“That’s it,” Thane says quietly. “The place Auren mentioned.”
Gray tilts his head slightly, nostrils flaring. “Feeders. A lot of them.”
My stomach twists.
Of course it’s Feeders. Riley would have made this place hers—built networks, claimed loyalty, left her mark on everything she touched while wearing my face.
“We should keep moving,” I say quietly.
“We’re out of options,” Stellan counters, already heading toward the door. “And if they’re Feeders, they’ll know something. Auren sent us here for a reason.”
I hate that he’s right.
Rhett pushes the door open first, stepping inside with the kind of casual confidence that dares anyone to challenge him. Jace follows, then Gray. Theo gives me a look—steady, grounding—before he slips in after them.
I hesitate.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then I step over the threshold.
The music stops.
Not fades—stops. Mid-beat. Like someone cut the strings.
Every head in the room turns toward me, and the shift in energy is immediate. Hostile. Bodies go rigid, hands moving toward weapons or curling into fists. Eyes narrow, assessing. Predatory.
I freeze.
The pub is packed—tables crammed with bodies, shadows shifting in the firelight. Feeders, every one of them. I can feel it in the air, the way the hunger hums just beneath the surface, controlled but barely. Waiting.
Someone stands. Then another. The scrape of chairs against stone sounds too loud in the sudden silence.
Rhett’s hand drops to his blade. Jace shifts his weight, ready to move. Gray’s eyes flash silver in the dim light.
Then one of them—a woman near the bar with sharp features and calculating eyes—tilts her head. Her nostrils flare slightly, and something shifts in her expression.
“Wait,” she breathes.
The word ripples through the room like a stone dropped in still water.
Another Feeder steps closer, squinting at me in the firelight. His eyes widen. “That’s not—”
“It’s her,” someone else whispers. “The real one.”
My Ether pulses once, responding to the recognition even though I don’t ask it to. Silver light bleeds through my skin for just a heartbeat—enough.
A glass shatters somewhere to my left.
And then—someone kneels.
The sharp-featured woman drops first, her knees hitting the floor hard enough that I hear the impact. Her hands press flat against the stone, head bowed.
Another follows. Then another.
The ripple spreads through the room like a wave—bodies dropping, some graceful, some stumbling, one man nearly falling into a table before he catches himself and sinks down. They move like they don’t have a choice, like something deeper than thought is pulling them under.
My breath catches.
