Chapter 22 Ambrose
AMbrOSE
I wake three days after we successfully defended Phoenix Sanctuary, and my body feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone older. Someone who's paid too many prices and is only now realizing the full cost.
The room is dim, curtains drawn against afternoon light that would hurt my eyes.
Rumi is beside me, his golden wings draped across my chest like a blanket made of living warmth.
His divine essence hums against my skin, and I realize he's been feeding his power into me while I slept. Trying to heal what can't be healed.
I love him for it. Even though it won't work.
My contracts are quiet for the first time in days.
Not silent, never silent, but the screaming alarms have faded to manageable whispers.
Sitting up is a mistake I regret immediately.
Every muscle aches like I've been beaten.
My head pounds with the echo of power spent too freely.
And when I look at my hands, the truth I've been avoiding stares back at me.
They're older. Not dramatically, not decades, but enough. Fine lines that weren't there before the battle. A slight tremor that has nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with the fifteen years I burned through in a single contract.
Worth it, I tell myself. Everyone survived. That's worth any cost.
But the whisper in the back of my mind, the one that sounds suspiciously like my mother, asks: How many more times can you pay that price before there's nothing left?
"You're awake." Rumi's voice is soft, relieved. His golden eyes open, and I see the worry he's been carrying written in every line of his face. "You've been unconscious for three days. We were starting to think..."
He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't have to.
"Takes more than a few contracts to kill a Crossroads Keeper," I manage, though the words scrape out rough, barely a whisper. "Just needed to rest."
"Bullshit." Rumi sits up, his wings folding back against his spine.
The black threads in his golden aura are more visible than usual, writhing with anxiety.
"You aged, Ambrose. We can all see it. Jade won't stop pacing.
Stellan keeps manifesting fire without meaning to.
Harlow has been watching your death-signature for three days straight, terrified it would fade.
And Skye..." He swallows hard. "Skye hasn't slept.
He's been handling everything while you were unconscious, and he's running himself into the ground because he can't stand not being able to help you. "
Guilt coils tight in my stomach. I didn't mean to worry them. I just did what needed to be done.
"The students are safe," I say, because that's what matters. "Phoenix Sanctuary held. No casualties on our side."
"And you think that makes it okay? That protecting everyone else means you can just sacrifice yourself piece by piece?" Rumi's voice cracks with emotion. "We're supposed to be mates, Ambrose. That means sharing burdens, not carrying them alone until they crush you."
Before I can respond, the door opens and my other mates pour through.
Stellan is there before anyone else, his fire blazing bright with relief, the heat reaching me from across the room.
Jade is right behind him, demon form fully manifested, purple eyes scanning me like he's checking for damage he might have missed.
Harlow phases solid the moment he's close enough to touch me, his cold fingers wrapping around my wrist to feel my pulse. And Skye...
Skye looks terrible. Dark circles under his eyes. power flickering with exhaustion. He's been carrying everything while I was unconscious, and it shows.
"You're awake." His voice is barely a whisper. "Thank Mother Nature, you're awake."
Three strides and he's on me, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that tastes like desperation, like he's been drowning and I'm air.
Everything he's been holding back for three days crashes into me.
The terror of watching me collapse. The helplessness of not being able to heal me.
The guilt of needing my contracts even when using them is killing me.
"I'm okay," I murmur against his lips. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"You'd better not." Jade crowds in close, his warmth pressing against my side. "Because if you die on us, I'll find a way to drag you back from whatever afterlife Harlow's boss sends you to, and then I'll kill you myself."
Despite everything, I laugh. It hurts my throat and makes my head pound, but it feels good. Normal. Like maybe I haven't broken something irreparable after all.
That's when my contracts start screaming again.
Not the warning whispers I've grown used to. Full alarms, the kind I set up to monitor the other reformed academies. The kind that only activate when something catastrophic happens.
"No." The word tears out of me as I reach for the monitoring threads, pulling information through connections that cost me another week of life just to maintain. "No, no, no..."
The data floods in, and my heart stops.
"What is it?" Skye demands, his essence already picking up on my horror. "Ambrose, what's wrong?"
