FIGHT OR FLIGHT
The sound reached Neart minutes later.
Indira was laughing, low, musical, the kind that carried, when the first trumpet cut through it.
It was distant, carried on the cold Neart wind, but unmistakable. A deep, resonant bellow that rolled across the hills like approaching thunder. Rebekah's hands froze mid-knead. Indira's laughter died. A second trumpet answered the first, then a third, the calls cascading and multiplying, spreading across the county like wildfire.
"What is that?" Samantha asked, the bread forgotten in her hand.
Rebekah's face had gone white. She knew that sound. She'd grown up on Aelin hearing it during preparedness exercises, had drilled with the civilian population, understood exactly what it meant. "Sentry trumpets," she said, her voice stripped bare. "Full mobilization."
"Full..." Samantha looked between them. "What does that mean?"
"It means Aelin thinks it's under attack." Indira was already on her feet, the color draining from her face. "Connor..."
"Erik," Rebekah whispered at the same time. She was gripping the edge of the counter, her knuckles white against the flour-dusted wood.
Outside, the village was already responding. Shutters slammed closed. People moved quickly toward designated shelter areas, their faces tight with controlled fear. A group of soldiers jogged past the bakery window, weapons drawn, heading for the county border.
"We need to get back to Harmonytis," Indira said, her voice steady despite the terror in her eyes. "The portal..."
"The portals lock down during mobilization," Rebekah said. She was already untying her apron, pulling it over her head with shaking hands and tossing it on the counter. "Standard protocol. Military controls all transit during a full alert."
Samantha's heart was hammering. "So, we're stuck here?"
"For now." Rebekah looked at both of them, and beneath her fear, Samantha saw something she recognized: the same steel she'd seen in Indira the night she'd fetched her from Léirstinach to help Connor. These women didn't crumble. They endured. "We wait. We stay calm. And we trust that if something has gone wrong, our men are handling it."
"And if they can't handle it?" Samantha asked quietly.
Rebekah met her eyes. "Then we handle ourselves. This bakery has a cellar, reinforced walls, and enough bread to last a siege. I've been preparing for this since I opened. Come."
She led them down a narrow staircase behind the ovens to a cellar that was surprisingly well-stocked: water, blankets, a small lantern, and yes, an absurd amount of bread. They sat on flour sacks in the lamplight, three women listening to the trumpets echo across Neart, each one silently praying for a man she loved.
Indira's hands were clasped together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. "If the shard activated, if something triggered it, Connor could be..."
"Don't," Rebekah said firmly. "Don't imagine the worst until you know the worst. That is how you lose your mind."
"Is that something they teach in Israel?" Samantha asked.
Rebekah's mouth twitched despite everything. "That is something my grandmother taught me. She survived things that would break most people, and she told me: worry is just suffering in advance. Save your strength for what's real."
They waited.
Back in Harmonytis, the crisis was far from over.
Colin caught up with him two portals later, on the highest tower. Wind whipped at them, cold and sharp. Ricky was backed against a stone gargoyle, his chest heaving, his eyes unfocused. Nowhere left to run.
Colin emerged from the portal, gasping for air, his hands up in a placating gesture. "Ricky," he said, keeping his voice as calm as he could manage. "It's Colin. Whatever you're seeing isn't real."
Ricky's gaze fixed on something just behind Colin. Something massive. Something with too many teeth. "Colin, help me!" he screamed.
Colin took a step forward. "I'm right here. I'll help you. Just..."
"No!" Ricky's expression twisted into betrayal and rage. The thing behind Colin, in Ricky's terrified mind, reached through Colin, merged with him, consumed him. "You're with it! You ARE it!"
He lunged.
Colin had a split second to brace himself before Ricky slammed into him. They grappled on the narrow ledge, dangerously close to the edge. Ricky's fist connected with Colin's jaw. Then his ribs. Colin wrapped his arms around Ricky, trying to restrain him without hurting him.
"Ricky! Look at me! Really look at me! There's nothing behind me!"
But Ricky was beyond hearing. Beyond seeing. They fought, human strength against human strength, desperation against desperation. Colin took blow after blow, never letting go, never striking back.
And then Ricky changed.
One moment Colin was grappling with a terrified man. The next, he was facing two hundred pounds of sleek, black panther.
