Chapter 21
Bree
“You don’t have to be unafraid,” Theo says quietly, his hand steady on my shoulder. “You just have to stand.”
We’re still inside the sanctuary, clustered near the main doors, and I can hear the murmur of voices outside. The whole community gathering. Waiting.
For me.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
“I can’t,” I whisper, staring at the heavy wooden doors like they’re the gates of hell. “Theo, I can’t face him. Not after—”
“Yes, you can.” His voice is calm, certain. “You’ve already survived him once. You’re stronger now.”
“Am I?” The question comes out broken. “Because I feel like that same terrified girl who used to hide when he came knocking.”
Theo moves to stand in front of me, his dark eyes serious. “That girl survived. That girl found the strength to leave, to build something new. She brought all of us together.” His voice drops. “She’s still in there, Bree. And she’s not weak.”
I close my eyes, trying to breathe. Trying to believe him.
“The community is scared,” I manage. “They need me to be strong, and I—”
“They need you to be real,” Theo corrects. “Fear doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”
The doors creak open, and Gray appears. His face is grim. “He’s here.”
My stomach drops. Everything inside me goes cold and small.
Phil.
“Bree?” Theo’s voice sounds far away, even though he’s right in front of me.
I can’t move. Can’t speak. The air feels too thin, like I’m drowning on dry land.
You don’t have to be unafraid. You just have to stand.
The words echo in my head, but they feel meaningless against the panic crawling up my throat.
Someone takes my arm—Rhett, maybe, or Gray—and guides me toward the doors. My legs move without conscious thought, carrying me forward even though every instinct screams to run.
The sunlight hits my face like a slap.
And there he is.
Phil stands just outside the sanctuary gates, hands clasped behind his back. That same predatory smile. That same easy confidence. The man who pretended to be just my landlord while installing cameras in my bathroom. While watching me, hunting me, waiting.
The sight of him hits me harder than I expect. My vision narrows until there’s nothing but his face, his voice, the memory of his hands on me that time at my apartment. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes, the way he pressed too close, spoke too softly about “arrangements” we could make about rent.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
Can’t—
“Breathe, darling.” Stellan’s voice cuts through the fog, sharp and unyielding. “He doesn’t deserve your silence.”
His words aren’t gentle or comforting but they’re just enough of a shock to drag me back to the present.
I suck in air, the taste of it sharp and real. My hands are still shaking, but I can feel my fingers again. Can feel the ground under my feet.
Phil’s smile widens as he watches me struggle to compose myself.
But something’s wrong. This isn’t the Phil I remember—the drunken, slovenly landlord who reeked of alcohol and stale cigarettes.
This man is lean, handsome even, wearing a tailored suit jacket and expensive-looking pants.
His posture is straight, confident, predatory.
No trace of the stumbling drunk who used to leer at me in hallways.
Nothing is the same except his eyes. Those cold, calculating eyes that used to watch me through my apartment window.
The transformation makes my stomach turn. How long was he pretending? How much of what I thought I knew was a lie?
“There she is,” he says, voice carrying easily across the space between us. “My favorite tenant. Looking good, as always.”
The possessive tone makes my skin crawl. Around me, I’m dimly aware of the community gathering—families with children, elderly couples, all the Feeders who came seeking sanctuary. But they feel distant, like I’m watching them through glass.
“Phil.” The name comes out steadier than I expect.
“You look well,” he continues, like we’re having a pleasant conversation. “This place agrees with you. Though I have to say, I’m disappointed. When I heard you’d become some kind of queen, I expected… more.”
His gesture takes in the crowd behind me. I don’t turn to look, but I can feel their fear like a weight against my back.
“These are the followers you’ve gathered? Broken Feeders and frightened families?” Phil’s laugh is soft, almost fond. “Oh, sweetheart. Trying to save them? You couldn’t even save yourself.”
The words cut deep, not because they’re untrue, but because there’s enough truth in them to hurt. These people are scared. They are broken. And maybe I am too.
The Ether around my feet flickers, silver light dimming. The black threads that have been woven through it since the Void pulse like a heartbeat, dark veins spreading through the silver mist.
Phil’s eyes lock onto the corruption threading through my power, and his smile turns genuine for the first time. Hungry.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, like he’s looking at something precious. “Daddy will be so pleased to see how well you’re coming along.”
A low growl rumbles from somewhere behind me, sending a shiver down my spine. Thane.
