Her voice cracks on the last word—but she pushes through.
“But I will fight for you. For this sanctuary. For everything it stands for.”
She meets their eyes—one by one, steady and certain.
“The freedom to choose.”
The words hang in the air like lightning about to strike.
No one moves.
No one breathes.
Then Mairen—the cook who came here with her family, who Bree promised safety—touches the broken collar at her throat and sinks to her knees.
Not in worship.
In release.
Her husband drops beside her, pulling their son close. The boy’s shoulders shake with sobs.
One by one, the rest follow.
Heads bowed. Not to Bree’s power, but to what she just gave them back.
Choice.
The Ether settles, still shimmering faintly in the morning air. The courtyard glows with it—silver threads weaving through stone and soil, through the people kneeling in the dirt.
It’s beautiful.
It’s devastating.
Bree sways.
I’m moving before Thane can, before anyone can. My arm slides around her waist, catching her before she falls.
She leans against me, breath shaking, eyes wet.
“You did it,” I say quietly.
“We did,” she whispers back.
Her weight settles against my side, and I hold her steady while freed Feeders begin to rise, touching their throats, touching each other, confirming the collars are really gone.
I’ve seen fire burn cities to ash.
I never knew it could heal.
Thane steps forward, his expression unreadable—something between pride and grief and determination. Stellan’s already scanning the horizon, calculating retaliation from the Counsel.
In the distance, ravens call from the treeline.
A warning or a witness, I can’t tell.
Bree straightens slowly, exhausted but unbroken. She looks at the crowd of newly freed Feeders—at faces that are starting to remember what hope looks like.
“We begin again,” she says quietly.
