Page 127 of Mate of a Monster

“Just noting historical precedent.”

I bare my teeth. “Wanna become another statistic? Or maybe you wanna be like Ben over here and—”

“There’s one issue,” Silver interrupts. He’s standing at the edge of the projection’s light, his gaze moving across the holographic map with the expression he gets when he’s already three steps ahead of the rest of us. Which is always.

“The dark water is not impenetrable. The Siren signature is ancient, which means it predates the current magical infrastructure. Predates Argent craft, predates Stygian’s flare. It operates on harmonic resonance, meaning it reads the frequency of incoming power and calibrates its consumption accordingly.” His finger traces the pulsing border on the projection without touching it.

The whispers in the air and humming. How the fuck did I miss this? Arabella was always humming.

“Fire reads hot,” Sinner keeps going. “Dragons read hot. The water eats the frequency and converts the heat to, well…mush. The more power you send at it, the denser the barrier becomes.” He finally looks up, as if we can understand his physics-meets-magic mumbling. “But harmonic resonance requires a key frequency to calibrate against. A foundational note it was tuned to.”

“And?”

“Ancient Siren magic doesn’t tune to power alone. It tunes to place.” Silver meets my gaze. “It requires an anchor. A source it recognizes as older than itself.”

The map pulses.

The dark water breathes as if it’s alive, and I stare down at the palace where I know Arabella will be holed up.

My jaw tightens.

Silver nods, speaking the words I really hoped he wouldn’t. “Exile Island.”

No.

Yes.

The voice moves through the bond, only it ain’t Haide’s voice. My Ethos has been watching our exchanges, holding on to the perfect moment where logic stacks up.

“The land that made our mate.” My demon speaks. “It holds what you need.”

The muscle in my neck twitches. “Absolutely not.”

“Legend—” Creed starts.

“Exile is a prison.” I turn on Silver instead, because he presented it and he can defend it. “It is an island designed to hold the worst of what exists in this world. We send her back there, we send the dragons back there, and we’re handing Arabella the exact outcome I’m sure she wants—”

“The barrier is around Valeryth.” Silver doesn’t raise his voice. “Not Exile. She’s safe there.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know what you fear,” he responds swiftly. “They are not the same thing.”

“What if this time it takes her soul and traps it? Or takes our bond?”

The bond flares.

She survived Exile. She was made by it. The answer is buried in what she left behind.

I want to reach through the bond and strangle him.

If you do, the Nightkin mutters, make sure you do it naked, since she prefers us both that way.

Haide hasn’t moved. She studies the map, her features slowly going slack. Grief runs underneath her, and fury is still heavy. Then, her eyes turn to stone, her plan set. Whatever she’s just figured out makes sense to her in a way nothing I say will change.

“The soul stones,” she says quietly.

Creed goes still.