s layered, a thousand voices speaking in perfect unison, carrying the weight of every truth ever spoken, every lie ever burned away by fire. The Fire of Truth, the rarest of his phoenix gifts, speaks through his voice with prophetic force.
“The shadow casts false light. Viktor’s blade hides behind stolen faces. One among the turned holds the power of mirrors… illusion made flesh, reflection made weapon. He wears another’s skin while the true devil watches from darkness, counting the moments until the Crows descend and tear apart what remains.”
The flames pulse, and Oracle’s body convulses. Smoke pours from his mouth, and the words keep coming in that terrible, multi-toned voice.
“Three humans dead by Viktor’s hand. Three more turned to serve his war. TheLaw of Silenceshatters not by the accusedbut by the accuser. And still the world sleeps, not knowing the monsters that walk among them wear masks of flesh and lies.”
His flames roar higher, and I smell burning wood, singed leather, the acrid scent of my own hair starting to singe even from ten feet away.
“The Coven comes. Three days remain. Three deaths call them. Three more will fall before this ends unless the Blood Witch rises and the Shadow learns to burn.”
The final word echoes through the clubhouse, and then Oracle’s flames extinguish all at once. He drops to his knees, gasping, smoke rising from his clothes. His eyes are still white, still seeing things the rest of us can’t, but his voice is his own again when he speaks.
“Viktor has a shapeshifter,” he rasps. “One who can project illusions so perfect they fool cameras, fool magic, fool reality itself. That’s how he made you appear downtown. That’s how he’s breaking theLaw of Silencewhile keeping his own hands clean.”
“Fuck.” Scorch’s veins glow molten red, dragon fire rising in response to his rage. “Fuck, fuck,fuck!”Smoke pours from his nostrils in thick plumes, and when he exhales, actual flames lick out. His skin is heating, the dragon inside him pushing at the surface, demanding release. “He’s framing you, and the Coven won’t care about the truth. They’ll care about results. About exposure. About…”
“About punishing someone,” Dread finishes, his fear projection starting to leak. The air grows heavy, oppressive, and I feel the weight of a thousand terrors pressing down. “And you’re the perfect scapegoat, Prez. Original vampire. Leader of a club that’s been pushing boundaries for decades. They’ll make an example of you whether you’re guilty or not.”
Sloane’s hand squeezes mine, her Bloodfire rising fast, each pulse stronger than the last. Rage blooms inside her, catching onmine, feeding off the connection between us until the air itself shivers with crimson-gold heat.
“He dies,” she snarls, and the Voice of Lilith bleeds through, that terrible, reality-warping command that could unmake cities. “Viktor dies screaming. I’ll burn him until there’s nothing left but—”
