Thane nods once, sharp and certain.
Auren steps back, his gaze sweeping over all of us before landing on me. Something softens in his face—just for a breath.
“Good luck, Bree.”
“Thank you,” I manage. “For everything.”
He inclines his head, then gestures toward the passage. “Go. I’ll cover here.”
“Let’s go,” Stellan says, seeing the determination in my eyes.
We step through.
The moment we emerge into the open air, my Ether hums—sharp and electric, like static before a storm.
Someone is coming.
I feel it in my bones.
Let them.
Chapter 24
Bree
We’ve been walking for three days.
The town that finally rises ahead of us—Greymar, Auren mentioned it—feels wrong.
It’s not dangerous—not in the way the Void was dangerous, all teeth and shadow and silence that wanted to swallow you whole. This is different. Quieter. Like the air itself is holding its breath.
We move through narrow streets lined with weathered stone, the scent of earth and smoke curling through the damp night air. Lanterns flicker in windows, casting long shadows that stretch and twist. The sound of the water rolls in from somewhere beyond the buildings, rhythmic and relentless.
No one speaks.
Rhett walks slightly ahead, his hand never far from the blade at his hip. Jace flanks my left, eyes scanning every doorway, every alley. Gray moves like a shadow at my right—quiet, watchful, his wolf senses tracking every heartbeat in the dark.
Thane and Wes trail behind, close enough that I can feel their presence without turning around. Theo walks beside me, his silence heavier than the others’. I know that look—the one that says he’s seeing more than what’s in front of us.
Seth stays close to my other side, his presence grounding in a way I’m still learning to understand.
“Tell me this place isn’t crawling with Council loyalists,” Jace mutters, low enough that only we can hear.
“It’s not,” Thane says, voice clipped. “But it’s not neutral either. This region’s been unstable since—”
He doesn’t finish. Since Riley. Since the world thought I was her.
I pull my hood lower, tucking hair out of sight. My Ether hums around me, quiet but restless. It knows we’re not safe. None of us are.
“We need information,” I say, keeping my voice steady even though exhaustion drags at every word.
“And sleep,” Wes adds quietly. “Before someone collapses.”
He doesn’t look at me when he says it, but I feel the weight of his concern anyway. We’re all still running on fumes—bodies pushed past breaking, held together by sheer stubborn will and whatever scraps of magic we have left.
“There,” Rhett says, nodding toward a low stone building ahead. Warm light spills from its windows, and I catch the faint sound of music—something low and rhythmic, punctuated by laughter.
The sign above the door reads The Rusted Gear in elegant script, the letters worn but still legible.
