The Firefly’s Burden

The SUV hits a pothole hard enough to rattle my teeth, then fishtails before the brakes finally catch.

I’m already moving.

Door open, boots on cracked asphalt, cold air icing the inside of my lungs as I hit the ground running. The slam of the door behind me comes a half-second too late, like the world is lagging and my body refused to wait.

Industrial district nights always smell the same—oil, exhaust, old rain that never really dries. Tonight it smells wrong.

Metallic. Electric. Like the air is chewing on tinfoil and lightning at the same time.

The warehouse looms ahead of us—another slab of concrete and corrugated metal, windows blacked out, rust creeping along the seams. Ordinary, if you didn’t know how to look.

I know how to look.

There—along the edges of the roofline, tracing the loading dock doors, laced through the gutters. Wards. Thin, silvery lines that cling to the structure like spiderwebs, barely visible unless you catch them at the right angle. They hum in the back of my teeth, a high, needling vibration.

She’s in there.

The thought doesn’t feel like a thought. It feels like a fact. A pressure under my ribs beating out a steady, frantic rhythm.

SUV doors are opening behind me—slam, slam, slam.

Rori hits the ground next, boots crunching over gravel. She comes up at my shoulder like she’s attached there, hand already raised, scanning the building with a guard’s eye. Kael follows, a fraction slower—bandages peeking under her collar, jaw clenched, but armor on and weapon belted like she dares anyone to tell her she can’t fight.

Naomi and Kess move together, side by side—Naomi’s breath coming out in pale plumes, Kess rolling her shoulders, neck, wrists, the easy predator looseness that means she’s ready to break something. Althaea and Aevryn close the line, their steps quieter, eyes already tracking angles, cover, routes in and out.

Seven of us against a facility full of Shroud.

Fine.

“Eyes up,” Rori says, voice low, professional. “We go quiet—”

“We go fast,” I cut in.

Everyone looks at me.

Rori’s mouth tightens, but she doesn’t argue. Kael’s gaze flicks from my face to the building and back, as if trying to decide which looks more dangerous. Naomi’s nostrils flare; I can practically smell the sharp edge of her worry. Kess’s lips curl into a half-grin that doesn’t touch her eyes.

“Fast works,” she says. “I’m in the mood to ruin someone’s night.”

I drag in a breath. The air tastes of rust and cheap cigarettes and something underneath, copper-slick and humming. The taste you get right before lightning hits—charged, thin, too bright.

My fingers won’t stay still.

Three-beat tap against my thigh—index, middle, ring, over and over. I curl my hand into a fist to stop it, then flex it again when the nerves start buzzing. The inside of my chest feels too small, like something is pressing outward from behind my sternum, trying to claw its way free.

cassie cassie cassie—

Not her name, exactly. Not words. Just… her.

A pulse I recognize from the inside out. A pull.

I step closer to the building.

The wards spike in response, light shivering faintly across the metal like frost catching distant headlights. Someone took time with this—layered sigils, overlapping geometries, built to keep things in and everyone else out.

“Shroud hardware,” Aevryn murmurs somewhere behind me. “It’s reinforced. Breaking it will—”

“I know,” I say. My voice comes out flat, oddly steady. The calm you get right before you snap.

The tether under my ribs yanks hard enough that I sway.

Rori notices. Her hand hovers near my elbow, not quite touching. “Mira.”

“She’s in there,” I say. I don’t look at her. I can’t. If I meet anyone’s eyes right now, I might fracture, and we don’t have time for that. “I can feel her.”

“Through the ring?” Naomi asks, hesitant.

“No.”

Just that. No explanations. How do I explain something I don’t understand? That my heartbeat doesn’t feel like mine? That a piece of me feels off-center, dragged down into that building like gravity learned her name instead of mine?

The wards buzz louder, like they’re listening.

“Whatever protection they’ve got up,” Kael says quietly, “we need to be smart about it. Shields first. Then we—”

“We don’t have time,” I say.

The world narrows down to concrete, metal, veiled spiderwebs of light, and the roaring in my own blood.

I raise my hand.

Fire answers before I even call it.

It rushes up my arm in a silent blaze, white at the core, edged in fierce blue, so hot the falling snow turns to steam a foot from my skin. My scent shifts with it—gone is toasted marshmallow and ocean rain; smoke and ozone spike sharp in my own nose, wildfire rolling under my tongue.

Some part of me registers Naomi flinching back a step, the soft curse Kess lets out under her breath, Rori’s sharp inhale.

I don’t stop.

I press my burning palm flat against the nearest wardline.

There’s no roar. No dramatic explosion.

Just a sound like glass screaming.

Light flares, blinding for a heartbeat—silver sigils crawling frantically across the wall, trying to reinforce, to heal, to hold. The fire eats them as it goes, consuming lines and symbols, melting them down to slag and smoke.

The metal skin of the building buckles, then sags, glowing cherry-red around the imprint of my hand before collapsing inward, molten edges dripping and hardening in jagged stalactites along the opening.

Cold air spills out from the dark beyond.

Underneath it—faint, thin, but there—

Her.

Naomi exhales, the sound barely more than a ghost in the air.

“Gods help anyone inside,” she whispers.

I stride through the still-glowing breach before the metal can cool, the heat biting at my skin.

“They won’t,” I say, voice steady as fire.

I don’t need them to.

I’m here—

for the ones who still matter.

The rest?

Let them burn.

The moment I step through the melted threshold, the air inside the Shroud facility hits like a slap—chemical stench, scorched metal, something sharp and antiseptic that burns at the back of my throat. The hall stretches long and narrow, lit by flickering industrial bulbs and the faint pulse of glyphs buried beneath the tiles.

Behind me, the others file in, forming an instinctive wedge. No one speaks. They don’t need to.

A distant alarm begins to pulse low and ugly, like the building is waking up.

Good. Let it wake.

Because I’m already awake.

Cassie’s pulse tugs again—faint, frantic, a pressure under my ribs like a heartbeat trying to escape my chest.

I swallow hard. Focus.

She’s alive.

Just far.

“Positions,” Althaea whispers, already drawing her blade.

In the dim light, my friends become their truest selves.

Naomi moves first.

Her spine arches, bones cracking in controlled sequence. A low growl reverberates through the hall as white fur bursts through her skin, rippling outward in waves. Her clothes tear as her body expands—muscle, sinew, claws clicking against the tile.

In seconds, the Frostclaw stands where Naomi did—massive, hulking, breath coming out in swirling plumes of winter fog. Frost spreads under her paws, coating the floor in a slick sheen.

Her eyes—Naomi’s eyes—cut toward me, fierce and ready.

Good. I need fierce.

Kess is next—silent, liquid.

One breath, and the space she occupies bends, the shadows around her thickening, deepening.

Her body condenses into something sleek and lethal—jet black fur, sinewy muscle, tail lashing once as golden eyes flare bright.

A panther, but not the mundane kind—one wrapped in something ancient and feral.

Shadow clings to her limbs like smoke.

She vanishes and reappears a few feet down the hall, low and coiled, ears flattened.

