I can’t think about what I thought.
I step forward.
Stellan sees me coming. His arms tighten around her for half a second—instinct, maybe, or reluctance—but when I rest my hand on his arm, something passes between us. Understanding. He releases her slowly.
I gather her into my chest.
She’s warm. Breathing.Here.
My arms wrap around her so tight I’m probably hurting her, but I can’t make myself loosen my grip. She doesn’t fight it. Just sinks into me, her face pressed against my shoulder, her hands fisting in the back of my shirt.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
The words come out rough. Barely above a whisper.
She laughs. Wet. Broken. “I know.”
“Don’t do that again.”
“I’ll try.”
I press my forehead to hers. Close my eyes. Let myself have this one moment where she’s safe and whole and mine.
Then I pass her to Gray.
He takes her like she’s made of glass, but I see his shoulders shake when she wraps her arms around his neck. I turn away before I have to watch anyone else cry.
The battlefield is still.
I scan it properly for the first time since the blast. The courtyard is wrecked—scorched earth, silver ash, bodies scattered like broken toys. The veins that used to pulse through the ground are gone. Just empty channels where power used to live.
And the Feeders.
All of them. Ours and theirs. Standing in the wreckage like they’ve forgotten how to move.
The Council-bound ones look the worst—disoriented, blinking, some of them clutching their heads like they’re fightingoff a hangover. The compulsion that held them must have snapped when Ethos did.
Our Feeders are steadier, but not by much. They’re watching Bree. Watching us. Glancing at Riley’s body with expressions I can’t read.
None of them know what comes next.
Neither do I.
Movement to my left. Seth.
He jerks awake with a gasp, eyes flying open, hands scrabbling at the dirt. For a second I tense—the last time he was conscious, Void energy was pouring out of him—but his eyes are clear. No black threads. No silver lacing.
Just panic.
“Where—” He tries to sit up. Falls back. “Bree?”
I kneel beside him. Offer my arm.
“She’s okay.” I keep my voice steady. “She’s alive.”
He grabs my forearm, grip weak but desperate. I haul him upright, keeping one hand on his shoulder to make sure he doesn’t face-plant.
His gaze finds her immediately. Locked on like a compass finding north.