The transformation was Ricky's preferred form, the shape his Sentinel powers gravitated toward naturally. But now, under the elixir's influence, it wasn't a tactical choice but pure instinct. Fight or flight, and flight had failed. So now: fight.
The panther's deep blue eyes, still Ricky's eyes but wild and feral, fixed on Colin. A low growl rumbled from its chest.
"Ricky," Colin said, his voice remarkably steady despite his thundering heart. "I know you're in there. I know you're scared. But it's me. It's Colin."
The panther lunged.
Colin threw himself to the side, barely avoiding claws that would have opened his chest. He rolled, came up on his feet, and found himself backed against the tower's edge. The panther stalked toward him, muscles rippling under midnight-black fur, tail lashing.
This was how people died. This was how loyal aides became statistics. Colin knew it. But he didn't run. Didn't try to fight back. Just stood there, hands out, speaking in that same steady voice.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not the enemy. You're safe, Ricky. You're safe."
The panther crouched, preparing to spring. Its haunches bunched. Its claws extended.
And then something changed. The blue eyes flickered. The growl faltered. The perfect predator posture wavered.
The elixir was losing its grip.
The panther's form blurred, shimmered, and suddenly Ricky was human again, mid-lunge, off-balance, tumbling forward. Colin caught him before he could fall, and they both collapsed onto the stone roof in a tangle of limbs.
Ricky's transformation back wasn't graceful. It was abrupt, disorienting, leaving him gasping and shaking. He just lay there, trying to understand what had happened, where he was, why his body felt wrong.
Then he looked at Colin. At Colin's torn clothes. At the claw marks on his arm, shallow, thank God, but there. At the bruises forming on his face.
"Colin?" Ricky's voice was barely a whisper. He looked down at his own hands, human hands, not paws, but he could still feel the phantom of claws. "What... what did I..."
He remembered fragments. The terror. The chase. Fighting Colin. And then, oh God, the shift. He'd shifted. He'd become the panther. He'd attacked Colin not as a man but as a predator.
The realization crashed over him like a physical blow. His face crumpled. "No. No, no, no. I didn't... I couldn't have..."
But the claw marks on Colin's arm said otherwise.
The confusion, the horror, the weight of what he'd nearly done, it was too much. Ricky broke. Past crying, breaking, his whole body shaking with gut-wrenching sobs. He curled in on himself, overwhelmed.
Colin moved immediately, pulling Ricky into a protective embrace despite his own injuries. He wrapped his arms around him, one hand cradling the back of Ricky's head, shielding him from the wind and the truth and his own guilt.
"I'm here," Colin murmured. "It's okay. I'm right here. You're safe." He repeated it like a mantra, holding Ricky together while he came apart.
"I could have killed you," Ricky choked out between sobs. "I shifted. I went full panther. I tried to..."
"But you didn't," Colin said firmly. "You came back. You're here. You're Ricky again. I know it was the elixir and not you."
They stayed like that on the rooftop, Colin holding Ricky while the last of the elixir burned through his system and reality slowly, painfully, reasserted itself. The memory of what he'd become, what he'd nearly done, would haunt Ricky for a long time. But Colin's steady presence, his refusal to let go even when faced with claws and fangs, would haunt him too. In a better way.
Below them, across all of Aelin, the Sentry trumpets continued to sound.
Sidney led Erik to his chambers, keeping a firm but gentle hand on the massive Warrior's arm. Erik moved compliantly, but his electric blue eyes kept darting to things only he could see. The corridor seemed to stretch and warp. Shadows flickered at the edges of his vision. Sounds echoed strangely.
"Erik," Sidney's voice was calm and direct. "Look at me. Don't look at the walls. Just focus on me."
Erik tried. But as they passed servants in the hallway, he could swear he heard them whispering.
Look at him. The Warrior, barely affected. Not strong enough. Not a real brother. What good is he?
Once in his chambers, Sidney closed the door and guided Erik to sit. The chair creaked under the Warrior's weight: six-foot-six, 240 pounds of muscle and bone. But right now, Erik looked smaller. Diminished.
And then Sidney heard it. Distant but unmistakable. The deep, resonant call of the Sentry trumpets.
His head snapped toward the window. The sound came again, and again, spreading across the island. Full mobilization. Someone had given the order.
Sidney's mind raced. Ricky must have been seen. The military didn't know about the elixir. They thought Aelin was under attack. And Erik, the High General, was in no condition to respond.