A predator tasting blood in the air.

Rori flickers into a shimmer of heat.

Her skin ripples with golden runes beneath the surface—her teleport signature. A shimmer-warp of air as she blinks forward and back, mapping sightlines, testing distance.

Then she throws up a shield instinctively—heat coalescing into a molten, translucent dome.

A bullet from deeper inside the building slams into it a heartbeat later and sizzles harmlessly.

Rori’s jaw clenches. “They know we’re here.”

“Good,” I say again.

Kael steps forward last, injured but unflinching.

Her blade ignites—not with flame, but with light, brilliant and gold-white, as if she’s holding a piece of dawn. Radiance bleeds from her skin, forming thin, shimmering plates of armor across her arms and chest.

She shouldn’t be standing.

Winter drains her. Wounds slow her. She’s running on anger and discipline alone.

But she lifts her chin anyway. “I can take point.”

“No,” I say sharply. “Behind me.”

She doesn’t argue. She knows why.

Aevryn and Althaea slide into their roles seamlessly.

Aevryn whispers, low and lilting.

The Veil stirs in response—winds that shouldn’t exist in a sealed hallway swirling around our group, bending light, making our outlines blur and stutter like heat over desert sand.

Althaea gestures sharply—tactics, formation, silent orders refined from years of battlefield command.

She meets my eyes once, searching for the Mira she knows.

I don’t know what she sees.

Probably the fire.

The first wave of Shroud agents bursts through the far doors like floodwater—masks, guns, blades, glyphs crackling red along their gloves.

“On my mark,” Althaea murmurs.

I don’t wait for the mark.

Cassie.

She’s too quiet.

Her pulse—our pulse—is thinning.

My hand lifts.

It’s not even conscious.

The hall explodes into motion.

Rori blinks forward, dome shield raised, intercepting a blast of crackling hex-fire. Bullets melt mid-air when they hit the heat curve of her shields.

Kael surges beside her, sword carving an arc of radiant gold that severs a warded baton at the shaft. The light burns so hot it sears the tiles.

Naomi charges—giant paws pounding, jaws snapping shut on a Shroud mask, throwing the man into the wall with a crunch.

Kess is a streak of shadow and teeth—silent, precise. One leap, two slashes, three men down before they even register she’s moved.

Aevryn twists the air—wind funneling down the corridor, throwing agents off balance, distorting where we stand.

Althaea darts between them, blade flashing like quicksilver, every strike a line drawn exactly where it needs to be.

And I—

I walk.

Every step leaves soot on the tiles.

Fire ripples up my arms in silent ribbons, white-hot and star-bright, licking at my fingertips like it’s hungry. The air around me bends, heat warping the walls.

An agent tries to charge me.

I lift two fingers.

He’s airborne before he realizes what hit him—slammed into the ceiling, the wall, then the floor, flame tracing the path like a serpent.

Another raises a sigil.

My fire cuts through it before it forms.

I don’t shout.

I don’t flinch.

I don’t break stride.

The sensory assault is endless—

Sulfur, ozone, iron, burning wards,

shattered glass, screaming metal,

the roar of flame meeting steel.

But underneath all of it—

Her.

The bond throbs under my ribs, weak and begging and real.

I breathe her name without sound.

Cassie.

The team tightens around me—not protecting me, but orbiting, the way planets orbit a star they don’t dare get too close to.

Controlled teamwork, every move practiced, deadly.

But even among all that power, all that force—

I feel their awe.

Not admiration.

Not fear.

Recognition.

Something ancient and unstoppable is moving beneath my skin, and they can all sense it.

“Keep moving,” I say, voice low, steady, wrong.

“They only slow us.”

And we push deeper into the facility—

straight toward the beating heart of the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Naomi~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I take the left corridor beside Kess, paws hitting the concrete in heavy, muffled thuds. The air changes as soon as we enter the wide bay—hot metal, grease, sweat, fear. Machines grind loud enough to rattle my teeth. Workers and guards spin toward us in frozen shock.

Good. Let them see what’s coming.

The closest guard lifts a rifle. I’m already moving. My weight slams into him before he can pull the trigger. His body hits a metal pillar with a crunch that vibrates up my spine. I don’t stop. I pivot, claws scraping sparks from the floor, and hurl myself at the next one.

Something zips past my ear—Kess. A flash of shadow streaks along the catwalk above me, her panther form slipping between overhead pipes, eyes bright gold in the dimness. She’s already scouting angles, choosing targets, waiting for me to make the first real mess.

I oblige.

Two more guards step forward, shields up. I lower my head, muscles coiling. They brace harder. Fools. They don’t know what a Frostclaw charge feels like.

I slam into them, frost exploding outward from my paws. The shields crack. Their feet skid across the icy floor. One falls; I’m on him instantly, jaws closing around his arm—bone snaps under my teeth. He screams. I toss him aside and swing my paw into the other’s ribs. He folds over my claws.

Cold fog rolls from my breath in thick waves. I can feel the fur along my spine lifting, every muscle singing with purpose. There’s a burn along my shoulder—someone got a hex shot in. Pain flares, sharp and bright.

Good. Pain makes the world clearer.

Above me, Kess leaps off the catwalk, landing full-force on a guard stupid enough to try charging her. Her claws rake down his back in a single smooth line. She kicks off him mid-fall and rolls, shifting momentum into a sprint that takes out another guard’s knees.

She looks beautiful like this—feral, efficient, alive.

My heart steadies just seeing her move.

Three more guards rush us from the left, shouting orders they don’t finish. I rear back onto my hind legs and come down with both paws. The floor shudders. Two go flying. The third tries to backpedal, but Kess is already there—panther jaws locking around his calf before she tears upward. He drops screaming.

Bullets ping off the machines; someone is firing wild. I whip around, frost swirling around my paws in a tightening spiral. My roar shakes the rafters. The shooter hesitates just long enough.

I crush him into the wall.

The machines clatter, some smoking now from stray spells. Workers flee through the far exits. Good. They’re not who we came for. It’s the uniforms who keep coming, and we tear them down one by one—my weight, Kess’s speed, instinct weaving perfectly between us.

She darts under my body once, sliding across the frost I laid, slicing the Achilles tendon of a guard trying to flank me. I cover her immediately, ripping through the one who tried to reach for her exposed back.

Mine, the instinct snarls. My mate. My pack. My—

A shock spell slams into my ribs, ripping me out of the thought. I whirl, growling so low the floor vibrates. The caster stumbles back, hands shaking. I don’t let him get a second chance. I sweep him off his feet and pin him under my paw until his chest stops moving.

Silence, finally, settles in the room. Machine hum replaces screaming. Blood cools on the tiles, its smell sharp and metallic. Frost melts in slow circles around my paws.

Kess shifts first—cat melting back into girl in one fluid breath, dark hair damp with sweat. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing hard.

“You good?” she asks.

I dip my massive head once, exhale a cloud of cold air that fogs around her ankles.

She steps closer, rests her palm briefly against my neck. Warm hand, my fur still crackling with frost.

