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"Since when do you trust the PGC?" Serenity's voice portrays sharp skepticism. "Half their members are probably compromised anyway."

"I'm wary of them, sure, but I understand how they operate." My fingers pause over Director Clovis Cliffe's number—a gargoyle I've worked with before, someone who values results over politics. "They're more afraid of what happens if Malachai succeeds than they are of working with us."

"And if they turn on us the moment we walk through the doors?" Serenity challenges, her posture stiffening defensively. "I refuse to put my life in the hands of bureaucrats who might be coven puppets."

"You’re putting your life in my hands. I’m your shield against them. You know that."

She holds my gaze, her resistance warring against the cold logic of the plan. She finally exhales a sharp breath. "Fine. Make the call. I need to prep the containment stones, finish the offensive wards, and cross-reference what we pulled from the vault against whatever ancient magic we're walking into down there."

Brushing past the need for a response, she sweeps across the room to the table to gather up the oldest, heaviest leather-bound research volumes we recovered. Cradling the massive books against her chest, my partner turns on her heel and disappears down the hall into the spare bedroom before firmly pulling the door shut.

Kellan waits until the latch clicks firmly into place. He straightens, shoving himself away from the kitchen counter as his expression turns serious. "Darius, there's something else we need to discuss."

The tone in his voice causes my spine to tense. I lower the phone to give him my full attention.

"What?"

Kellan crosses his arms, his eyes on the closed bedroom door. "You know she's going to try to sacrifice herself, right?"

I ball my hands tightly. "No, she won't."

"Come on, Darius. Look at the pattern. Every time someone gets hurt because of this mess, she blames herself. She's bearing guilt over her mother's death and Estella getting captured, carrying the additional burden of every civilian caught in the crossfire. You think she's not calculating right now whether trading her life for everyone else's makes sense?"

"We're in this together." The statement cuts through the room, far too blunt and fierce to pass for a simple reassurance. "She knows that."

"Alright, whatever you say, brother." Kellan raises his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes hold consistent concern. "You know her best."

He pushes off from the counter, straightening his jacket. "I'm gonna finish making my calls. Lynn's expecting an update, and I need to coordinate with the vampire clans downtown."

I nod, already opening Director Cliffe's contact. "Do it."

For the next two hours, I work my way through a list of allies I haven't spoken to in years. I reach out to lone wolves from neighboring packs scattered across the Midwest, alongside independent contractors who owe me favors. Each conversation follows the same pattern—skepticism, then grudging agreement once they understand what we're facing.

Between calls, I check on Serenity. The first time, she's surrounded by open books, ink staining her fingers as she copies protective sigils onto parchment. That behavior seems normal enough. The second time, she's sitting motionless at the desk, staring at a photograph of her and Estella from years ago. When I knock, she quickly slides it into a drawer.

"Just taking a break," she calls through the door.

The third time, I find her standing at the window, watching the outside world through the glass. She remains facing the glass when I step into the room, though her reflection betrays something real and final in her eyes.

"How are the wards coming?"

"Nearly finished." Her voice sounds too controlled, like she's practicing lines. "The protection spells should hold against anything Malachai throws at us."

I step closer, studying the rigid set of her shoulders. "Serenity."

"You should focus on your calls, Darius." She finally turns and offers me a fake smile. "We have a city to save."

The smile sends a chill straight down my spine. Her expression looks overly bright and meticulously careful. It feels heavily like a permanent goodbye. "What aren't you telling me?"

"There's nothing else other than what we already know. I've got everything under control here. The containment stones are charged, the offensive wards are ready, and I've mapped out three different magical contingencies depending on what we find in those tunnels."

Every word feels rehearsed, like she's been planning this conversation.

"Rene."

"Go." She stares straight down at the desk, her fingers restlessly shuffling a stack of already organized papers. "Kellan needs backup with the coordination, and you still have calls to make. I'll be here when you get back, finishing up the extra protection spells."

The dismissal stings, but as she pointedly looks everywhere but at me, a crushing weight pushes down on my ribs. She’s already detaching herself, the finality of her leave-taking clear in everything she does except her speech.