"Sidney?" Erik's voice was small, confused. "What's that sound?"
"The trumpets," Sidney said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Just... just focus on me, Erik. Everything else can wait."
But Erik's confusion was already giving way to something else. The elixir worked differently in his system. With less of the hallucinogenic compound, it couldn't create elaborate visions. Instead, it amplified emotion.
"I'm not..." His voice cracked. "I'm not strong enough."
"Erik..."
"I took barely any of it." His massive hands were shaking, those hands that could lift boulders, that had the Warrior's superhuman strength, trembling like leaves. "Everyone else is fighting for their lives and I... I can't even... what use am I?"
The trumpets sounded again. Louder. More insistent.
Sidney moved to kneel in front of him. "That's not true. The dose size doesn't..."
"I'm supposed to be the Warrior!" Erik's voice rose, raw with emotion. "I'm supposed to protect them! I'm the High General of Aelin's forces! And I can't even..." His breath hitched. "I'm useless. I'm always useless. They don't need me. They'd be better without me."
And then he saw it. Not a hallucination like his brothers were experiencing, but a vision born of his own amplified fears: his brothers on a battlefield, fighting brilliantly, winning decisively. And him? Nowhere to be found. Not there. Not needed. The Brotherhood functioning perfectly without their Warrior.
The first tear broke free. Then another. And then Erik, the gentle giant, the quiet strength, the Warrior who never showed weakness, broke.
He buried his face in his hands, and his whole body shook with sobs. They came from somewhere deep, somewhere he usually kept locked away. Years of feeling like he wasn't smart enough, wasn't quick enough, wasn't anything enough compared to his brilliant brothers. All of it surfacing at once.
"I try so hard," he choked out. "I train. I study. I work. But I'm always just... the muscle. The backup. The one they don't really need."
The trumpets continued their relentless call. Sidney could feel the weight of it: the entire island mobilizing, waiting for orders from their High General. Orders that weren't coming.
But right now, Erik needed him more than the army did.
"Erik," Sidney said gently. "Erik, look at me."
Erik raised his head. His steel blue eyes were red-rimmed, swimming with tears. His face, that broad, square-jawed Scandinavian face that usually held the stillness of a man who never needed to prove anything, was crumpled with grief.
"Name three times your presence in battle made the difference between victory and defeat," Sidney said.
"I don't..."
"Three battles. Name them."
Erik's voice was barely above a whisper. "Benowen Castle...The Wrought..."
"You killed a ton of the bloody buggers, ya did! You kept the others from being attacked several times in the fight. Keep going!"
"Against Sorienne...when she kidnapped Connor," Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. "Connor was so broken. I broke the chains and held onto him...got him out."
"You freed him and helped him come home. One more."
Erik's breath hitched, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Pincher Creek... we had to save Jace from those bastards who killed him. I wanted to kill them for it!"
"You didn't kill them, but you sure threw them about like rag dolls," Sidney said firmly. "Not backup. Not just muscle. You were essential. Irreplaceable."
The vision of his brothers succeeding without him flickered, wavered, began to dissolve. But the emotions were still too strong, too overwhelming. Erik couldn't stop crying. The tears kept coming, years of buried inadequacy pouring out.
"I just want to be enough," he sobbed. "I just want to matter."
"You are enough," Sidney said, and there was steel in his voice now. "You matter more than you know. Do you think I'd be here if you didn't? Do you think your brothers would trust you with their lives if you were useless?"
"I don't know," Erik admitted, his voice breaking. "I don't know anymore."
Sidney reached up and gripped Erik's shoulders, as much of them as he could reach. "Then let me know for you. You are the Warrior for a reason. You are the High General for a reason. You are essential to this Brotherhood. Not despite who you are. Because of who you are."
The words cut through the elixir's lies like a blade. Erik's breathing steadied, though the tears still came. The trumpets continued their call outside, but gradually, slowly, Erik surfaced from the emotional storm.
Sidney didn't try to stop the tears. He just stayed there, hands on Erik's shoulders, grounding him, until the Warrior could breathe again without sobbing.
"I'm sorry," Erik said finally, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to..."
"Don't," Sidney said firmly. "Don't apologize for being human."
And then Erik's head lifted sharply as the sound finally registered with clarity. "Oh shit! The Army!"
Sidney nodded grimly. "The trumpets have been blaring for over an hour."