“We’re getting closer,” she murmurs. “I can smell the wards from here.”

I can too—old magic, burning faintly behind the far door. Something wrong beneath it. Something suffering.

Cassie.

A low growl starts in my chest before I can stop it.

Kess meets my eyes. “Then we move. Now.”

I slam my paw against the heavy door. Frost blooms, spiderwebbing across the surface. Kess slips in beside me as it cracks open under the cold.

We go through together—my bulk, her shadow.

We won’t stop.

Not until we find her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Althaea~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The corridor to the right smells like old magic and rot.

I step in first, saber drawn, Aevryn half a pace behind me. His presence is a quiet warmth at my back—steadying, irritatingly comforting, wholly inconvenient. I shove that thought away. We have a job.

The lights overhead flicker, reacting to Mira’s magic shaking through the building. Every pulse of distant fire makes the metal girders hum.

The first chamber opens into what looks like a ward laboratory—rows of desks, shattered runes, cracked lenses. The moment I step across the threshold, the hairs on my arms lift.

Wards have been activated here, recently.

Aevryn murmurs behind me, voice low as a spellbook page turning. “Careful. There’s residue from a containment ritual. Something powerful.”

I glance at him, then at the sliver of silver-blue wind curling around his fingertips. He’s calling the Veil into his breath. I can feel the air shift.

Of course he would.

“You are telegraphing,” I whisper. “Pull it close. You are glowing.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “You always notice the strangest things.”

“I notice everything.”

I move forward before he can say anything else.

A guard lunges from behind an overturned desk. I parry, steel singing, and re-direct his momentum into the table. It splinters beneath him. Before he regains breath, I press my boot to his wrist and flick my saber downward.

He does not get up again.

Aevryn moves beside me with far less noise—barely a whisper. His magic coils around a second guard’s throat like a wind-formed garrote, snapping him backward into the far wall. The impact echoes.

I glance over.

“You could have simply knocked him unconscious,” I say.

“You could have,” he answers. “I cannot.”

Fair enough.

I step deeper into the lab. Shattered vials crunch beneath my boots. A glimmer of blood stains the tile—fresh, not dried. My stomach knots.

Someone was here not long ago.

Someone hurt.

Cassie?

No. Too little blood. Too deliberate.

Aevryn’s hand brushes my back lightly. Not intimate—an alert.

I pivot.

Three Shroud guards stand in the far doorway, spell rifles raised. Their runes glow red.

“Down!” Aevryn snaps.

I obey instantly, dropping to one knee as a wind shield manifests above us, absorbing the first volley. The blasts hit his barrier like hail on glass—sharp, bright, ringing.

He winces. Magic costs him more than he admits.

I surge up before they can fire again.

My saber arcs in a tight line—starsteel catching the dim light and flaring white. I hit the first rifle with the flat of my blade, knocking the aim skyward, then flip the hilt in my grip and pierce beneath his ribcage.

The second guard swings a hex baton toward my temple. I duck, feel the wind of it pass, and strike his knee with surgical precision. It gives. He screams.

Aevryn’s wind pulls the third guard into the air by his collar. He kicks and thrashes like a caught fish. Aevryn flicks two fingers; the man slams into the ground hard enough to rattle the tables.

The room settles.

My breath does not.

I wipe the edge of my blade on my thigh armor and scan the next doorway. “We continue.”

Aevryn studies my face for a beat. “Althaea.”

“What?”

“You are trembling.”

I stiffen. “I am not.”

His gaze softens in a way that makes heat creep up my neck despite everything. “You’re worried for her.”

“Mira is my charge,” I say crisply.

He steps closer. “Cassie too.”

My throat tightens. I hate when he does this—sees too much.

“We find her faster if we keep moving,” I say. “Emotions later.”

He nods once. “Then lead, Lady Drennath.”

I do.

We push deeper into the right wing, stepping over fallen guards and broken enchantments. Every hall carries Mira’s distant rage—flickers of firelight through the vents, the crash of ruptured metal.

But beneath it… something else vibrates.

Something colder.

Something alive.

Aevryn’s voice lowers. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes.” I swallow. “Veil fluctuation.”

And—there, pulsing through the walls like a heartbeat—

Cassie.

We share a look.

No more words.

We move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Rori~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment Naomi and Kess peel off left and Althaea and Aevryn slip right, the air shifts.

Mira stands between me and Kael like the axis the whole building tilts around. Her hair lifts in a wind that doesn’t exist. Her eyes—gods, her eyes—are molten brown rimmed with pale silver, like stars caught in firelight.

She hasn’t taken a full breath since Kael woke. I’m not sure she remembers how.

I keep half a step behind her, shield magic humming under my skin, ready to cage her if something explodes. Kael mirrors me on the other side, still bandaged, still too pale—but determined. Terrifyingly determined.

We advance into the main corridor.

The heat hits first.

The hallway is long, lined with metal and wardglass, but Mira’s magic cooks everything it touches. Frost on the walls evaporates. Pipes groan. The lights overhead pop one by one, unable to handle the current she’s throwing off.

I whisper, “Slow down your breathing.”

She doesn’t answer. Of course she doesn’t.

Her gait is wrong—too smooth, too precise. Like something sharper is walking in her skin.

Kael murmurs to me, voice barely audible, “She’s slipping.”

“I know.”

And there’s nothing we can do until Cassie is back in her arms.

We reach the first set of Shroud guards before they see us.

Mira doesn’t stop moving.

She lifts a hand, and the air folds around her wrist—then a line of fire snaps out, thin as wire, bright as a god’s command. It slices through three rifles before any of them register the danger.

Metal clatters. The men freeze, stunned.

Kael raises her blade. I ready a shield.

Mira just… looks at them.

It’s the look of someone who has lost the thing she breathes for.

The fire behind her eyes flares once—silent, merciless—and the air combusts.

A bloom of blue-white heat rolls over the guards. Not a fireball. Not a spell. A pressure wave of pure flame that tears their wards apart and slams them into the walls like rag dolls. They drop, unconscious or worse—I can’t tell. I don’t think she cares.

“Mira,” I try again. “Slow down. Conserve—”

“Find her first.”

Her voice isn’t harsh. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

That’s worse.

Kael’s grip tightens on her weapon, knuckles white. “My lady, let me take point. You’re burning too hot—”

Mira doesn’t answer. She’s already moving.

We follow.

The next hallway is narrower, lined with containment cells—dark glass, runes flickering, muffled cries inside. The Veil presses hard here, like the building itself is bending under pressure.

I feel it. Kael feels it too—her breath catches, and a sheen of cold sweat breaks across her brow.

Mira?

Mira feels nothing but the pull in her chest.

She stops abruptly. Her hand goes to her sternum, fingers fisting in her shirt.

I know what that means.

I’ve seen her react to the Consort ring before, to the tether it creates.

But she’s not wearing the ring.

So this—

this is something deeper.

Kael whispers, panicked, “Is she—?”

“She feels Cassie.”

She turns to me slowly, pupils blown wide. “She’s afraid.”

Not Mira.

Cassie.

