4. Silas
Rune of Binding:
Etch into wood. Wards defend against storms.
The view from the penthouse stretches over the lake—black glass and city light—an endless pulse of money and movement. I like it that way. Clean lines. Control. Chicago looks better from above.
Kayla leans across the table, the stem of her wine glass balanced between her fingers, smiling at me like I’m the answer to a question she hasn’t decided to ask yet.
She’s in red tonight, and her perfume’s that expensive vanilla-amber one she knows I notice.
Dinner’s half done: seared lamb, roasted figs, and too much wine.
“You’re thinking about work again,” she says, a pout curling her lips.
“I’m thinking about how fast I can get you out of that goddamn dress,” I counter.
Her laugh is soft, easy. “You’re not convincing anyone when you check your watch every five minutes.”
She’s right. I do it anyway. The Patek’s new—silver face, black leather strap, etched with the smallest protective rune on the inside.
I don’t leave home without wards stitched into something. Chicago hums with power—old lines, old secrets—and I trust none of it.
She props her chin in her hand. “So what is it this time? Council business? Or are you pretending to be mysterious because you think it’s sexy?”
I smirk. “Can’t it be both?”
She rolls her eyes but leans in when I reach for her. Her lips taste like wine and mint, the kiss slow until my phone ruins it, buzzing against the table like an impatient wasp. The screen lights up: Helena.
Kayla groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do you ever turn that thing off?”
I kiss her once more, quick this time, before picking up. “Silas Thorn.”
“Where are you?” My sister’s voice is clipped—her version of polite.
“Out.”
“Of course you are. There’s an emergency at the Council.”
“Define emergency.”
“Come here, Silas. Now.”
The line clicks dead before I can answer.
Kayla stares at me over the rim of her glass. “That sounded fun.”
“Family dinner,” I lie easily, standing. “Helena’s not one for small talk.”
She watches me grab my coat, dark brows knitting. “You promised you’d stay tonight.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“You always say that.”
I pause long enough to press a kiss to her temple. “Because it’s always true. I promise I will put you through the fucking mattress, babe. I just need to handle this. I’ll be right back.”
Her sigh follows me out the door.
The Alpha Council building looms over the river like a temple—glass, steel, and arrogance. The runes etched into the foundation glow faintly under the rain, channeling energy from the city’s ley lines. Inside, the marble floors gleam. No one makes noise here unless they’re supposed to.
Helena’s office is at the top, all black stone and polished chrome. She’s standing by the window when I walk in, the skyline reflected in the glass behind her. She doesn’t turn.
“You took your time,” she says.
“I was on a date.” I close the door, unbutton my coat, and step closer. “This had better be worth it.”
“It is.” She faces me then, immaculate as ever—sharp suit, platinum hair pinned back, smile like a blade.
There’s another man seated by her desk, one of the Council’s bureaucratic lapdogs—Marcus Devereaux, head of logistics and owner of TrueBond, the Council’s matchmaking app. His cufflinks glint as he adjusts his tie.
“Silas,” he greets, rising. “Good to see you.”
“Marcus.” I nod once. “You’re looking… well-funded.”
Helena doesn’t bother hiding her eye roll. “Enough. Sit.”
I don’t. “Tell me what this is about.”
She crosses her arms. “The Rift.”
That gets my attention. “What about it?”
“There was a surge tonight in Willowbrook. The ley lines destabilized. Several wards collapsed. Damon Wilder’s been trying to contain the fallout, but he’s barely keeping the barriers intact.”
I exhale slowly. “The sheriff? He’s Circle class, isn’t he?”
“Alpha circle warlock,” Marcus confirms. “Mostly protective wards, ritual work, community anchors. He’s competent, but this is beyond him.”
“And you want me to fix it.”
Helena’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “We want you to stabilize the ley lines before the entire region fractures. The Rift bleeds magic into the local field; when it spikes, it pulls everything with it. You’re the Council’s best rune stabilizer. You’ll go to Willowbrook immediately.”
“Immediately?” I glance at my watch. “It’s midnight.”
“Orders from above.” She gestures toward a sealed envelope on her desk, the Council seal burned into the wax. “High Chancellor Whitlock wants this handled discreetly and efficiently. Willowbrook is under our jurisdiction.”
I arch a brow. “Why not send a team?”
“Because you don’t need one.”
That’s Helena’s way of saying we don’t trust anyone else to clean this up without making it worse.
I pick up the envelope, sliding a finger under the seal. Inside are the directive, the signatures, the coordinates, and the access codes for the local ward nexus. A one-man mission, like always.