Phil’s eyes flick past me, and his smile turns cold. “Watch it, boy. Remember your place.”
Then his attention returns to me, dismissive and final. “Come quietly,” Phil says, extending one hand. “This little spectacle has gone on long enough. It’s time to stop playing pretend.”
The reasonable tone makes my skin crawl. Because I know what lies underneath it. I remember what reasonable got me in my apartment. What it cost me every day I lived under his roof.
My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it. The light at the edges of my vision makes the world feel wrong, tilted, like I’m standing on the deck of a sinking ship.
You don’t have to be unafraid. You just have to stand.
Theo’s words echo in my head, and I cling to them like a lifeline.
“No.” The word comes out barely above a whisper.
Phil’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“No.” Louder this time. The Ether swirls higher around my feet. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Something flickers in Phil’s expression. Not anger—amusement.
“Now, Bree. We both know how this ends. You can make it easy on everyone, or…” His gaze shifts to the crowd behind me. “Well. Let’s just say these people have already suffered enough, don’t you think?”
The threat is clear. Comply, or watch him hurt the people I’ve tried to protect.
My vision starts to blur at the edges. The familiar panic rising, threatening to pull me under.
Stand. Just stand.
“Leave them alone,” I manage. “This is between us.”
“Is it?” Phil takes a step forward, onto sanctuary ground. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve dragged all these innocent people into your mess. Made them targets.”
Each word is a knife between my ribs. Because he’s not wrong. They are here because of me. In danger because of me.
“That’s enough,” someone says behind me—Rhett, his voice tight with anger.
But Phil doesn’t even glance at him. His focus stays locked on me, like a predator watching his prey.
Zira appears at my side, her presence steady and fierce. “You heard her,” she says, voice cutting through the tension. “She said no.”
Phil’s smile widens as he takes in this new player. “And who might you be?”
“Someone who’s tired of men like you,” Zira replies coolly.
“Adorable,” Phil says, dismissing her with a glance. “But this is business.”
“You were always so dramatic,” he continues conversationally, speaking to me again. “Making everything harder than it needed to be. Remember what I used to tell you about keeping quiet? About being a good tenant?”
I do remember. The cameras. The threats. The way he’d lean too close and breathe alcohol into my face while explaining what would happen if I caused trouble.
The panic claws higher, making it hard to think, hard to focus. The world starts to feel unreal, like I’m watching it happen to someone else.
Phil’s magic hits without warning.
Green light. Pain splitting through my skull. I’m on my knees, gasping.
“There we go,” Phil says. “Much better.”
I try to get up, but the magic makes it impossible to think straight.
“Now then,” Phil says, taking another step closer. “Let’s try this again.”
He reaches for me, fingers inches from my arm.
“Take her.”
The command comes from behind Phil, directed at someone I can’t see through the haze of pain and fear.
Footsteps approach. Gentle hands close around my arms, lifting me to my feet.
Seth.
Relief crashes through me. He’s helping. He’s—
Phil starts laughing.
The sound cuts through everything—my relief, my gratitude, my desperate hope that someone is finally standing up to him.
Seth’s grip shifts, becoming less supportive and more restraining. His body is still between me and Phil, but suddenly that feels like a cage instead of protection.
“Get your hands off of her,” Thane snarls from somewhere behind me—furious and too late.
Phil’s laughter grows louder, delighted.
“Oh, this is perfect,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “Did you see her face? That moment of hope before she realized?” His smile turns almost fond. “Daddy always said you were too trusting.”
Seth doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t look at anyone. Just holds me in place while Phil savors the moment.
“You really thought he was one of yours,” Phil continues, his voice warm with mock sympathy. “Poor Bree. Still so naive, even after everything.”
The mist around my feet goes wild, silver and black flickering between rage and panic. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.
Because Seth—quiet, helpful Seth who walks with me through the grounds and asks about my day—is holding me for Phil like I’m cargo to be delivered.
Silence. No one moves. No one speaks.
And Phil’s laughter rings out over it all, delighted and terrible and final.
“We don’t run,” I’d said this morning, standing in that kitchen surrounded by people I thought I understood. But here I am, being held by someone I trusted while everyone else stands frozen.
The words taste like ash now—hollow and meaningless as everything else I thought I knew.
The sanctuary didn’t fall today.
It was never really safe to begin with.