The heat spikes so hard I throw a shield around us on instinct—any hotter and the walls would melt. Kael braces herself against a generator to keep from collapsing.

Then Mira walks forward with a purpose I’ve only ever seen on battlefields spoken of in history texts. Not in real life.

She approaches a locked door—no marking, no window, just a slab of reinforced steel.

Her palm meets the metal.

It liquefies.

She drags her fingers downward; molten steel obeys, peeling open like butter under a hot knife. The molten runoff pools at her feet in glowing streaks.

The hallway lights die completely.

All I can see is the glow of her veins.

She steps through, smoke curling off her hair.

Kael whispers, “Rori… she’s becoming—”

“I know.”

Cinderborn.

Exactly what every prophecy warns about.

Exactly what we need right now.

We move with her into the dark.

I don’t know who should fear her more—the Shroud… or the gods who let Cassie be taken.

~~~~~~~~~Kess~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Naomi barrels through the final Shroud grunt with a sound that is almost a roar and almost a prayer. The man hits the wall, crumples, and doesn’t get back up.

I slip in behind her before he finishes sliding down the tiles.

My lungs burn from the cold heat rolling off her polar-bear form—frost clings to my jacket like silver dust—but gods, she’s beautiful like this. Unstoppable. Wrath with fur.

“Easy, Snowbear,” I mutter, stepping over a fallen baton as the room quiets. “Save some of that rage for the bastard who took Cassie.”

She huffs, a grumbling growl that vibrates the floor, but she noses my shoulder before we move on.

I press a kiss to her muzzle—quick, fierce—and we push deeper into the facility.

The corridor ahead is long. Too long. The kind built for things you don’t want the outside world knowing exist.

And every twenty feet?

A door.

A steel, sealed, rune-etched door.

Naomi slows, massive paws tapping lightly—impossibly gently—on the concrete.

I crouch beside her, senses flaring.

Scent hits first.

Not just blood.

Not just magic.

Not just the rot of old fear.

Girls. Mortal girls.

At least a dozen.

Each scent carries a different story—perfume, sweat, shampoo, the faint chemical sterility of someone who’s been scrubbed before experiments. My stomach flips. My claws unsheathe with a soft click.

“Gods,” I whisper. “They’ve been busy.”

Naomi’s growl turns lethal—low, shaking, resonant.

She steps toward the first door, shoulder braced, ready to smash it in.

I grab her fur, anchoring her.

“Wait.”

She swings her massive head toward me, eyes blue-white and wild.

“I know,” I whisper, petting the side of her jaw. “I want them out too. I need them out. But if we open one door, every Shroud bastard in the building is coming down on us. And Mira—”

Naomi’s ears flatten.

Yeah. She understands.

If Mira gets swarmed while she’s slipping, the whole city might ignite.

The thought alone chills me enough to steady my voice.

“Look,” I say, scanning the rune plates. “These locks aren’t keyed to alarms. They’re keyed to—”

Pain.

The realization hits like a punch.

I slam my fist against the nearest plate, sending sparks of shadow along the metal. “Of course they are. Gods-damned sadists.”

Naomi’s breath warms my arm as she presses close.

Her presence helps. Grounds me.

Then something cuts through everything—the air, the walls, the hum of machinery.

A sound.

A voice.

A scream swallowed too quickly.

A gasp.

A sob.

Muffled. Weak.

Somewhere ahead.

Naomi freezes.

I do too.

My predator brain catalogs angles, distances, frequencies.

“That’s ahead,” I whisper. “Two turns, maybe three. Someone’s alive.”

Naomi shifts, muscles coiling like she’s about to sprint.

I block her with an arm. “We go together. And quiet.”

Her eyes soften.

It’s her way of saying she trusts me more than her instincts.

I take point.

The hallway curves—a lazy, menacing arc that tastes like a trap. My daggers move with me, one reverse-gripped, one forward, shadows pooling along the blades.

My heart is racing.

Not from fear.

From rage.

From purpose.

From imagining Cassie in one of these goddamn rooms.

We round the corner.

The corridor opens into a chamber buzzing with Veil energy—coils of blue-white light running through the walls like veins.

And at the center—

A heavy containment door is cracked open.

Naomi inhales sharply, shifting her weight.

I lower myself into a crouch, every nerve alight.

Shroud footsteps approach from inside the room—fast, multiple, sloppy. They’re panicking.

Good.

Let them.

I flash Naomi a sharp grin. “You take the right. I’ll take whoever thinks they can breathe near that door.”

She growls once—agreement—and we surge forward.

Naomi hits the first guard like a blizzard: silent, cruel, overwhelming.

I tear into the second before he can raise his weapon, shadows twisting around my blade as it slips under his ribs.

The third backs up, terrified, shouting for reinforcements.

I leap—claws catching his throat—and silence him before the echo can reach the ceiling.

The room falls still.

For a heartbeat.

Two.

Then Naomi sniffs at the half-open door, whining deep in her chest.

A sound answers from behind it.

A shiver.

A breath.

A broken, barely-there noise that sounds like it was scraped out of someone’s lungs.

Not Cassie.

Someone younger.

Someone dying.

My blood goes cold.

I whisper to Naomi. “We found the dead wing.”

She nudges the door open, slow and gentle, like she’s afraid her strength will destroy whatever is left inside.

And I swear—

I swear on the gods I don’t believe in—

I will burn this place to the ground before Mira ever gets the chance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Aevryn~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hallway is too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet I grew up with—the kind found under moonlit water, the hush of reeds drifting at the lake’s edge.

No.

This quiet has teeth.

Althaea lifts her hand, palm closed in a signal I know better than my own heartbeat.

Stop. Listen. Evaluate.

I halt mid-step, bow half-raised, string humming with residual magic.

Her silhouette glows faintly—runic light brushing along her braid, casting steel-blue across her cheek.

She doesn’t show fear. She just focuses.

Gods help me, that focus almost undoes me more than the danger.

The corridor ahead narrows into a throat of metal. The hum of wards vibrates up through my soles—a rhythm I’ve only ever felt during Moonwell ceremonies.

Except there’s nothing holy about this place.

This is Veil energy forced into unnatural confinement.

“Four heartbeats,” I whisper.

Althaea flicks a glance at me. “Distance?”

“Close. Next room.” I inhale again. “One fading.”

Her jaw clenches. Only for half a second—but I see it.

I always see everything she tries not to show.

She moves first.

Althaea isn’t fast the way Mira is fast—reckless, wildfire, explosive.

Althaea’s speed is precise, measured, every line of motion drawn by someone who grew up drilling sword forms before breakfast.

She hits the door panel with a strike of her starsteel saber.

The ward sputters, flares—

then cracks.

I dart in beside her, skimming the wall shadows, my fingers trailing a crescent sigil in the air. Liquid glyph-light follows my hand, forming a shimmering reflection-plane. A shield made of water and veil-light.

It catches the first bolt of hexfire before it can reach her.

