34. Malachi
MALACHI
The moment Juniper’s voice shifts?—
I know. Not the words. Not yet. But the intent behind them. Something has clicked into place on her end, something dangerous enough that the bond tightens instead of settles. That’s never a good sign.
“I think I know how we break it.”
The words echo through me even after she says them. Break it. Not slow it. Not weaken it. Break it.
“Tell me,” I say.
But the answer doesn’t come immediately. Because the world doesn’t give us that kind of time. The chamber shudders again, the disruption she triggered still rippling through the system—but already stabilizing in places. Already correcting itself. Already adapting.
“Malachi—” Dominic’s voice cuts in through the chaos, sharper than usual. “We’ve got problems outside.”
Of course we do. I exhale once, steadying myself.
“Report.”
“They’re spreading,” he says. “More shifters going unstable across town. Not just here.”
My jaw tightens. The network. Still active. Still pushing. Still taking ground. Juniper hears it too through the bond, the frustration, the urgency, the calculation racing faster than either of us can speak.
“They’re compensating,” she says. “Redistributing load through the remaining anchors.”
“So we take those out,” I reply.
“Yes,” she says. “But not randomly. You need coordination.”
Already moving. I grab Dominic’s attention with a sharp look.
“Get Arlen,” I say. “Full coordination. I want teams on every anchor location we’ve got.”
Dominic nods once, already turning.
“On it.”
He disappears into the chaos like he always does—efficient, fast, exactly where he needs to be. That’s why I trust him. That’s why this works. If anything about this still works.
“Juniper,” I say, stepping closer to her as I take down another incoming shifter without looking. “You track. I break.”
She glances at me, something sharp and electric in her eyes.
“Not break,” she says. “Disrupt. If you shatter them completely, the backlash could reinforce the system somewhere else.”
“Then tell me how hard to hit.”
A beat.
Then—“I will.”
Good. Because that’s enough. I pivot, grabbing the nearest shifter mid-charge and redirecting him into the wall before moving toward the exit.
“We’re not staying here?” Dominic calls after me.
“No,” I say. “We go to the network.”
Because this?—
This chamber?—
It’s not the center anymore. Cassandra made that clear. This is just where it started.
Now—
Now it’s everywhere.
The streets of Ironwood Ridge feel wrong. Not just tense. Not just dangerous. Wrong. Like something has settled over the entire town, something thick and heavy that presses against instinct in all the wrong ways.
“Split up!” Dominic calls, already moving with a small group of enforcers. “We hit the closest anchors first!”
Arlen joins him, expression grim.
“I’ve got the west side,” he says. “Teams are already moving.”
Good. Because we don’t have time to debate this.
“Stay in pairs,” I add. “No one moves alone. If they turn?—”
“I know,” Arlen cuts in. “We contain, not kill.”
Exactly. Because they’re still ours. Still my pride. Even if something else is pulling the strings right now. Juniper’s presence presses closer through the bond, not physically here, but connected more strongly than distance should allow.
“I’ve got the next anchor,” she says. “North sector. Near the rail yard.”
Already moving.
“On my way.”
I don’t wait for anything else. I run.
The rail yard is worse than before. The air hums with residual energy, twisted and uneven, like the system is struggling to stabilize after the last disruption. Good. That means we hurt it. Bad. That means it’s fighting back.
“There,” Juniper says, guiding me through the bond.
I feel it before I see it—the pull, the wrongness, the buried thread of magic feeding into the ground beneath my feet. I drop to one knee, pressing my hand to the cracked concrete.
“Same setup?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies. “But weaker. You can disrupt it directly.”
“Good.”
I draw in a breath, centering myself, then push outward—not with magic like hers, but with dominance. Presence. Force.
My lion surges forward, not shifting fully, but close enough that the energy ripples through the ground like a shockwave. The anchor reacts immediately. Resists. Then?—
Cracks. The feedback hits fast, but I ride it, pushing harder, breaking the structure without shattering it completely. The magic unravels. Releases. Dissipates.
“Done,” I say.
“Good,” Juniper replies. “Move.”