Horror and understanding flooded Erik's face. The entire island had mobilized. Civilians in shelters. Military deployed. All because someone had seen Ricky fleeing in terror and assumed the worst. And their High General had been unavailable, crying in his chambers while Aelin prepared for war.
"I have to..." Erik started to stand, then wavered. His face was still tear-streaked, his eyes red and swollen.
"Easy," Sidney said, steadying him. "Let's get you cleaned up first. Can't address your generals looking like this."
They moved to the washbasin. Erik splashed cold water on his face, trying to erase the evidence of his breakdown. Sidney helped him straighten his leathers, tie back his golden hair. The Warrior was still emotionally raw, exhausted, but he was pulling himself together with visible effort.
"Ready?" Sidney asked.
Erik took a deep breath and nodded.
The command center was a flurry of activity. Senior generals stood around a map table, markers positioned, reports coming in. Every head turned when Erik appeared, and the relief on their faces was plain.
"High General!" The most senior officer strode forward. "We've been trying to reach you for over an hour. The Sentinel was observed fleeing through the barracks in a state of panic. We mobilized immediately but have had no contact with the Brotherhood, no response from your chambers, and the King's residence has been silent. What's our situation?"
Erik's jaw tightened. These were his officers. His generals. They deserved the truth.
"There is no external threat to Aelin," he said, his voice steady despite his exhaustion. "This was... an internal incident. The Conjurer was testing an experimental elixir. The wrong formula was administered. It temporarily affected the Brotherhood. Ricky's reaction, his panic, was a result of that elixir, not an enemy attack."
The generals exchanged glances. One of them spoke carefully. "Sir, with respect... are the effects over? Should we be concerned about further incidents?"
Erik met his eyes. "I'm not certain they're fully over yet. The elixir was designed to exploit fears and amplify them. Each member of the Brotherhood reacted differently. I cannot guarantee there won't be residual effects."
Erik issued the stand-down order and stayed long enough to see it received. Then he went to find his brothers.
Because until morning, until they were all together and confirmed whole, no one could be completely certain the crisis was over.
Yara moved with practiced efficiency, guiding Jace through the corridors toward the King's private residence. To anyone watching, she appeared calm. But her heart raced. She'd seen the change in his amber-gold eyes, and how his empathy, usually so carefully controlled, had begun to surge beyond his control.
They made it to his chambers just as the full weight of the elixir hit him.
Jace's empathy was both his greatest gift and his greatest vulnerability. He'd spent years learning to master it, to control the constant flood of others' emotions. He'd learned over time how to channel it deliberately rather than be buffeted by it, to use it with precision instead of drowning in it.
But the elixir did more than amplify his empathy. It twisted it. Made him see it as the threat. Made him think the only way to beat it was to master it completely. To take control. To conquer.
Yara turned from closing the door to find Jace staring at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. His eyes weren't quite focused. His empathy was reading her: every emotion, every buried feeling, every secret fantasy she'd ever had about him.
"Your Majesty," she said carefully. "The elixir is affecting you. You need to..."
He crossed the distance between them in three strides. His hand came up to cup her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone, and even that simple touch sent a wave of sensation through her that made her knees weak. His empathy, uncontrolled, was broadcasting directly into her nervous system.
Then he kissed her.
There was nothing gentle in it. It was fierce, demanding, claiming. His empathy flooded her with sensation: his desire and hers both, reflected back and amplified. Every fantasy she'd carefully locked away, torn open at once. She felt what he felt, and he felt what she felt, creating a feedback loop of escalating need.
When he pulled back, she was breathless, her mind reeling. She knew, she knew, that this wasn't really him. This was the elixir making him see his own power as something to be conquered, and her as the battlefield.
"Jason," she tried, using his full name deliberately, hoping to break through. "This isn't you. You're fighting yourself..."
"I know exactly what I'm doing," he said, and his voice was wrong. Too certain. Too aggressive. Definitely not the Jason Elias she knew. But his hands on her were skilled, devastating, reading her responses with preternatural accuracy. This was a man who'd learned to master his empathy through using it to enhance sexual pleasure, and was only something he'd ever use when the moment was just right. The elixir had convinced him that the only way to conquer this part of himself was to conquer the desire of the one feeling it for him. What he felt from Yara was fear, but also desire...a great deal of it. He felt the uncertainty in her, as if she was warring with herself inside.
