Chapter 20
Jace
Pancakes.
Golden, fluffy, not-burned-to-a-crisp pancakes.
I flip the last one with theatrical flair, landing it perfectly in the center of the pan. “Behold,” I announce to the empty kitchen, spatula raised like a sword. “Pancakes. Golden. Edible. No fire alarms. You’re welcome.”
The victory tastes sweeter because of recent disasters—like yesterday morning when I got distracted and burned a whole batch because I walked in on Gray and Wes having what was definitely not a casual conversation in the pantry. Let’s just say my focus has been… divided lately.
But today? Today I kept my eyes on the pan and my mind on the task.
And this? This is redemption served hot with syrup. And butter. Lots and lots of butter.
I stack the pancakes on a platter, admiring my handiwork.
Perfect golden circles, evenly cooked, fluffy as clouds.
Cooking is one of the few things that actually calms me down—there’s something therapeutic about the rhythm of mixing batter and flipping flapjacks when you know what you’re doing.
Keeps my hands busy and my brain focused on something other than the chaos swirling around this place.
What the hell is happening in this place lately?
The sanctuary’s been… different. Charged, like the air before a storm. Everyone’s walking around like they’re carrying live wires under their skin. Something shifted after the whole Phil revelation, after Bree’s trip to the Void with Thane. The energy feels thicker, more electric.
Don’t overthink it. Just make pancakes.
I focus on plating instead. Stack the pancakes just so, arrange the bacon in neat rows, pour fresh orange juice into glasses. Simple tasks that keep my mind from wandering down paths that probably lead to more questions than answers.
Footsteps on the stairs—Rhett and Theo, judging by the rhythm. Early risers, both of them. Probably been up for an hour already, doing whatever responsible people do at dawn.
“Morning,” Rhett says as he appears in the doorway, hair slightly mussed but otherwise looking like he got actual sleep. Lucky bastard.
Theo follows, looking more rumpled than usual. His shirt’s buttoned wrong and there are pillow creases on his cheek. “Something smells incredible.”
“Feast your eyes,” I say, gesturing dramatically at the spread. “The breakfast of champions. Or fugitives. We’ll see how the day goes.”
Rhett’s mouth quirks in what might be a smile. “Impressive.”
“I have my moments.” I pour coffee into two mugs, sliding them across the counter. “Don’t look so surprised. I can handle basic kitchen duties without causing property damage.”
“Most of the time,” Theo adds, settling onto one of the stools.
“Hey, that lasagna was an experiment.”
“A disaster,” Rhett corrects, but there’s warmth in his voice.
“I was testing the smoke alarm’s reliability.”
More footsteps on the stairs—Thane’s measured pace, unmistakable even from a distance. He appears in the doorway looking like he slept about as well as I did, which is to say not at all. His usually perfect composure is slightly rumpled around the edges.
“Coffee,” he says without preamble, like it’s a prayer.
“Coming right up,” I say, pouring him a mug. “You look like hell.”
“Charming as always, Langston.” But there’s no real bite to it. He accepts the coffee like it’s a lifeline.
More footsteps—multiple sets this time. I know without looking that it’s the trio who’ve been practically orbiting each other for weeks. The tension’s been building so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Bree appears first, moving slower than usual. She’s wearing what looks like Gray’s shirt—definitely his, it’s way too big and smells like cedar even from here—and her hair’s doing that thing where it looks artfully messy instead of just messy.
Then Wes, whose face has that soft, slightly dazed expression that comes after really good—
Nope. Not going there.
Gray brings up the rear, and I have to do a double-take.
There’s something different about him. Something in the way he moves, like he’s finally settled into his own skin after years of fighting it.
His eyes catch the light when he glances around the kitchen, just for a second, and I swear they flash with something that definitely isn’t human.
When the hell did everyone get a magical upgrade while I was flipping pancakes?
“Please tell me that’s coffee,” Bree says, voice rough with exhaustion.
