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My hands steady as the whispers vanish. Finally, the only voice in my head is mine.

36

DARIUS

The cabin feels different now—less like a haunted shrine to my past and more like a sanctuary we've claimed together. Serenity curls against my side on the worn leather couch, her head on my shoulder, dark hair spilling across my chest. The fireplace crackles softly, casting warm light over walls that once held only ghosts.

“Turn it up,” she murmurs, her eyes remaining firmly shut as the Paranormal News Network’s evening broadcast flickers on the ancient television.

I adjust the volume with the remote while keeping my other arm wrapped around her. We've been doing this for three days now—watching the world rebuild itself from the comfort of this place that finally feels like home instead of a mausoleum.

"—third consecutive day of reconstruction efforts in Chicago's supernatural district," the reporter announces, her perfectly coiffed hair unmoving despite the wind behind her. "Paranormal authorities report that memory modification spells have been successfully deployed across human populations, with the blood moon incident being attributed to a rare atmospheric phenomenon combined with widespread electrical failures."

Serenity snorts against my shoulder. "Atmospheric phenomenon, right. Because that explains all the melted concrete and mysteriously healed civilians."

"Humans believe what they want to believe," I point out, kissing the top of her head. "Makes it easier for everyone."

The broadcast switches to footage of construction crews—mostly shifters and earth elementals—rebuilding damaged storefronts effortlessly. Broken windows repair themselves under carefully controlled spells while debris flows into neat piles that dissolve into nothing.

“In uplifting news, medical personnel confirm that all rescued descendants of the founding bloodlines are in stable condition. The newly reformed council has guaranteed their permanent protection, relocating them to secure safe houses and ending the century-long hunt for their magic," the anchor reports.

"Meanwhile, sources confirm that several previously hostile paranormal factions have begun peace negotiations following the crisis. The vampire council has extended formal apologies to the shapeshifter alliance, while several independent witch covens have offered resource-sharing agreements. In a sweeping raid early this morning, joint task forces of PA officers executed warrants at the PGC headquarters, arresting twelve council members tied directly to Crescentfall Holdings. Interim leaders have already stepped in, publicly announcing mandatory independent audits and strict term limits to root out the remaining corruption. The PA also formally confirmed the deaths of disgraced councilman Gideon Night and cult leader Malachai Vey in the collapsed subterranean chamber. Furthermore, joint task forces of PA officers alongside shifters and vampires are actively hunting down and arresting the scattered remnants of the Order’s underground army."

My phone buzzes against the coffee table. Kellan's name appears on the screen. “Don't answer it,” Serenity says, remaining perfectly motionless.

"Could be important."

She groans softly, burying her face in my shoulder. "Everything's important to Kellan. That's his problem."

I answer anyway, putting the call on speaker. "What?"

"Good to hear your voice too, sunshine. Just thought you'd want to know—three more rogue packs reached out today. Seems word's getting around that the big bad wolf actually has a conscience after all."

"I'm on sabbatical," I tell him flatly.

"Sure you are. That's why Lynn's been fielding calls from half the supernatural community asking when Morvane Protective Solutions is reopening for business."

Serenity lifts her head, meeting my gaze with one eyebrow raised in question.

"They can wait," I say into the phone.

"Can they? Because releasing those encrypted council files did exactly what we hoped. Gideon Night's treason is front-page news. With his signature on all those dark money transfers and the orders authorizing the coven's ambushes, the PGC officially ruled his death a justified combat casualty. You're cleared, brother. But it also means bad guys everywhere know the council is rebuilding, and they think it's open season."

"Then the good guys better step up," I counter.

Kellan chuckles through the speaker. "Spoken like a man who's definitely not planning to step up himself."

I sigh and reach for the end-call button. "Goodbye, Kellan."

"Wait—before you hang up on me again, there's something else. The Crowe estate called. Estella would like to talk to you."

Serenity's expression hardens into an unreadable mask. "Tell my aunt I'm busy."

"She can hear you, sweetheart," Kellan points out. "You're on speaker."

"Good," she shoots back without missing a single beat. "Then she heard me the first time."

Before I can hit the end call button, Estella's crisp voice replaces Kellan's casual drawl over the speaker.