His lips found her throat, and the empathic sensation of it, the doubled feeling of being kissed and kissing simultaneously, nearly buckled her knees. He caught her, supporting her weight easily as his mouth traveled lower.
Yara's mind raced even as her body responded. She could resist. Should resist. But she'd seen what happened when people fought the elixir-affected too hard. And Jace's power was different. If she fought him, would his empathy make it worse? Would it escalate?
She made her decision in a heartbeat: guide him through it rather than fight him into something worse. And beneath the fear, beneath the knowledge that this was wrong, there was truth: she'd wanted this. Not quite like this, but she had fantasies about Jace. She'd wanted him. Her body was telling her that she still did. He smelled wonderful, looked at her with a smoldering gaze that had purpose, and had her thoughts racing about just how he planned to conquer her.
His empathy caught those thoughts, amplified them, and went with it. He guided her backward toward the bed, his touch both demanding and precise. He knew, his power told him, exactly where to touch, how much pressure, what would make her gasp and what would make her melt.
"Let go," he murmured against her skin, and the empathic weight behind the words was nearly a command. "Just feel."
And God help her, she did.
Not submission. Strategy. She met his intensity with her own, matching him rather than resisting, using the connection to gentle the edges of his aggression. If he was going to conquer, she would show him how to do it without destroying them both.
What followed was intense beyond anything she'd imagined. Jace's training meant that even compromised, even aggressive, he knew how to use his empathy to create sensation. Every touch was amplified. Every kiss sent waves of pleasure through both of them. His hands moved with confidence born of empathic feedback: reading her, adjusting, overwhelming her with precision.
The conquest was thorough. Relentless. He took her apart with practiced skill, his empathy telling him exactly how close she was, exactly when to push, when to hold back, when to give her what she needed before she even knew she needed it. It was possession, claiming, a demonstration of complete mastery.
And it was extraordinary.
But then, gradually, something changed.
The elixir's grip loosened. The frantic, combative energy faded. Jace's empathy, still heightened but returning to something like control, shifted from domination to connection.
His touches gentled. His kisses deepened but softened. The aggressive edge melted away, replaced by something tender and present. He was still reading her, still using his empathy, but now it was a conversation rather than a conquest. Give and take. Mutual rather than one-sided.
He murmured her name, actually her name, not generic endearments, and looked at her with eyes that were clearing, becoming his own again. His hand came up to cup her face with such gentleness it made her throat tight.
"Yara," he breathed, and this time there was question in it. Concern. The beginning of horror. Yara touched his lips with her fingers quickly.
"Don't stop," she whispered, surprising herself. Because this, this gentle, connected version of him, was somehow even more intense than the aggressive conquest had been. "Please don't stop."
What came next was different. Still passionate, still overwhelming, but tender in a way that made her chest ache. He made love to her with attention and care, his empathy now used to cherish rather than dominate. Every touch was a question she could answer. Every sensation was shared rather than inflicted.
It was, impossibly, even better than before.
By the time the elixir released him fully, they were tangled together, breathless and trembling. Jace's mind had cleared completely, and the full weight of what had happened crashed over him like a wave.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes wide with dawning horror. "Yara," he breathed, his voice breaking. "Oh God. What did I..."
She caught his face in her hands before he could spiral. "Look at me," she said firmly. "Really look at me."
He did. His empathy, now back under control, could read her clearly. And what he found there wasn't trauma or regret. It was satisfaction. Warmth. Something dangerously close to tenderness.
"Don't," she said softly. "Don't apologize. Don't spiral into guilt. Just... listen to me."
Jace sat up slowly, pulling a blanket around both of them, his hands still shaking.
"Yara, I... you're my subject. I'm your king. I had no right to..."
"You weren't yourself," she interrupted. "We both know that. The elixir made you aggressive; made you see it as conquest. But Jason... I made the choice to let you," She waited until he met her eyes. "To guide you from doing anything that could harm you or anyone else. And because of that, you just gave me the most incredible experience of my life."
He stared at her, uncomprehending.
"Both parts of it," she continued, her voice steady even as her cheeks flushed. "The conquest and the tenderness. I've had a crush on you since the day we met. I've had my own fantasies. And tonight, even though you weren't in full control at first, even though the elixir made you aggressive... you still made me feel amazing. Your empathy, your training, you didn't hurt me. You overwhelmed me. And then, when you came back to yourself, you made it even better."
