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Acceptance. Fates, that’s what this is. It’s exactly how my Mother used to make me feel—like I was brave and magical simply because I existed.

“Anyway,” Branwen continues, “we always knew I’d end up in the States; we just didn’t know when. The visions made it very clear that they meant for Idril and I to find each other.”

“Why?” Caelan’s hand tightens around mine. I don’t even remember when he grabbed it.

Branwen shakes her head apologetically. “That, I don’t know.”

“You are here to help, though, correct?” Daxen asks, frowning.

Branwen smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Let me make something very clear. I’m here to help Idril. You lot are on your own.”

Her eyes land on me and soften. “Idril is strong. You don’t know just how strong she truly is. Unfortunately, partially thanks to you, neither does she.”

My cheeks heat in embarrassment. I want to shrink in my seat, but Soren’s palm lands on the back of my neck and I melt into the touch. There’s something about the proprietary way he holds me, fingers wrapped gently but securely around my throat, that makes me feel safe.

It’s the same way I feel when Caelan’s arms are wrapped around me, his body curled over mine, shielding me from the world and surrounding me in his scent.

I’m grateful when Branwen moves on, using her toast to gesture toward the small pile of leather-bound books stacked neatly in front of Riven.

“What’s that? A bit of light reading in case we all bore you out of your skull?”

Riven snorts, his lips curving in a half-smirk. “Sadly, no. Less light reading and more ancient prophecy interspersed with ironic and completely off-topic references to Catholic Saints I’ve never heard of, but were apparently very popular in the 17th and 18th centuries.”

Vae nods solemnly. “That tracks. Had to get real creative with curses back then. If you threw in a few obscure saints, the priests just thought you were praying.”

Riven hums, but it’s clear Vae was expecting the joke to land differently. His eyes dart to Caelan, but when he sees his blank expression, his face falls.

The exchange hurts my heart.

I’m not the only one who almost lost Caelan. Vaelenor and Daxen did, too. In a way, I can even understand how they treated me that first night. Heck, even the first day.

What I can’t excuse is how often they turned on me even after I told them the truth. Not once, not twice, but over and over and over again.

But I don’t want to be the reason their pack falls apart. For Caelan, forgiving Vae and Dax on his own terms is up to him, but I need to know he doesn’t harbor some kind of misplaced belief that I’ll hate him if or when he does forgive them.

I don’t want that on my conscience. I’m carrying enough as it is.

“Oh gods… wait!” Vae shoots to his feet, backing up with his hand raised like he’s warding off something evil. “Please tell me those aren’t more of Benedict the Damned’s journals!”

Who’s Benedict the Damned?

Riven laughs. “Don’t worry, these belonged to members of a group of humans who called themselves The Watchers.”

“Oh! You’re kidding,” Branwen breathes, reaching over to grab one. “How perfectly delightful.”

Riven’s brows shoot to his hairline. “Wait, you’ve heard of them?”

She flips open the cover, waving a hand dismissively. “Of course. Ley lines are incredibly curious things. The Watchers used to, well… watch the lines. They believed that when Ley lines began acting up, it was a sign of something slipping through from the other side.”

“What’d they watch for?” Silas asks.

“Some say demons or Angels. Some believe when the Ley lines became active, it was the first sign of Armageddon.”

“Seriously?” Dax scoffs. “The end of the world?”

“Obviously,” Branwen responds dryly. “Famines, earthquakes, tsunamis. The Bible’s really into the whole trumpets-before-the-end thing. But regardless, that’s just one theory. If you ask me, they were actually watching for non-secular entities. More fairy tale and less fire and brimstone—to put a not-at-all-accurate, new age spin on it.”

Kane hums. “Aye, I’ve heard tales of the Fae Folk.”