She doesn’t look back to thank me.

But her shoulder shifts, the smallest angle, the slightest adjustment—a silent acknowledgment I feel rather than see.

We move as one.

The room explodes into motion.

Shroud operatives scramble for cover, shouting, their weapons glowing red where runes pulse.

The fading heartbeat I sensed…

It’s coming from the far corner.

A cot.

Restraints.

Someone small, barely breathing.

No time to think.

Althaea charges left.

I sweep right.

Her blade is starfire—clean arcs, no wasted movement.

She disarms the first man with a flick of her wrist so practiced it almost looks casual.

I draw a glyph with the tip of my bow—water condensing from thin air, forming a whip in my free hand. It snaps across another agent’s weapons, drenching them, short-circuiting their runes.

He yells.

Falls.

Two down. Three to go.

One of them bolts toward the cot.

A mistake.

I vault a desk, plant my foot, and release an arrow of compressed water straight through the man’s knee.

He drops screaming, clutching at tendons that were intact seconds ago.

The reflections in the room shift—my glyph reacting to Althaea’s forward surge. Starsteel cleaves a staff in half; shards of red rune-sparks skitter across the floor like dying fireflies.

She spins, metal kissing metal, and her scent—pressed linen and starlight—mixes with the copper tang of blood.

I swear it makes my pulse stutter.

The last operative lunges for her blind spot.

“Althaea—right!”

She pivots instantly.

My warning isn’t necessary—she already knew—but she lets me think it helped.

Her blade sings.

He falls.

Silence blooms again.

This time it’s worse.

Althaea wipes her blade on her sleeve, breath even but shoulders tight. “Check the corners.”

“Already did.” I cross to the cot. “She’s alive.”

Barely.

A girl—sixteen, maybe seventeen. Eyes sunken. Wrist bruised from restraints that look like they were meant for something far stronger.

Althaea is at my side in seconds.

Of course she is.

Her face softens, expression shifting from soldier to caretaker so seamlessly it feels like grace.

“Water,” she says.

I conjure a sphere instantly—Moonwell practice—cool, clean, hovering in my palm.

She lifts the girl’s head with a gentleness that breaks something open inside my chest.

“Small sips,” Althaea murmurs.

The girl drinks.

Her cracked lips tremble.

“D-did… someone scream?”

Althaea and I exchange a look.

Not Naomi.

Not Kess.

Cassie.

My throat tightens.

“We heard it too,” I tell her quietly. “And we’re going to find her.”

The girl nods weakly, tears forming.

Althaea squeezes her hand, firm and sure. “You are safe now. Stay with me.”

But I’m not looking at the girl anymore.

I’m watching the way Althaea breathes—measured, steady—and the faint tremor she tries to hide in her fingers.

She’s afraid.

Not of the Shroud.

Not of dying.

She’s afraid we’ll be too late.

I touch her shoulder. Lightly. “We’ll find her.”

Her hand covers mine—for half a heartbeat.

Warm.

Strong.

Then she pulls back, professionalism snapping into place.

“We need to move. Signal the others.”

I notch another arrow.

“Right behind you.”

But inside?

The lake in my chest isn’t still anymore.

It’s storming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Kael~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mira doesn’t walk so much as burn forward.

Even when she’s silent.

Even when she’s still.

Especially now.

I’m limping three steps behind her—Rori at my flank, one hand hovering near my arm like she’s afraid I’ll collapse, the other curled in a half-ready casting gesture. But I’m not collapsing. Not tonight. Not while Cassie is somewhere inside these walls.

The hallway is dim, lit only by twitching veins of red wardlight.

Even the air feels wrong—thin, stale, chemical. It smells like antiseptic and fear.

My ribs scream every time I breathe. Something tore when that Shroud bastard threw me into the shelf. Didn’t matter. Won’t matter.

Pain is secondary. Mira is primary.

She stops suddenly.

I nearly collide with her back—hot as a forge.

Steam curls from her hairline. Her magic presses at my skin like a storm building from the inside out.

Rori’s voice is barely breath. “Mira… slow down.”

She doesn’t.

I swallow hard. Talking feels like knives. “Princess—hold a moment. Let me scout—”

“No.”

Just that.

One syllable.

Soft. Final.

I glance at Rori—her jaw clenches. She’s scared. Not of the Shroud.

Of Mira.

And she’s right to be.

The next corridor yawns open, wide and shadow-soaked. Footsteps echo—too many.

Weapons click in the dark.

Rori lifts her hands. Heat ripples under her skin—ready for a dome shield.

I reach for my sword, fingers stiff from blood loss.

My pulse thrums like a cracked drum.

Mira moves first.

No signal. No warning.

She raises her hand, palm up—and a wall of fire roars forward, swallowing the darkness in blinding gold.

Not thrown.

Not summoned.

Willed.

For one heartbeat, every Shroud operative in the hall is outlined in stark silhouette—wide eyes, open mouths, panic dawning too late.

Then the fire drops—a controlled wave—and leaves nothing but ash and molten metal.

I freeze.

Rori freezes.

Mira exhales once. The air ripples with heat. The tile beneath her boots cracks.

She starts walking again.

As if she didn’t just annihilate an entire squad without blinking.

Rori whispers, “She’s… she’s not regulating anymore.”

I can barely form the words. “She’s past regulation.”

I feel the truth of it in my bones.

The Summer Court trained us our entire lives to control fire, to rule it, to shape it.

Mira isn’t shaping anything now.

She’s letting the fire shape her.

A sound cracks through the hall—metal buckling.

A second squad rushes in from the left, shouting commands.

My blade is up before my mind catches up. Pain rips through my side, white-hot, but I lunge anyway.

One parries.

Two more close in.

My foot slips on scorched tile—I can’t breathe—I can’t—

Rori teleport-flickers between me and a blast of hexfire, shield forming mid-air, heat-bubble catching the bolt so close I feel my eyelashes singe.

She grunts, “Kael! Move!”

I do. Barely.

Sword meets staff. Staff meets firelight. Everything smells like melting plastic and iron.

Then—

Mira turns.

She looks at the oncoming wave of red-robed operatives like they’re an inconvenience.

Her eyes glow—white-gold flame threaded with silver.

Her freckles look like embers.

She raises her hand again.

“Princess—!” Rori gasps. “There are survivors in the next wing—your blast radius—!”

But Mira doesn’t blast.

She narrows her fingers.

The flames spiral into a tight, spinning blade of heat—blue-white at the core—then she lashes it sideways, slicing through the incoming squad with surgical precision.

Not a wall.

Not a wave.

A weapon.

Shaped from loss.

Shaped from fury.

Shaped for Cassie.

My knees nearly buckle.

Gods.

Gods help anyone standing between her and the girl she loves.

Rori grabs my elbow, steadying me. “We have to keep up. She won’t stop.”

I nod, even though the world tilts sideways.

I know what this is.

Mira’s wrath is a tidal wave.

We’re just trying not to drown.

But I also know something else—

If Cassie is alive, Mira will find her.

If Cassie is hurt—

Mira will burn the world down.

And we’ll be right behind her.

Even if it kills us.

~~~~~~~~~~~Cassie~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t know how long I’ve been alone.

Minutes.

Hours.