“Fine,” I say. “But let me guess—this isn’t just about the Rift.”
Marcus clears his throat, straightening his papers. “There’s also… a social complication.”
I look up, unimpressed. “Which is?”
“The unbonded Omegas,” Helena says. “Participation rates in the TrueBond program have dropped to a record low. Fewer than twenty percent registered this cycle. It’s destabilizing the equilibrium in Willowbrook’s hierarchy.
Bond surges are unpredictable, power imbalances are growing, and unbonded magic is leaking into the ley network. ”
I let out a dry laugh. “So they refuse to follow Council protocol, ignore the matchmaking system meant to regulate pheromonal magic, and now they’re shocked the ley lines are throwing tantrums?”
Helena’s glare sharpens. “Watch your tone.”
“Maybe you should let the town burn and collapse in on itself,” I say evenly. “It’s a small price for negligence.”
Marcus stiffens. “We can’t do that. Willowbrook’s ley web connects to half the Midwest. If it implodes, the backlash could reach as far as St. Louis.”
“So we fix their mess. Again.”
Helena steps closer, blue eyes cold. “You fix it, brother. And while you’re there, find out why the Omegas are refusing Council regulation. We suspect outside influence.”
“Outside influence?”
“Maybe dissenters. Maybe rogue enclaves.” She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. Your orders are clear.”
I study her for a moment, noting the tension in her jaw. She won’t say it, but she’s worried. The Thorn family’s reputation depends on clean results, and if this Rift incident escalates, Whitlock will be looking for heads to roll.
“Fine,” I say, sliding the papers into my coat pocket. “I’ll go in the morning.”
“Tonight,” Helena corrects.
I look at her. “Excuse me?”
“You’ll leave now. A transport is waiting on the roof. The chancellor wants your report before sunrise.”
Marcus adds, “If it helps, accommodations have been arranged. You’ll have full access to the sheriff’s ward logs and the local Nexus Chamber. They are located in the Wilders’ manor, so it won’t be a problem at all.”
“How generous,” I mutter. “Remind me what my cut of this is?”
Helena’s smirk is small and infuriating. “The high chancellor will owe you a favor.”
Now that’s something. A Whitlock favor could move mountains in this hierarchy.
I adjust my cufflinks, the tiny runes glowing faintly against the silver. “Then I suppose I should pack light.”
“You already have everything you need,” Helena says. “Your bag’s in the as already been loaded.”
“Efficient as always.”
She gives me that sisterly half-smile that never reaches her eyes. “Don’t die, Silas. It would inconvenience me.”
“I’ll try to spare you the paperwork.”
The Council’s helicopter waits on the roof, rotors cutting through the rain. I step into the wind, coat snapping around my legs, city lights flickering below like stars caught in glass. The pilot salutes, and I climb aboard.
As we rise above the skyline, I glance back at the sprawl of Chicago—the grid, the pulse, the promise of everything I’ve worked for. Power, prestige, control. It’s all down there, humming.
But above it, in the clouds, something stirs. A shimmer, faint but unmistakable: the ley network rippling. I trace a rune on the window, a reflex. It flares, then fades.
The Rift’s already reaching this far.
I lean back in my seat, loosening my tie. Willowbrook. I haven’t set foot there in ten years, not since training.
I don’t get why the Council won’t just enforce their laws there. I know my father, Councilor Edward Thorn, the regional representative for all of New York, agrees with me.
This town is way too much trouble.
Still, if fixing their mess earns me Whitlock’s favor, I’ll do it. I always do what the Council asks. This is the only way I can finally get to the top.
Maybe then, I will prove to them that they should have given me the council job instead of my sister.
The helicopter banks east. The lake disappears behind us, swallowed by darkness.
I check my watch one last time. Then I pull out my phone and text Kayla to reschedule our date night. Again.
When the helicopter drops beneath the cloud line, the town appears in flashes—street lamps sparking, rain slanting sideways, a smear of wet pine and blue lightning crawling across the ridge like an exposed nerve. Willowbrook doesn’t just look wrong. It feels wrong.
The instant the skids touch the cracked tarmac behind the old mill, something punches through my ribs. A pull. A drag. The ley lines under this place don’t hum—they scream. The headache hits behind my eyes, enough to blur the runway lights.
I grit my teeth, steady my breath. Discipline first. Everything else later.
My driver—Council-trained, forgettable and interchangeable—opens the door and waits for me to climb down. The rain slaps hard against my coat, cold needles against my skin.
“Sir,” he says. “Where to?”
“The sheriff’s station. I need to find Wilder.”