“Coffee, pancakes, bacon, and orange juice,” I announce. “The full spread. Because apparently, y’all look like you need feeding.”
She pauses halfway to the counter, and I catch the way she glances at Wes and Gray. Not guilty, exactly. More like she’s checking to make sure they’re okay. Like whatever happened between them was intense enough to require aftercare.
Holy shit.
“Busy night?” I ask, eyebrow raised, because I apparently have no filter when I’m operating on three hours of sleep.
Bree nearly chokes on her first sip of coffee. Wes flushes bright red. Gray just glares at me like he’s considering throwing something sharp in my direction.
And then Stellan—because of course he chooses this exact moment to grace us with his presence—walks in carrying his own mug and catches the tail end of my question.
He takes one look at the three of them, glances at Thane’s rigid posture, then at me, and bursts out laughing.
Not his usual controlled chuckle or that razor-sharp amusement he uses like a weapon. This is genuine, unrestrained laughter that echoes off the kitchen walls and makes everyone jump.
“Oh, I like this one,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “Subtle as a brick to the face.”
Thane shoots Stellan a look that could freeze fire, but there’s something almost relieved in his expression. Like he’s grateful someone else is acknowledging what he’s seeing.
“I aim to please,” I mutter, but I’m grinning now too. Because Stellan laughing—really laughing—is like watching a marble statue crack jokes. Rare and weirdly endearing.
Bree buries her face in her coffee mug. “Can we please just eat?”
“Absolutely,” I say, because watching her try to disappear into her breakfast is almost as entertaining as watching Gray contemplate murder. “Dig in, people. Food’s getting cold.”
Rhett and Theo exchange one of those looks—the kind that says they’re having an entire conversation without words. Whatever they’re thinking, it’s serious enough to make the easy morning atmosphere shift.
“We can’t just sit here,” Rhett says finally, his voice carrying that no-nonsense tone that means he’s thinking tactically. “We need a plan. Do we run, or do we face Phil?”
The name drops into the conversation like a stone in still water, sending ripples of tension through the room. Bree goes very still, her knuckles white where she grips her mug.
“Can we just eat?” she asks again, but there’s an edge to her voice now. A warning.
“We can’t ignore this forever,” Theo says gently. “The Council knows where we are. Phil’s coming. We have maybe hours before—”
“Before what?” Bree cuts him off. “Before we have to choose between running like criminals or fighting a war we’re not ready for?”
The debate heats up from there. Theo advocating for strategic retreat—the sanctuary won’t shield them forever, they need mobility, options.
Rhett pushing for defensive positioning—protect Bree, regroup, make them come to us.
Gray suggesting they go on the offensive—confront Phil before he can make the first move, his eyes flashing again as he speaks.
I try to lighten the mood. “So option one: road trip. Option two: death match. Option three: I make more pancakes and we pretend none of this is happening?”
Nobody laughs this time.
That’s when I really look at them. Really look.
Bree’s got this faint glow about her, like she’s lit from within. It’s subtle, but once I notice it, I can’t unsee it. Silver light just beneath her skin, pulsing faintly with her heartbeat.
Wes looks… sharper. Like someone took an eraser to the softer edges of his features and left behind something that catches the eye. His cheekbones could cut glass, and when did his jaw get that defined? “Since when are your cheekbones sharper than mine?” I mutter, staring at him.
But it’s Gray who really makes me pause. When he talks about confronting Phil, his eyes don’t just catch the light—they glow. Faint, but definitely there. Like something wild and predatory is looking out through his face.
I nearly drop my fork. “When the hell did everyone get a magical upgrade while I was flipping pancakes?”
The table goes quiet. Too quiet.
“You noticed,” Stellan says, voice carrying that familiar note of amusement mixed with something darker.
“Hard not to,” I say, gesturing vaguely at the three of them. “Bree’s practically glowing, Wes looks like he stepped out of a magazine, and Gray’s eyes are doing that thing where they’re definitely not human anymore.”