A lifetime measured by the drip of a half-broken IV and the steady pulse of pain under my skin.

The restraints are still on me—one wrist free where the frost cracked metal, the other half-latched and digging into raw flesh. My ankles are worse. I can’t feel my left foot. Or maybe I can feel it too much.

The room is dim now.

Emergency lights.

Red.

Pulsing slow, like a dying heartbeat.

I try to sit up.

My body laughs at me.

A tremor starts in my chest, crawls up my throat, and dies behind my teeth. Everything aches. Even my eyelashes hurt. Even breathing scrapes something sharp inside me.

The Veil hums.

Not around me.

Inside.

A faint thread of cold running under my skin, singing soft, the way Mira once hummed against my shoulder when she thought I was asleep.

Hold on for her.

The mantra slips back in before I can stop it.

Hold on for her.

I let my head fall to the side. My hair sticks to dried blood on the table. My vision blurs in and out—shadows stretching long across the tiles, the outlines of instruments, empty vials, discarded gauze.

And the door.

Locked.

Warded.

Silent.

He’s gone.

Vere.

Slipped out the side hatch like a roach.

Left me here—half-broken, half-awake, half-alive—to wait for whatever comes next.

I breathe in slow.

The air tastes like rust and disinfectant. And something else—something sharp and electric, threading through the walls.

A sound vibrates faintly through the floor.

Distant.

Muffled.

But unmistakable.

Fire.

I close my eyes and feel the spark shiver in my chest, answering something miles deeper than my veins.

She’s close.

Gods—she’s close.

A laugh breaks out of me—cracked, breathless. It hurts. Everything hurts. But I can’t stop.

“She’s here,” I whisper, voice barely sound.

The ceiling swims. The lights flicker. The cuffs bite deeper as I try, uselessly, to pull myself upright.

I can’t move.

I can’t fight.

I can’t reach the door.

But she’s coming.

Hold on for her.

Hold on for her.

Hold on—

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Mira~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hallway buckles under the heat before I realize I’m the one causing it.

Rori and Kael stay tight to either side of me as we move—boots hitting concrete in perfect sync with my pulse. I don’t remember the drive here, or the doors I melted through, or the man begging me not to burn. I only remember the tether thrumming under my sternum.

Pull her back.

Pull her back.

Pull her back—

Cassie.

We round the final corner, and the elevator comes into view at the end of the hall: dented metal doors, flickering lights above them, a faint hum from the shaft below.

Rori shifts closer, heat shimmering off her skin in careful, controlled waves. Her hand hovers inches from my back—not touching, just… anchoring.

Kael steps up on my left, sword angled down, jaw clenched tight against pain she won’t acknowledge. Her presence feels like a shield I didn’t ask for but can’t refuse.

The elevator button glows red.

I press it.

The metal hisses beneath my fingertip.

A blast of air and boots echoing down the opposite corridor announces the rest of my world arriving in force.

Naomi and Kess emerge first—Naomi half-shifted, fur crusted with frost, Kess slipping in and out of the shadows like a moving fault line.

Althaea and Aevryn appear a moment later, both breathing hard, both bruised, both instantly falling into formation without needing to speak.

We all gather around the elevator—Rori and Kael flanking me like twin sentinels, the others forming a circle around us, a small army forged out of fear and fury and love.

The elevator dings.

A soft, ordinary sound in a moment that is anything but.

As the doors slide open, Rori’s voice cuts through the tension—steady despite the tremor in her hands.

“Mira… we’re with you.”

It’s not reassurance.

It’s a vow.

Kael steps one pace forward, blade lifted. “We find her. We end whoever stands in our way.”

Frost drifts off Naomi’s breath. Shadow ripples under Kess’s skin. Althaea adjusts a glove that’s already perfect. Aevryn rolls his shoulders, eyes sharp and steady.

We enter the elevator together.

The doors close.

In the brief darkness, my breath fogs the air. The tether inside me pulls downward so hard it feels like it’s trying to rip open my ribs.

She’s close.

She’s hurting.

She’s calling.

The elevator hums, the descent slow, mechanical, unbearably calm.

Kael speaks first, low enough only I hear:

“She’s alive, Mira. I swear it.”

Rori nods once, adding nothing—because she doesn’t have to. Her presence is the promise.

The cab slows.

Stops.

A single chime.

The doors slide open—

—and the world becomes a wound.

A cavernous chamber stretches out before us, lit by cold blue wards. Rows of glass cells cling to the walls like honeycomb. Bodies inside. Some breathing. Some not.

Hundreds of Shroud operatives stand waiting below—black masks, red glyphs, weapons raised.

The air tastes like iron and fear and old, stale magic.

Rori shifts half a step ahead of me.

Kael mirrors her movement exactly.

My voice comes out like a crack in stone.

“Find her.”

The tether pulls tight.

My fire answers.

And as the first Shroud commander screams an order—

I step forward.

The world ignites.

Rori nods once, adding nothing—because she doesn’t have to. Her presence is the promise.

The cab slows.

Stops.

A single chime.

The doors slide open—

—and the world becomes a wound.

A cavernous chamber stretches out before us, lit by cold blue wards. Rows of glass cells cling to the walls like honeycomb. Bodies inside. Some breathing. Some not.

Hundreds of Shroud operatives stand waiting below—black masks, red glyphs, weapons raised.

The air tastes like iron and fear and old, stale magic.

Rori shifts half a step ahead of me.

Kael mirrors her movement exactly.

My voice comes out like a crack in stone.

“Find her.”

The tether pulls tight.

My fire answers.

And as the first Shroud commander screams an order—

I step forward.

The world ignites.

Fire rushes up my spine—fast, hot, wrong.

Too bright to be just magic. Too deep to be just fear.

My vision narrows until there’s nothing except the rows of cells and the wall of Shroud bodies between me and the one heartbeat I can’t hear.

Cassie.

The fire inside me surges like it’s answering her silence.

Heat spills out of my chest in a single, sharp pulse—

and the air bends.

Light cracks across my skin like gold lightning.

Lines of heat sweep over my shoulders, down my arms, winding around my ribs. They settle there—heavy, precise, not restricting but anchoring, like they’ve been fitted directly to bone. Metal cools instantly against my skin even though it formed from flame.

Gauntlets shape over my forearms in layers, seamless and gleaming. A breastplate forms with a low ringing sound, soft but unmistakable. My cloak—what’s left of it—burns away to drifting sparks.

For a heartbeat, I think I’m going to collapse under the weight of it.

Then it steadies.

I steady.

A flash of light gathers in my right palm—warm, concentrated, tugging at the center of my hand like a muscle I’d forgotten I had. Heat coils, tightens, sharpens—

—and a rapier forms in my grip with a bright, brief flare.

Slim blade.

Gold-edged.

The light along its fuller pulses once, as if syncing to my heartbeat.

Kael’s breath catches beside me.

Rori goes still in a way that means she’s one breath from throwing herself between me and anything that moves.

But I don’t stop.

The Shroud commander shouts an order.

Weapons rise.

Glyphs blaze red.