"The other academies." My voice sounds distant, disconnected. "Dmitri launched coordinated attacks while I was unconscious. Thirteen reformed institutions hit simultaneously. Most of them held, but..."
I can't say it. Can't make the words come out.
Harlow's death-sight activates, his eyes going white as he sees what I can't bring myself to speak.
"Eight students dead. Twelve faculty members.
Dozens more injured." His voice is hollow.
"The attacks happened last night. While we were safe here, protected by your contracts, other sanctuaries were being slaughtered. "
The room goes silent.
Eight students. Twelve faculty. People who trusted the reforms, who believed they could finally be themselves without fear. Dead because Dmitri's followers chose murder over accepting change.
"This isn't your fault." Skye's hands cup my face, forcing me to look at him. "You were unconscious. You couldn't have known."
"I should have set up protections for them too. Should have written contracts for every academy, not just ours." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "I was so focused on Phoenix Sanctuary that I forgot about everyone else. And now twenty people are dead because I wasn't good enough."
"Stop." Stellan's fire flares, not with rage but with fierce determination. "You nearly killed yourself protecting this sanctuary. You can't save everyone, Ambrose. No one can."
"A Crossroads Keeper should be able to." I pull away from Skye, forcing myself to sit up despite the pain. "That's the whole point. We write contracts, we pay prices, we make the impossible happen. And I failed. Twenty people are dead because I failed."
My mates' grief bleeds into my own, amplifying it. None of them try to argue anymore. They know I need to feel this, need to process the weight of what happened while I was unconscious.
But Jade, practical as always, asks the question we're all thinking. "What happens now? Dmitri's not going to stop. If anything, this proves his followers are still dangerous."
I force my mind to work, to think past the weight crushing my chest. "The Council will demand answers.
The reforms will be questioned. Some members will try to use this as justification for rolling everything back, returning to the old system.
" I look at Skye. "You're going to have to fight for everything we've built.
And you're going to have to do it while Dmitri's people are still out there, still planning more attacks. "
Skye's jaw tightens with determination. "Then I fight. It's what a Praestes does."
"Not alone," Rumi says firmly. "We all fight. Together."
I want to protest, to insist that this is my burden to carry because I'm the one who failed. But looking at my five mates, seeing their fierce refusal to let me carry this alone, I realize something I should have understood a long time ago.
I'm not alone anymore. Haven't been since we bonded. And trying to carry everything myself isn't protecting them. It's pushing them away.
"Okay," I say quietly. "Together."
Harlow's cold hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "There will be an emergency Council session. Probably tomorrow. Skye will need to answer for the attacks, even though they weren't his fault. The political situation is about to get very ugly."
"I can write protection contracts for the Council members who supported us," I offer, already calculating the costs. "Make sure Dmitri's people can't target them."
"No." Skye's voice is firm. "You're not writing anything else until you've recovered. I mean it, Ambrose. Whatever contracts we need, we find another way to pay for them. You've given enough."
His absolute certainty washes over me. He's not asking. He's telling me, with all the Praestes authority he possesses.
The argument rises in my throat. My contracts are our best defense, the costs worth paying if it keeps everyone safe. But I'm too tired to fight, and some part of me knows he's right.
"Fine," I concede. "But if things get bad, if people are going to die because I'm sitting here doing nothing..."
"Then we find another way," Jade interrupts. "One that doesn't involve you killing yourself slowly for the rest of us."
The conversation shifts to logistics. Skye outlines the Council session that's coming, the arguments he'll need to make.
Harlow shares what his death-sight reveals about potential futures.
Rumi offers to use his divine balance to help coordinate with the other reformed academies.
Stellan volunteers to work with the students on defensive training, making sure Phoenix Sanctuary stays ready for whatever comes next.
And I sit in the middle of my mates, listening to them plan, their love wrapping around me like armor.
Twenty people are dead. The political situation is about to explode. Dmitri's followers are still out there, still dangerous.
But we're still here. Still fighting. Still together.
And maybe, just maybe, that's enough.
For now.