Bree touches her face self-consciously. “Glowing?”
“Like someone put a dimmer switch under your skin and turned it up,” I confirm. “It’s subtle, but it’s there.”
The silence stretches, heavy with implications I’m not sure I want to understand.
“The bonding,” Theo says quietly, like he’s putting pieces together. “It’s changing all of you.”
“Into what?” Gray asks, and there’s an edge to his voice that makes my instincts sit up and pay attention.
“Into what you were always meant to be,” Stellan answers. “The Ether doesn’t just awaken magic—it evolves it. Deepens it. Makes it stronger.”
Thane’s gone completely still, his silver eyes fixed on Bree with an intensity that makes the air feel charged. There’s something in his expression—not anger, exactly, but a kind of predatory focus that makes my skin prickle.
Stellan looks directly at me. “The question is: what happens to those who haven’t bonded yet?”
The words hit like a slap. Because he’s right, isn’t he?
The Ether has chosen most of us—I can see it in the way Gray’s eyes flash, in Rhett’s steady heat, in the restless energy crackling around the room.
Hell, it chose me too, along with all the others.
But bonding? That’s different. That’s Bree’s choice.
And so far, she’s only made that choice once.
With Thane.
Which leaves the rest of us in some kind of limbo.
“They look like they didn’t sleep,” I say instead of addressing the elephant in the room. “In the good way, if you know what I mean.” I wiggle my eyebrows for emphasis.
Because it’s true. Underneath the glow and the sharpened features and whatever magical evolution is happening, they all look exhausted. Worn down. Like whatever they shared last night took more out of them than they’re admitting.
Bree’s eyes dart between Wes and Gray, and I watch something like panic flicker across her face. She looks at Wes first—soft, almost protective—then at Gray, and her expression shifts to something more frantic.
“I wasn’t—” she starts, then stops, color draining from her cheeks. “Gray and I didn’t—we weren’t together. Not like—”
The words hang in the air, and I realize what she’s just done. She’s confirmed she WAS with Wes while trying to clarify she wasn’t with Gray.
Thane’s coffee mug hits the counter with enough force to crack the ceramic. His silver eyes have gone cold as winter, fixed on the black threads in her mist with something that looks dangerously close to recognition.
“After the Void,” he says, voice deadly quiet. “You were with him after the Void.”
It’s not a question.
Bree sets down her coffee mug with deliberate care, but her hands are shaking. “We can’t run forever.”
The subject change is desperate, obvious, but the words settle over the table like a blanket anyway, smothering the tension that was building. Everyone looks at her—not as someone fragile who needs protection, but as someone stepping into authority. Into power.
Into whatever the hell she’s becoming.
About time.
She continues, voice steadier now despite the panic still flickering in her eyes. “We can’t. And I’m tired of being afraid. Tired of hiding. Tired of letting other people make choices about my life.”
Gray’s eyes flare brighter at her words. Wes leans forward like he’s drawn by invisible threads, but there’s worry in his expression now—like he’s starting to understand why Thane looks ready to commit murder. Even Rhett’s protective tension shifts into something more focused, more purposeful.
She’s not just talking about Phil. She’s talking about everything—the Council, the sanctuary, the bonds that are changing all of them in ways they don’t fully understand.
“So what do you want to do?” I ask, because someone has to break the tension before Thane explodes.
She looks around the table, meeting each of our eyes in turn. When her gaze lands on me, I see something that makes my chest tight—determination mixed with trust, like she’s counting on me to be exactly who I’ve always been even as everyone else becomes something new.
“We face them,” she says. “Together. Whatever comes next, we face it together.”
The table goes quiet again, but it’s a different kind of silence. Charged with possibility instead of fear.
Maybe the real question isn’t whether we run or fight. Maybe it’s whether we can keep up with her at all.
Because looking at Bree now—glowing, determined, stepping into power that was always hers, those black threads pulsing through her silver Ether—I’m starting to think she’s not the one who needs protecting anymore.
We are.