I take another step forward.

A single spark falls from the tip of my blade, hits the ground, and blooms into flame that races outward in a ring—consuming the first line of attackers before their screams even fully form.

The heat doesn’t touch Rori or Kael.

It bends around them like it knows better.

I breathe once, deep.

The armor expands with my lungs like it’s part of me.

My voice comes out low, steady, dangerous.

“I will find her.”

And then I run straight into the fire.

The moment the Shroud commander screams his order, my blade is already moving.

I don’t think.

I don’t aim.

I don’t even breathe.

I cut.

The world narrows into heat and motion. The first body splits cleanly from clavicle to hip, red spraying across the glowing edge of my rapier. Someone lunges—my elbow connects with his jaw before the thought even forms, his teeth scattering across the stone like thrown dice. A third tries to flank me; I pivot, spine twisting with a speed that feels borrowed from the fire itself, and my blade takes his head cleanly.

They fall fast. Faster than they can scream.

But even as they drop, more pour in.

It doesn’t matter.

Cassie is here. Somewhere down this cavernous hell. The tether is a fist around my heart, dragging me forward.

I give it everything.

A soldier rushes me with a shockstaff—

I catch it, rip it from his grip, and ram it through his chest so hard the cracked floor swallows the other end. Another fires a glyph round—

I flick my wrist, slicing the spell itself in half, sparks skittering across the ground like insects.

Someone screams behind me—Kess, maybe, or Naomi—but it’s distant, smothered under the roar in my blood. My fire. My instinct.

Rori’s shield flares a few yards back, intercepting a volley of hex-bolts. Kael staggers beside her, fighting through blood loss with a fury so sharp it tastes metallic in the air.

Aevryn’s winds lash against the far flank.

Althaea’s blade rings like a tuning fork every time it meets steel.

They’re all fighting for their lives.

I’m fighting for hers.

Another line of masked operatives blocks my path, forming a wall of black armor across the catwalk. One shouts, “HOLD THE LINE!”—

I break the line in two seconds.

My shoulder slams into the first soldier, shattering ribs. I drag him forward and use his body as leverage to vault into the next row, landing behind them, blade already thrusting. Warm blood sprays my face—sweet, copper, irrelevant. A man turns, panic wide in his eyes; I see him try to raise his hands in surrender—

—and I cut him anyway.

He chose the wrong side.

Someone grabs my ankle. Instinct snaps out of me—I twist, heel smashing into a skull with a crack that vibrates up my leg. Another goes for my throat; I meet him halfway, my free hand plunging into his chest cavity, fingers curling around something soft and pulsing. Heat flares up my arm. He drops before I understand the shape of what I tore out.

I keep moving.

My flames pulse in time with the tether, that maddening pull toward one point in the dark. My heart slams against my ribs—painful, frantic, furious. Each step burns through the soles of my boots, leaving blackened prints on the ground that steam in the cold subterranean air.

The Shroud tries to swarm me. They try to dogpile. They try everything.

None of it works.

A priest leaps forward, chanting—but my blade severs his spell mid-word, and the magic collapses into static. His hood slips; his eyes go wide with recognition, with dread.

“Cinder—” he starts.

I carve his jaw from his skull.

Another squad converges from both sides of the catwalk; bullets and glyphs collide in a hailstorm of light. Rori dives between me and the volley, her shield doming with a shriek of heat and force. She grunts, slams her fists together, and detonates a shockwave that clears the platform.

But even with all that power—

even with all of them fighting like death is breathing down their necks—

None of them can stay with me.

The tether yanks again—harder this time. Cassie’s presence flickers like a dying star somewhere below. I snarl, flames ripping down my arms, and I hurl myself toward the stairs descending into the lower level.

A wall of guards tries to hold the landing.

They don’t last long.

I hit them like a meteor, slicing through armor, bone, magic—whatever dares to stand in the way. I barely register the bodies hitting the ground. Heat sears my vision, turning the edges white.

Cassie.

Cassie.

Cassie.

I don’t know if I’m thinking her name or if the tether is.

Behind me, I hear the others struggling closer—

Naomi’s roar rattles the scaffolding,

Kess snarls something vicious in panther form,

Althaea shouts a warning,

Aevryn curses under his breath—

Rori and Kael call out orders between labored breaths.

They’re all fighting.

They’re all giving everything.

They’re all bleeding for this.

But I’m not stopping.

I can’t stop.

Nothing in this world is powerful enough to make me.

I tear through the last squad, my blade punching through the final guard’s sternum so hard it pins him to the wall. I let him slide off it without looking back.

The corridor ahead glows faintly with emergency lights.

And then—

through the smoke, through the fire, through the blood—

I see a door stamped with a fresh smear of red.

Her red.

Something in me nearly collapses.

I move toward it.

The door is wrong.

Not visually—visually, it looks like every other steel containment door in this hell: reinforced, rune-locked, streaked with red warning glyphs. But the feeling—that tug in my ribs, that scorching certainty—hits me so hard I stagger.

Cassie is behind it.

My breath catches.

Something cracks open inside me.

Rori’s voice echoes distantly down the corridor behind me, shouting my name, followed by the thunder of paws—Naomi—and claws—Kess—and steel—Althaea and Kael. They’re close. But not close enough.

I press my palm to the door.

Heat blooms instantly—my heat—flame curling up my arm like it recognizes its own reflection in the metal. The glyphs scream in protest; the steel warps under my touch.

A sob tries to claw up my throat. I swallow it down.

“I’m here,” I whisper to her, even though I’m not sure the sound makes it past the roar inside my skull.

I push more magic.

The steel reddens.

The lock melts.

The entire frame groans—

—and then gives.

The door collapses inward in a plume of smoke and sparks.

And I see her.

Cassie.

Strapped to a table.

Skin pale.

Blood dried in lines down her arms.

Bruises blooming like storm-clouds across her ribs.

Restraints biting into her wrists and ankles.

Her hair tangled.

Her breath shallow.

Her eyes open—barely—but they find me with terrifying accuracy, as if she’d been watching that door in her mind long before I arrived.

“Mira,” she exhales.

The world stops.

Everything—every scorch of battle, every scream, every heartbeat not hers—drops into silence so complete it feels like the Veil itself is holding its breath.

I don’t remember crossing the room.

I’m just suddenly there—hands on her face, her cheeks cold under my thumbs. My armor hisses where it touches the metal table, but I don’t care. I frame her jaw, my forehead dropping against hers, breath shaking.

“Cassie,” I choke out. “Cassie—Cass, look at me. Look at me.”

Her lips twitch into the smallest, stubbornest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Took you long enough,” she whispers, voice frayed.

A laugh breaks out of me—sharp, broken, half-sob, half-relief. The sound that rips from my chest feels like something dying and something being reborn at the same time.

I start tearing at the restraints.

The metal is enchanted—my fire snarls against it. But I snarl louder. I wedge my fingers beneath the cuffs, heat pouring from me in waves until the steel glows white-hot.

Cassie winces when the cuffs give, but she doesn’t make a sound.

Her arm falls free—weak, trembling, blood-slick.