Already moving.
It becomes a pattern. Find. Disrupt. Move. Again. And again. And again. Each anchor falls faster than the last—not because they’re weaker, but because we’re learning. Adapting.
Fighting the system the way it was built to fight us. Dominic’s voice cuts in occasionally, updating positions, reporting progress.
“East side clear.”
“Two more down near the ridge.”
“Resistance is getting heavier—watch your backs.”
Arlen’s voice follows, steady and precise.
“Teams holding.”
“Minimal casualties.”
“For now.”
For now. That’s the problem. Because the longer this goes on?—
The worse it gets. The system doesn’t just weaken. It shifts. Reinforces. Rebuilds. And somewhere in my mind?—
I know we’re not hitting everything. We can’t be.
“There’s still a core,” I say, slowing slightly as the realization sharpens.
“Yes,” Juniper replies immediately.
“Hidden.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Silence. Too long.
“I don’t know yet,” she says.
That’s not like her. That’s not?—
The bond spikes. Sharp. Unstable.
“Juniper?”
“I’m fine,” she says quickly.
Lie. The strain. The pressure. The way the bond flickers instead of holds.
“What’s happening?” I demand.
“The system is pushing back,” she says. “It’s trying to isolate me from it.”
“And is it working?”
Another pause.
“…Partially.”
My jaw tightens. That’s worse than yes.
“Then I’m coming back,” I say.
“No,” she snaps immediately.
“Juniper—”
“If you leave the anchors now, we lose momentum,” she cuts in. “We need to keep pressure on the network.”
“And if you collapse while I’m not there?”
Silence. Then, quieter?—
“I won’t.”
Another lie. I know it. She knows I know it. But neither of us has time to argue.
“Two more,” she says. “Then come back.”
Not a request. A compromise. I exhale sharply.
“Fine.”
Because it’s the only answer that doesn’t get us both killed.
The next anchor goes down harder. The system fights it. Pushes back. Tries to redirect the energy somewhere else. But I don’t let it. I force it apart, holding control long enough for the structure to collapse without feeding back into the network.
“Done,” I say, breath heavier now.
“One more,” she replies.
Her voice is thinner. Strained. The bond flickers again. Not breaking. Not yet. But unstable. And that?—
That I don’t like. At all.
The last anchor is deeper. Buried. Stronger than the others. Of course it is.
“Careful,” Juniper says. “That one’s tied into multiple lines.”
“I’ve got it.”
But this one?—
This one fights. Hard. The moment I push into it, the backlash slams up through my arm, sharp enough to make my vision blur. I snarl under my breath.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Not today.”
I dig in. Push harder. Break the structure piece by piece instead of all at once. It takes longer. Costs more. But eventually?—
It gives. The energy releases in a violent ripple that echoes through the ground and out into the town. And then?—
Silence. Not complete. But different. Weaker. The network stutters. Just for a moment.
“Malachi,” Juniper breathes.
“I’m done,” I say. “I’m coming back.”
No argument this time. Good. Because I’m not giving her a choice.
The moment I turn back toward the council building?—
The bond lurches. Hard. Not a pull. Not a connection. A fracture. Pain rips through it like something tearing at the edges, destabilizing everything we’ve built between us.
“Juniper—”
No answer.
“Juniper.”
Nothing. The bond flickers. Weakens. Strains under something I can’t see but can absolutely feel. My chest tightens. Not fear. Not panic. Something worse. Knowing.
“She’s losing control,” I mutter.
Or—
Something is taking it from her. I don’t slow down. I don’t stop. I run. Because whatever is happening down there?—
Whatever Cassandra is doing?—
It’s pushing Juniper to the edge. And if that bond breaks?—
If she breaks?—
Everything else stops mattering. The building looms ahead, heavy with magic, thicker now than it was before. The system is still active. Still fighting. Still trying to complete itself. And Juniper?—
She’s still there. Still fighting. Still holding on.
“Hold on,” I growl under my breath.
Not to the system. Not to the town. To her.
“I’m coming.”
And this time?—
I don’t care what I have to break to get there.