"That doesn't make it okay," he said, his voice tight with anguish. "You couldn't fully consent. Not when I was using my empathy like that."
"You're right," she agreed. "It's complicated, and I'm not saying it was okay. But I'm also not sorry it happened. And I'm telling you, I need you to hear this, you didn't ruin me. You didn't break me. I'm here. I'm fine. Better than fine. And I'm telling you not to carry guilt for this."
Jace was silent, processing. His empathy could feel the truth of what she was saying. She genuinely wasn't traumatized. She genuinely wasn't lying to make him feel better. If anything, she was... content. Satisfied. Glowing in a way that made his chest tight with conflicting emotions.
It didn't erase his guilt entirely, but it blunted its edge.
"I know my place," Yara said softly. "I'm a subject of Aelin. You're my king. This can't happen again, and I wouldn't ask for it to. But I wanted you to know... it meant something to me. The conquest and the tenderness both. And I'll carry it as a good memory, not a bad one."
Jace pulled her into an embrace that was completely different from any touch that had come before. Gentle. Protective. Grateful. He buried his face in her hair, holding her close.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For trying to help me. For not letting me destroy myself. For... for everything."
They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other while the last traces of the elixir faded and reality fully reasserted itself. What had happened was complicated, ethically murky in ways neither of them would fully untangle. But it was also, somehow, survivable. More than that, it had created a bond between them that neither would ever quite be able to explain to anyone else.
A secret they would carry together, tucked close to their hearts. The night a king lost control and found tenderness. The night an aide gave freely and discovered what it meant to be truly seen.
In Neart, the trumpet pattern changed.
Rebekah's head snapped up from where she'd been sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees. "All-clear," she breathed. "Stand down, maintain readiness. That's... that's the all-clear."
Indira's eyes filled with tears she'd been holding back. Samantha exhaled so hard her vision blurred.
"We need to get back," Indira said, wiping her face. "Now."
The portals reopened within the hour. The three of them stepped through into Harmonytis together, Rebekah still dusted in flour from her forearms to her elbows, Indira clutching her vine basket like a lifeline, Samantha's heart in her throat.
The Royal Castle was in quiet chaos. Servants moved with hushed urgency. Repair crews were already assessing damage to corridors and chambers. A window in the West Wing had been blown out. Scorch marks darkened a hallway near Nathan's workshop.
Sidney found them in the main corridor, his face drawn with exhaustion. He looked at all three women and something in his expression eased, relief, maybe, that they hadn't been in the castle when it happened.
"What happened?" Samantha demanded.
"The wrong elixir," Sidney said simply. "Nathan's aide grabbed the wrong vial. The Brotherhood drank a formula designed to weaponize fear. It hit all five of them at once."
Indira pressed her hand to her mouth. "Connor..."
"He's in his chambers. Leo is with him. He's..." Sidney hesitated. "He's through the worst of it. But it was bad, Indira. His powers went wild. Leo took some hits."
Indira was already moving. She didn't run, she was too controlled for that, but her pace left no question about where she was going.
Rebekah looked at Sidney. "Erik?"
"Exhausted. Emotionally raw. But he's the one who stood the army down. He addressed his generals, gave the all-clear order. He held it together when it mattered." Sidney's voice softened. "He'll want to see you."
Rebekah nodded once and headed after Indira, her flour-dusted arms folded across her chest, moving toward Erik's chambers with the quiet determination of a woman who'd spent hours in a cellar listening to war trumpets and refusing to break.
Samantha stood in the corridor, watching them go. Two women walking toward two men who needed them.
"And Jace?" she asked Sidney.
Something flickered across Sidney's face, a shadow of something Samantha couldn't read. "He's in his chambers. Yara handled it."
The way he said handled it, careful, neutral, carrying weight, told Samantha there was more to that story. But Sidney's expression made it clear that tonight was not the night to ask.
"He's okay?" she pressed.
"He will be." Sidney put a hand on her shoulder. "They all will be. But tonight, let them rest. Tomorrow, they'll need us."
Samantha nodded. She went to the guest quarters they'd given her and sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, listening to the castle settle around her. Through the stone walls, she could hear nothing. No screams. No crashes. No trumpets. Just silence, and the faint sound of her own breathing.
