I’m not.
But I gesture toward a quiet corner anyway, away from the main flow of Feeders. Wes and Gray follow as I lead Nyx to the edge of the chamber where the light dims.
The Ether rises without me calling it, wrapping both of us in silver-white.
I speak the words—the invocation I’ll say dozens of times today. My voice is steady, certain.
Nyx repeats them, her tone trembling but clear.
For an instant, the circle holds. Light flares between us, bright and sharp.
Then it snaps.
The connection fractures into static sparks that fade as quickly as they appeared.
I stagger. Wes catches my elbow.
Nyx crumples to one knee, gasping.
“It won’t take you,” I say quietly.
She looks up at me, something breaking behind her eyes. “Then it’s already over.”
Wes takes a step forward. “Bree—”
I shake my head. “No.”
I don’t know why I do it. Maybe because I see myself in her—the desperation, the fear of being cast out, the ache of not belonging.
Maybe because mercy costs me nothing here.
I call the raven.
Shadow forms feathers mid-air, solidifying into wings and talons. It lands on my shoulder, tilts its head, then hops to Nyx’s shoulder.
She stares at it, wary. “What are you doing?”
“You wanted to be seen,” I say. “You are.”
I channel a soft pulse of Ether through the raven. The chamber glows faintly, light rippling outward through the veins on the floor. The Feeders nearby pause, heads bowing instinctively.
The raven dissolves into nothing, leaving behind a single silver-black feather in Nyx’s palm.
“It’s yours now,” I say. “Not as mine—but as proof you were forgiven.”
Nyx stares at the feather like she doesn’t know how to hold it.
“He’ll come for you first,” she whispers.
“Let him.”
She backs away slowly, toward the archway. The light around her dims as she moves.
Feeders pause their work, watching silently as she vanishes into the outer mist.
Her last words echo faintly: “You don’t know what he’s become.”
Then she’s gone.
