Chapter 70
SEVENTY
EMMA
Although my feelings about Stephen’s death were… complicated, I knew for one person they wouldn’t be.
My eyes instantly searched the square for James, dread tightening in my chest as I thought about how he would take the loss of the only man he had ever truly considered a father.
And knowing that kind of grief—knowing that hollow, suffocating kind of loss all too well—I found my feet moving before I even realized I’d made the decision.
Across the field, I spotted him. His eyes were wide, frozen in shock.
I didn’t care about the people between us, the blades flashing in the chaos, the battle still raging all around.
All I knew was that I had to reach him. I had to make sure he was still standing.
I was only a few steps from James when a streak of lethal haze tore in from his left, fast, precise, the kind of strike meant to end someone before they even knew it was coming.
“James—!” I yelled with everything I had.
But I was too far away.
He hadn’t even moved yet, shock still locking his body in place, and then Cara Sinclair slammed into him.
She hit him with bone-jarring force, tackling him sideways right as the bolt cut through the space where he’d been standing.
They crashed together onto the stone, rolling hard across the square as the air above them detonated.
The blast exploded only feet away, heat and pressure rippling outward like a physical wave.
For a second, I couldn’t hear anything.
Then Cara’s voice cut through the chaos.
“You all right?”
My head jerked up, and I watched as they both pushed up on their hands amid the dust and debris.
James’s answer came out broken. “He’s gone.”
My chest tightened at the sight of him, but Cara didn’t look away. Instead, now seated beside him, she reached out and gripped his hand, hard, and grounding.
“The dead leave behind more than silence,” she said quietly, as she brushed her fingers over his clenched fist. “What we do with their echo is up to us.”
James’s head snapped up, then surged to his feet so fast it must’ve hurt. “How the hell do you know that saying?”
For a moment, Cara stayed where she was, looking up at him, holding his gaze.
“I’m not your sister,” she said softly.
What?
“And I’m not who you think I am. But this isn’t the time or the place.”
Then she let go, pushing herself to her feet in one fluid motion, already turning back toward the fight.
James stayed frozen for a heartbeat longer, like the ground had shifted under him and he hadn’t caught up yet.
I swallowed hard and pushed through the chaos toward him. “You okay?”
His eyes were glassy, unfocused, but his hand shot out and gripped my arm with surprising force.
“For Stephen. For all of us,” he said hoarsely. “End this, Emma.”
His voice cut through my skull, loud and clear despite the roar of the battle raging around us.
I didn’t have time to unpack the way those words landed in my chest, his trust in my abilities, finally.
I simply answered with the only reply I had. “I will.”
My focus locked on the man who held my heart for a second, and I watched as Caden gently—almost reverently—translated Stephen’s body away.
I was still ambivalent about the Specialist who’d retrieved me into this world. I hadn’t forgiven him for all the lies and manipulations. But I also hadn’t wanted him dead.
Whatever else he was, he’d jumped in front of that haze for Caden without hesitation. And that meant something.
A lot, really.
But now wasn’t the time to figure out what.
James’s eyes locked with mine before we shared a short, silent nod, an understanding that didn’t need words.
And then we ran.
There was no space left for grief. No breath left for forgiveness. Only battle. Only forward.
On my left, a sudden surge of wind split through the space, and a beam of green light spiraled down from the sky. The High Chief portaled in, landing hard beside Caden, his cloak still rippling with kinetic energy.
Flanked by loyalists and a few other Chiefs, he moved instantly, every muscle coiled and ready.
Without exchanging a word, the six of us—Caden, Cara, James, Rachel, Sean, and I—closed in around the High Chief, our formation tight.
The latter didn’t speak. He didn’t gloat or threaten.
All eyes were on him, all defenses angled inward, waiting for the moment he’d inevitably lunge for the biggest threat in the circle.
For the one who had broken his bubble.
For the one he’d been trying to cage from the start.
For me.
And then he did.
He lunged.
But…the asshole went straight for Sean.
For half a heartbeat, none of us reacted, because none of us were positioned for it. There was no warning flare of light, no buildup of power. One second he was still, the next he was a blur of motion, translation sweeping in a deadly arc aimed straight for Sean’s heart.
Sean didn’t even have time to flinch.
“Sean—!” I cried, panic ripping through my chest as I realized I was too far away, too slow to stop it.
And for a horrible heartbeat, I was convinced I was going to lose my brother.