She thought about what Rebekah had said in the cellar. Her grandmother's words. Worry is just suffering in advance. Save your strength for what's real.
Tomorrow would be real enough.
Dawn broke over the Royal Castle of Elders, illuminating the aftermath of the longest night anyone could remember.
The Brotherhood gathered in a smaller council room, not the Great Hall, which still had splinters where the furniture had been and scorch marks where the friction of flying objects had burned the stone. They looked like they'd been through a war. Which they had. Just not one with an enemy anyone could point to.
Connor sat with his bandaged hands folded on the table, his long dark ringlets falling forward to partially hide his face. He couldn't quite meet anyone's eyes. The memory of what he'd become, what his powers had done to Leo, sat heavy on him, made heavier by the trauma of the abduction by Sorienne in Houston, the violations he'd already endured. Leo stood behind him, bruised but present, his loyalty unshaken despite everything.
Ricky looked exhausted, dark circles under his deep blue eyes, his usually vibrant personality muted. Colin stood beside him with bandaged claw marks on his arm, shallow, thank God, but there. Every so often, Ricky would glance at Colin as if reassuring himself that he was real, that Colin was still there despite what Ricky had become.
Nathan sat with Galena beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm despite the bandaging on her palm where his fire had burned her. He hadn't slept. His chambers would need significant repair from the elemental damage. But Galena was alive. They were all alive.
Erik appeared exhausted in a different way, not only physically but emotionally. His electric blue eyes were still slightly red-rimmed, though he'd done his best to hide it. Sidney stood nearby, a quiet, steady presence. The island was on elevated alert but no longer mobilized. Erik had handled that the night before, but the weight of it showed.
And Jace... Jace sat at the head of the table with a carefully neutral expression, his long dark hair pulled back from his face. Yara stood with the other aides, and if anyone noticed how they didn't look at each other, they had the grace not to mention it.
Samantha stood near the doorway with Indira and Rebekah, the three of them having arrived together at first light. Indira had spent the night in Connor's chambers, holding him while the last of the elixir's poison drained from his system. Rebekah had sat with Erik until he'd finally fallen asleep, his massive hand clutching hers like a child's. And Samantha... Samantha had come because she needed to see all of them alive. She needed to see it with her own eyes.
She took in the room in silence. The bandages on Leo's face. The claw marks on Colin's arm. The burn on Galena's hand. The red rims of Erik's eyes and the haunted set of Connor's shoulders and the careful blankness on Jace's face that she was learning to read as pain held at arm's length. These men had survived something terrible, and the evidence was written across every person in the room.
Matthew broke the silence. He'd been standing in the corner, pale and shaking, since they'd all arrived.
"I am so sorry," he said, his voice breaking. "I should have labeled the vials. I should have been more careful. I nearly... all of you could have... and the island..." He couldn't finish.
Nathan looked up at his assistant. "Matthew. Did you grab the wrong vial on purpose?"
"What? No! Of course not!"
"Did you intend for any of this to happen?"
"Never. I would never..."
"Then you made a mistake," Nathan said simply. "A mistake with terrible consequences, yes. But a mistake nonetheless. We'll implement new protocols. Label everything. Triple-check before any presentation. But Matthew..." He stood and crossed to his assistant. "You didn't fail me. You made an error. There's a difference."
Matthew's eyes filled with tears of relief and residual guilt. "Thank you. I swear, I'll never let something like this happen again."
"I know you won't," Nathan said.
Connor cleared his throat. "I need to say something."
Everyone turned to look at him.
"Leo, I..." His voice caught. "My powers. I could have killed you with my mind. Thrown you from the tower. Made you see things that drove you mad. And you stayed. After everything I've already been through with Sorienne, I thought I knew what it meant to lose control. But this was different. This was me becoming the threat. And you still didn't leave. I don't know how to repay that."
Leo's expression was gentle. "You don't have to repay it, Connor. That's not how this works. You'd do the same for me."
"I would," Connor agreed. "But that doesn't make what you did any less extraordinary."
Ricky spoke next, his voice quiet but steady. "Colin chased me through half the castle. I tried to run from him. I fought him. I shifted into the panther and tried to kill him with claws and fangs."
His voice broke slightly.
"And he never stopped trying to help me. I caused the entire island to mobilize. I made everyone think we were under attack. And Colin just... he stayed."
Colin's eyes were suspiciously bright, but he just nodded, one hand unconsciously touching the bandaged claw marks.
