No fire. Rhett tried earlier, but the flames guttered out almost immediately, swallowed by the same pressure that made the air feel thick and wrong.
The only light comes from the silver veins pulsing through the floor and threading up the obsidian walls, and the silver flames flickering in sconces along the perimeter. The veins are brighter here, more concentrated. All of them converging on this chamber like arteries leading to a heart.
Leading to her.
I study the pattern, tracing the lines with my eyes. They spread outward from where her bare feet touch the floor, branching and splitting until they disappear into the dark beyond the chamber walls.
I’ve heard of this before.
The realization hits cold and certain, settling in my stomach like a stone.
I kneel, pressing my palm flat against one of the veins. It pulses back—faint but rhythmic. Not random. Not ambient magic.
Feeding.
My hand jerks back.
“Stellan?”
Thane’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp with suspicion.
I don’t answer immediately. Just stare at the veins, watching them pulse in time with Bree’s shallow breathing.
I’ve heard stories. Old ones, passed down through Feeder lines when the Council wasn’t listening. Tales of places where the something in the Void learned to drink power directly from a Source without touching them. Where simplybeingwas enough.
The chains are just holding her in place.
Ethos is feeding on her.
Ethos is the something those stories were talking about.
Horror crawls up my throat.
“Stellan.” Thane’s tone hardens. “What do you see?”
I stand slowly, brushing ash from my hands. “A theory. An old story.”
“Elaborate.”
“These veins.” I gesture at the pulsing silver threads. “They’re not part of the Void’s natural structure. They’re hers. Her Ether, pulled from her just by being here. Ethos is feeding on her, using her power for something.”
Jace swears under his breath. Rhett’s hands twitch, and I notice—
Heat.
Faint, but there. His palms glow with warmth that wasn’t there before.
My stomach drops as the second realization hits.
“So he’s draining her,” Theo says quietly. “Just by her being in the Void.”
“Yes,” I say, but my eyes are still on Rhett’s hands. On Wes, who’s stopped shaking. On Jace, who looks less gray than he did an hour ago.
They’re feeding too.
All of us. Bonded to her, pulling from the Ether that saturates this place now. Not from Bree directly—thank fuck—from what she’s already given. The silver veins pulsing through the floor and walls, the ambient power soaking the air.
It’s passive. Automatic. Our bonds drinking from the source she’s become.