Until Jackson appeared out of nowhere.
He hurled himself between them, body colliding with the High Chief’s strike.
The sound of impact cracked through the air like lightning splitting stone, and Jackson staggered, blood blooming across his shirt in dark, violent red.
“Jackson!” I screamed, rushing forward, but the ground trembled beneath my feet.
The High Chief didn’t stop. He turned, and drove Jackson back with a flurry of precise, merciless blows. Caden moved to intercept, his energy blazing as he threw up a barrier that cracked under the next hit.
Sean caught Jackson before he could hit the ground, dragging him back while shouting for a Healer.
I was already moving.
“Here!” I dropped to my knees beside them, my fingers trembling as they hovered over Jackson’s chest. Blood seeped through his ribs in rhythmic pulses—fast, too fast—while his eyes were already fluttering. No time to hesitate. No time to think.
I pressed both hands to the gash in his chest, forcing my golden energy into him like a surge of lightning.
All I could see was the blood, every pulse spilling out faster than I could seal it.
I focused on the torn skin, the ruptured vessels, the jagged mess of muscle, trying to stitch it all back together.
The High Chief’s magic fought me—stubborn, wild—like it was slipping past the edges of what I understood.
But I kept pushing as I tried to remember I was more powerful.
My veins burned as I poured everything I had into closing the wound, stopping the bleeding.
His skin rippled beneath my palms, the edges knitting together.
“Jackson,” I whispered. “You are going to be fine, I promise.”
His breath caught—shallow, weak—but still there. Still fighting.
A blast rang out behind me, and the earth lurched. James shouted something I couldn’t make out, followed by the harsh crack of clashing energy. I looked up in time to see the High Chief strike, and James barely dodge, his coat scorched at the shoulder.
I forced another surge of magic into Jackson’s chest.
His breathing steadied—barely—but it was enough.
“Go,” Sean said, gripping my arm. “I’ve got him. Go!”
I spun back toward the fight.
James stayed on the offensive, charging in with reckless intensity. His movements were fast, less like a trained fighter, more like a disaster let loose. He wasn’t fighting to survive, he was fucking furious.
Caden was in motion opposite to James, his Chela a blur of steel and precision. He fought like a weapon honed for this moment, every movement cold. But I knew him well enough to know this cold fury was grief turned lethal.
Together, they both moved like two halves of the same weapon.
“Emma, get down!” Rachel shouted, and I ducked right as the High Chief sent a blast of concussive energy tearing through the air where my head had been.
I threw my weight into the battle, pushing energy through my limbs, my hands alight with flame. The High Chief’s power was overwhelming, like trying to contain a storm inside a cage. He parried and struck, every move forcing us back, testing our limits.
Debris exploded outward, stone and glass raining through firelit smoke. Screams echoed from nearby alleys, and somewhere behind us, a tower collapsed with a roar that shook the sky.
All around us, the battle raged on, Radicals and Offensives colliding in brutal, tangled knots of magic and fury.
“Emma!”
I turned, heart lurching at the desperation threaded through a voice I knew too well.
Sean was still crouched over Jackson, blood soaking through his fingers, his hands slippery and shaking. The wounds I’d closed—barely—had torn open again, and Jackson was convulsing now, lips tinged blue. His shirt was soaked through with red, pooling out across the broken stones beneath him.
“No—no, no, no,” I whispered, running to them, skidding to my knees so fast my palms tore open on the rubble. “I had him—I fixed it—”
“You didn’t!” Sean snapped, his eyes filled with panic. “Emma, he’s dying!”
I slammed my hands back onto Jackson’s chest, pouring everything I had left into him: magic and will and the sheer, desperate need to keep him breathing. But the energy wasn’t taking. It slipped through me like water through cracks.
My fingers trembled. Why wasn’t it working?
The High Chief was still fighting James and Caden—effortlessly—batting away their attacks with a sickening, lazy precision. And he was smiling. A wide, white, predatory smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Your translation won’t help him, Miss Thompson,” he called out as he drove Caden back a step. “All that power you’re hoarding won’t save him. What he needs is a Healer…”
He slipped past James’s strike like it bored him, grin widening.
“And I’m guessing you didn’t bring one to this little Offensive-heavy field trip.”
He didn’t know. He didn’t know I was a Healer.
The High Chief lifted one hand, and Jackson jerked violently beneath mine, a strangled cry escaping his throat.