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"The PGC is done." I offer the news in a hushed, private frequency as we hit the corridor. "Gideon's got them either compromised or terrified. We're not getting help from inside the system."

"So we go outside it."

"We already are." I fire off a group message to every contact who confirmed in the last two hours. The recipients include Lynn's network and the Detroit shifters, as well as independent contractors and rogue witches Serenity helped over the years. These are contacts who owe debts that cannot be paid with politics.

The message is simple and direct: Rally point confirmed for tonight. Bring everyone you can.

Kellan reads it over my shoulder and nods once. "That's more like it."

We step out of the PGC building. The moon hangs heavier than it did this morning, its crimson saturating toward the violent red that signals the final approach. Above the city skyline, the sky looks bruised—purple and red bleeding together at the horizon.

My phone buzzes. It vibrates a second time before a cascade of confirmations floods the screen. Our allies are answering the call and choosing the right side because the official one already fell.

But underneath the calculated satisfaction, my wolf claws at the edges of my composure. Something is wrong at the lakehouse. I feel it with the same certainty as a weather shift—a pressure building in my bones and a nameless, inescapable wrongness. So I drive faster.

27

SERENITY

My phone screen reflects my face like a dark mirror as Darius's response cuts through the council chamber's chaos. Even through the livestream, his fury bleeds through every pixel—protective and utterly doomed.

He glares at the cameras, and something between love and devastation clenches behind my ribs.

He is choosing me publicly and irrevocably. He burns every bridge he has left in the paranormal community because he believes I'm worth defending.

The reporter's follow-up question pierces through the audio, "Mr. Morvane, how do you respond to allegations that your judgment has been compromised by your personal relationship with the suspect?"

I watch Darius's face harden on screen as he steps closer to that podium like he's ready to tear the entire council apart with his bare hands. He does this all for me.

"Turn it off." My composure breaks, the plea barely audible as I swipe the screen dark.

The bedroom falls silent except for the whisper of wind against glass and the distant drone of protective wards reverberating through the walls. I set the phone on the desk and stare at my reflection in the black screen until my eyes blur.

He's destroying himself to save me, and I'm the only one who knows it won't work.

The ancient journal lies open beside my elbow. Its yellowed pages reveal the truth I've been hiding for hours regarding the ritual to reseal the entity permanently. They detail the price that comes with it along with the reason every Crowe witch before me chose death over allowing that thing loose in the world.

The Vessel must willingly absorb the lunar power back into themselves, becoming a living seal until their mortal form expires.

Translation: I die, and the entity stays buried. It is simple mathematics where one life is traded for thousands.

My fingers trace the faded ink, following words written the last time someone tried this exact ritual. They'd known, just like I know now. The path to victory lies in giving Malachai exactly what he wants to turn it against him.

I find a fresh sheet of parchment and begin writing, my dark ink flowing across the paper in careful, exacting strokes.

Darius—

You're going to be furious, and you have every right to be. This is me running toward the only solution that stops Chicago from burning. Estella is going to die if I don't go, but it's more than that. Thousands of innocent people are depending on me to reseal this entity, and they don't even know it. You already know why I have to do this, even if you won't admit it yet.

The tunnel entrance is beneath the old Blackhearth Avenue station—the abandoned platform on the lower level. Follow the wards I've left on the walls. They'll guide you to the holding cells.

I’m leaving this beacon for one reason: so you can save the prisoners. There are hundreds of innocent paranormals locked in those tunnels. I’m going to walk into the center of Malachai's ritual and draw his entire focus. Once he has the Vessel, he won't care about the hostages.

While I keep him distracted, you need to get those people out. Once they are safe, you have to run. Don’t try to stop the ritual. Don’t try to pull me out. The journal was clear: the Vessel has to surrender to reforge the seal. Even though I love you—God, I love you so much—I have to do this. I need you alive to protect the ones who escape.

I love you. This is a vow—a promise to find my way back to you in whatever life comes next.

—Rene