Behind them, hundreds more. What must be five hundred at least—soldiers, enforcers, followers. An army ready to tear us down.
The crowd goes silent.
I don’t move. Don’t flinch.
Just watch as they approach.
The storm doesn’t wait anymore.
And neither do I.
The first drops of rain hiss against the stones as we step forward.
Chapter 49
Stellan
I’ve never been more in awe of this beautiful woman.
The courtyard is still vibrating from her speech. The Feeders nearest the epicenter flex their hands, shaking off the residual Ether like static crawling under their skin.
Bree’s Ether flares bright enough to leave afterimages burned into my vision, silver light pulsing through the stone beneath our feet like a living heartbeat. She stands ringed by Gray, Rhett, Wes, Theo, and Jace—Thane a step off her shoulder. The Feeders around us are standing taller, breathing deeper, believing for the first time in their lives that they might be worth something.
Bare. Dangerous. Necessary.
And then I see them.
On the ridge beyond the gates, silhouettes appear against the dawn—dark figures cresting the hill like a wave of shadows.
The Council. I recognize their formation, the way they hold themselves above everyone else even from this distance.
Phil. Taller, broader, moving with that infuriating confidence that comes from never having been told no.
And behind them—
My lungs forget the motion.
An army. Five hundred at least. Maybe more.
Soldiers. Enforcers. Followers ready to tear down everything we’ve built.
But that’s not what makes my hands curl into fists.
It’s the others I feel before I fully see them.
Feeders.
Dozens of them scattered through the ranks, their emotional signatures pulsing beneath the surface like cords of hunger and compulsion. Even at this distance, their signatures rasp—hunger harnessed to someone else’s leash. That specific rhythm—suppressed, twisted, trained into obedience until it calcified.
They taught them to kneel so well they forgot how to stand.
Rage floods through me, cold and immediate. Not the wild, reckless kind. The controlled fury that sharpens every sense, every thought, every breath.
Of course they brought them. What better weapon than the ones they taught to fear themselves?
I watch Bree standing at the center of the courtyard, chin high, Ether still glowing around her like armor. She won’t flinch. She won’t back down.
So neither will I.