I catch it immediately, holding her wrist like it’s the most fragile thing in creation.

“Easy,” I whisper, voice shaking. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you now.”

She blinks slowly, lashes sticking together. “I knew you’d come.”

The words hit me like a blade between the ribs.

“Of course I came,” I breathe, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before I even think about it. “I’ll always come.”

Another cuff breaks. Then another.

Each crack through the room feels like something in me splintering and repairing at the same time.

When the final restraint falls away, Cassie sags into my arms. I gather her close—carefully, carefully—but gods, she fits against me like a piece I’ve been missing.

Her hand, shaking, lifts weakly to my chestplate. Her fingers brush the golden armor, the flame-hot edge of it, and she doesn’t flinch.

“Mira,” she raspes softly. “You’re burning.”

“I don’t care,” I whisper into her hair. “I don’t care, I don’t care—just stay with me.”

Footsteps thunder into the doorway.

Rori stops dead.

Kael gasps like she’s been stabbed.

Althaea’s hand flies to her mouth.

Aevryn mutters a prayer.

Naomi growls low, protective.

Kess’s panther form drops into stillness, tail lashing, eyes soft.

None of them speak.

No one dares break this moment.

Cassie’s head lolls against my shoulder. I tighten my grip, pulling her closer, tucking her against me like if I hold her tight enough, I can fuse us back together where the world broke us apart.

Her breath ghosts hot and shallow against my throat. “Hurts,” she whispers.

“I know.” I kiss her temple. “I know. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

She curls the faintest bit toward me, instinctive, trusting.

“Mira?” she breathes.

“Yes.”

“Take me home.”

I rise with her in my arms.

The others wordlessly form a protective circle—Rori casting a shield dome, Naomi and Kess flanking the front, Althaea and Aevryn guarding the rear, Kael limping to my side.

But everything is distant.

Cassie is the only thing in focus.

And as I carry her out of that chamber—her body weak, her pulse faint, her trust absolute—

I understand something terrifying and true:

There is nothing in this world I wouldn’t burn to ash for her.

And tonight?

I’m going to prove it.

Cassie breathes like she’s fighting the air itself.

I tighten my arms around her and step back from the cell, back into the cavernous room still buzzing with half-dead wards and panicked scientists trying to flee past Naomi’s snarls and Kess’s blood-slick claws.

For one single heartbeat, everyone waits for my next move.

Then I speak.

My voice doesn’t raise.

It doesn’t need to.

“Rori.”

She snaps to attention instantly beside me, golden shields hovering around us like suns orbiting their star.

“Yes, Mira.”

I turn just enough for her to see my eyes—see what’s left of me right now, how thin the line is between restraint and annihilation.

“You’re in command.”

The others freeze. Even Naomi. Even Kess.

Rori’s eyes widen just a fraction. “Mira—”

“You will get every single one of these girls out,” I say, the words sharp, controlled, slicing through the air. “Dead or alive, they leave this place. No one stays behind. No one is forgotten.”

Rori swallows once and nods. “Understood.”

“You will call my mother’s forces. You will bring them here. You will notify every family—personally. You will ensure every survivor gets healing and protection.”

I glance at the rows of cells—some lit with movement, some horrifyingly still.

My jaw tightens.

“And those who didn’t survive…” My voice breaks for half a second. I force it steady. “Treat them with dignity. Make sure their families know exactly what was done to them.”

Rori’s posture straightens, steel through her spine. “I’ll see to it.”

I shift Cassie more securely in my arms. She stirs, breath catching in pain, fingers curling weakly into the collar of my armor. I hush her softly without thinking.

Then I face the others.

“Althaea,” I say quietly, “catalog everything. Every file. Every device. Every name. Leave no trace unrecorded.”

She nods, already stepping forward, face pale but determined.

“Aevryn,” I continue, “forge a barrier around this building until Rori finishes clearing it. No one gets in. No one escapes.”

His eyes flash lake-blue—resolute. “Consider it sealed.”

“Naomi, Kess,” I say, “you’re on evacuation detail. Anyone tries to stop you, put them down.”

The panther bares her fangs in a silent promise. Naomi rumbles agreement, frost drifting from her muzzle.

“And Rori—”

She meets my gaze again.

The only one I trust right now with everything that isn’t Cassie.

“Find my wife’s belongings. Her ring. Her earrings. Her bracelet. Everything else in this hellhole?”

My fire rises in my throat, in my chest, in my bones.

“Let it burn.”

Silence falls—heavy, reverent.

Then Rori bows her head.

“As you command, Duchess.”

My throat tightens.

“Thank you,” I whisper, honest and breaking. “All of you. Thank you.”

Cassie shifts faintly in my arms, breath brushing my collarbone.

“Mira…” she murmurs, barely conscious.

“I’m here,” I whisper instantly. “I’m taking you home.”

And then—I turn toward the exit.

The others move immediately, forming a half-circle behind us, weapons raised, eyes scanning for threats. But no one speaks. No one dares interrupt this moment.

The walk to the loading bay is long.

The hallways are lined with devastation—cracked walls, scorch marks, scattered bodies. The smell of blood and chemicals clings to the air.

Cassie’s head nestles against my shoulder like she’s done a hundred times after training, after school, after nights where she fell asleep on the couch and I carried her upstairs.

Except this time, her skin is cold.

Her pulse is faint.

And the terror in my chest is a living thing.

Halfway down the hall, her fingers twitch against my armor.

“You’re… warm,” she whispers.

I let out a breath that almost becomes a laugh. “I’m always warm.”

She hums weakly. “Mm. True. Oven-wife.”

A broken smile cuts through my fear. “You’re delirious.”

“Still true,” she murmurs, eyes barely open.

I shift her carefully. “Stop talking.”

“You like it when I talk.”

Gods. Even now.

“I like it when you’re breathing,” I whisper. “Don’t push your luck.”

She smiles—just barely—but it’s hers.

Her smile.

My world steadies around it.

We reach the loading bay. There are several Shroud vans. One is still running, keys in the ignition, door ajar from some panicked attempt to flee.

Perfect.

I open the passenger door with my hip and settle Cassie inside as gently as if she were made of spun glass. She winces but doesn’t let go of my hand.

“I knew you were coming,” she whispers again, voice slurring at the edges.

“I told you,” I murmur, brushing hair from her forehead. “I’ll always come.”

Her eyes flutter. “You better.”

A laugh escapes me—barely a sound, more a breath against her cheek. “Bossy.”

“Married you,” she mumbles. “Gotta… keep you in line.”

Gods.

Gods, I love her.

I press my forehead to hers. For a heartbeat, the world narrows back down to just us.

Then—

“Mira,” Rori calls from behind, not stepping closer, giving me space. “Go. We’ve got it from here.”

I squeeze Cassie’s hand.

“Let’s go home,” I whisper.

Then I slide into the driver’s seat, slam the door shut, and peel away from the facility—

leaving the others to save who they can—

and leaving the burning for later.

Because once Cassie is safe?

I am coming back.

And I am turning this place into a grave made of fire.