Erik spoke up, his voice still slightly rough. "I want to apologize to the island. The army responded exactly as they should have. When they saw our Sentinel fleeing in terror, they did what they were trained to do. I briefed the senior command last night. They understand what happened. But Aelin deserves better than to be mobilized because we couldn't control ourselves."
"You handled it," Jace said firmly. "You stood the army down, you kept them ready in case it wasn't over, and you were honest with your command. That's all anyone could ask for."
"The elixir worked," Nathan said after a moment.
"Not the way it was supposed to, obviously. But it worked. It found our deepest fears and weaponized them. Which means, once I perfect the proper version, we'll have something truly devastating for our enemies."
"No guilt?" Erik asked quietly.
Nathan shook his head. "Guilt over what? The elixir itself isn't evil. It has a purpose. What happened was an accident caused by circumstances beyond my control. I'm frustrated, yes. Angry at myself for not insisting Matthew label everything immediately, yes. But guilty? No. The weapon works. We just need to make sure it's used on the right people."
Jace, who had been silent through most of it, spoke.
"What happened to each of us... it revealed things. Truths we might not have wanted to face. Nathan's fear of failing us, manifested in elemental chaos. Connor's terror of his powers becoming weapons against those he loves, compounded by what he's already survived. Ricky's vulnerability turning him literally into the predator he feared becoming. Erik's self-doubt despite being our Warrior and High General. And mine..."
He paused.
"My struggle with empathy and control."
"We're stronger for having survived it," Sidney said. "Not in spite of what happened. Because of it. We know our limits now. We know what we're capable of at our worst. And we know who stays by our sides even then."
The truth of that settled over the room. They had survived. Not unscathed, but survived. And the bonds that had been forged in that crucible of fear and vulnerability were stronger than any that had come before.
"So, what now?" Connor asked.
"Now," Jace said, "we rest. We heal. We implement Nathan's new protocols. We allow the island to fully stand down. And we remember that even at our worst, we're still Brothers. Still family. And that means something."
As the meeting dispersed, Galena caught Yara's eye across the room. There was a question there, unspoken but clear. Yara gave her a small, reassuring nod.
I'm okay. We're okay.
Galena nodded back, accepting it without prying. Some things were private, meant to be held close, known only to those who lived them.
Indira went straight to Connor. She took his hand and said nothing, just stood beside him, her presence a steady warmth against the cold spot in his chest that had been stirred by the elixir's assault. He leaned into her, and some of the tension left his shoulders.
Rebekah crossed the room to Erik. The massive Warrior looked down at her, this woman who barely came up to his chest, who'd spent the night of the crisis sitting in a bakery cellar refusing to break, and his eyes filled with fresh tears he couldn't hide.
"Don't you dare apologize," Rebekah said firmly, reaching up to cup his face with both hands. "You stood your army down. You told your generals the truth. You were brave."
"I cried in my chambers while the island mobilized," he said hoarsely.
"And then you got up and did your job. That's what courage is." She pulled him down and kissed his forehead. "Now come. I brought bread."
From the doorway, Samantha watched it all. Indira anchoring Connor. Rebekah steadying Erik. Galena tending Nathan's guilt. The aides standing behind the men they'd nearly died protecting. She watched Jace sit alone at the head of the table after everyone else had started to drift away, his amber-gold eyes distant, his hands utterly still in his lap.
She crossed the room and sat down beside him. Not touching or speaking. Just present.
Jace glanced at her. She saw the question in his eyes: how much do you know? She answered it with silence. Whatever had happened with Yara, whatever was behind Sidney's careful phrasing and how Jace wouldn't meet his aide's eyes, Samantha would learn about it when the time was right. Not today. Today, he just needed someone to sit with him who wasn't carrying guilt or bandages or secrets.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
He was quiet for a long time. Then: "I will be."
She nodded. "Good enough for now."
They sat together in the council room while the castle slowly came back to life around them: the sound of hammers repairing damage, servants sweeping debris, the low murmur of an island exhaling after holding its breath all night. Neither of them spoke again. Neither of them needed to.
The Brotherhood left the castle that day changed. Marked by what they'd endured: an entire island had mobilized, civilians had sheltered, and five of the most powerful beings in Aelin had faced their worst fears made manifest.
But they left together. The women who loved them walked beside them.