Chapter 25
THE ONE WHERE YOU NEARLY GOT YOURSELF POSSESSED BY TRYING TO PET THE SHADOW DOG?
The kitchen smelled delicious. Something thick and savory hung in the air, layered with herbs I couldn't name but recognized bone deep.
My steps faltered at the threshold of our common area, the domesticity of the scene catching me off guard.
Just my team, gathered around the long table Grayson and Kearan had somehow procured to make me feel more comfortable in this place, passing dishes and speaking in voices quiet enough that they almost sounded normal.
I lingered in the doorway, suddenly unwilling to break whatever spell had fallen over them.
Trux's laugh… his actual laugh, not the sarcastic bark he usually offered, rolled across the room.
Seph sat with her feet tucked beneath her, gesturing with a piece of bread as she talked.
Even Kearan moved through the space with a fluidity I'd expected would take longer to return after the burden he'd taken from Trux last night.
He transferred something from a pot to a serving dish.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen that. Couldn't remember if I ever had.
"You going to stand there all night?" Rhiot called, spotting me lurking in the doorway. "Because Kearan made some kind of stew that smells incredible, and Trux will absolutely eat your portion if you don't claim it."
Heat crawled up my neck as everyone turned to look at me. I stepped into the room properly, suddenly conscious of how I'd been hovering like some kind of ghost at the edges of a party I wasn't sure I'd been invited to.
"Sorry," I muttered. "Got caught up in some research."
A blatant lie. I'd been staring at the dagger for hours, trying to decipher more of the runes, my brain humming with Zandia's revelations and Ro's warnings. But they didn't need to know that. Not tonight. Not when everything felt so preciously, impossibly normal.
Kearan appeared beside me, silent as always despite his size.
He didn't speak, just pressed a full plate into my hands and nodded toward an empty chair before disappearing back to the kitchen.
The plate held a bowl of rich stew, chunks of meat and vegetables swimming in a broth that steamed invitingly.
Beside it sat a thick slice of bread, already buttered.
I stood frozen, staring down at the food. Such a simple thing. A plate, prepared specifically for me. Thought put into what I might want, what I might need. The weight of it pressed against my ribs, making it hard to breathe.
"He's been cooking for hours," Grayson said, materializing at my elbow. "Won't say why."
I glanced toward the kitchen, where Kearan moved with surprising grace between stove and counter, his back to the room. No tension in his shoulders. No wariness in his movements. Just concentration and purpose.
"Does he need a reason?" I asked.
Grayson's mouth curved. "For normal people, no. For Kearan?" he shrugged. "This is the most... settled I've seen him since we met. And that was a long time ago."
I carried my plate to the table, eyes tracking the unexpected tableau before me.
Seph sat at the far end, her wild hair standing up in all directions that somehow emphasized rather than disguised the sharpness of her features.
She talked with her hands, animated and alive, punctuating her sentences with taps of her fork against her plate.
And at the opposite end—not exactly close, but present—sat Ryker.
In human form. He'd been shifting to raccoon the moment I entered a room for weeks now, refusing to engage, refusing to even look at me directly.
Now he sat fully human, shoulders hunched slightly beneath a worn flannel shirt, gaze fixed firmly on his plate as he methodically worked through his stew.
Not comfortable. Not entirely present. But here. In the same room as me. Without running.
Progress.
I slid into an empty seat between Trux and an unclaimed chair, careful not to disrupt whatever delicate balance had been struck.
Trux nodded a greeting but didn't break away from his conversation with Rhiot.
The two of them bent over a tablet, shoulder to shoulder, something almost easy in their posture.
No strain. No careful distance. Just two people focused on the same task, their bodies aligned without thought.
"Do you recognize this sigil?" Rhiot was asking, pointing to something on the screen. "It looks familiar, but I can't place it."
Trux leaned in closer, squinting. "Protection ward, but specific to liminal spaces. Thresholds, mostly. You'd put it above doorways to prevent anything crossing with ill intent."
"Right!" Rhiot smacked the table with his palm. "The Grenada mission. That abandoned church where all the goats kept disappearing."
"The one where you nearly got yourself possessed by trying to pet the shadow dog?"
"In my defense, it looked very soft."
"It had three rows of teeth and was eating the altar."
Rhiot waved dismissively. "Details."
Their bickering lacked the edge it usually carried. No old wounds reopened for fresh bleeding. Just the familiar back-and-forth of people who knew each other well enough to tease without drawing blood.
I ate slowly, the stew warming me from the inside out.
Kearan had somehow known exactly how I liked it…
heavy on the vegetables, with plenty of garlic and just enough spice to leave a pleasant warmth on the tongue.
The thought made something twist in my chest, tight and sweet and painful all at once.
The dagger hung heavy in my jacket pocket.
Eloise's dagger. My mother's legacy passed down through a bloodline I hadn't known existed until recently.
The runes whispered at the edges of my consciousness, meanings unfolding with frustrating slowness.
Not enough. Never enough to piece together the full message she'd left for me.
But something. A start.
"You're thinking so loudly I can hear you from across the room."
I looked up to find Grayson watching me, his gray eyes warm with amusement.
He stood in the space between the kitchen and dining area, one shoulder propped against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His mind brushed mine gently…
not invasive, just present. A hello rather than an interrogation.
You look lost, his voice murmured in my head. Come back to us.
I pushed my plate away and stood, crossing to where he waited. He straightened as I approached, something softening in his expression.
We did it, he said, the words filling my mind like warm honey. Look at them.
I followed his gaze back to the table. To Seph and Ryker, inhabiting the same space without obvious discomfort.
Trux and Rhiot, heads bent together over shared work.
To the empty space where Kearan had been sitting, his plate abandoned but not empty, evidence he'd actually eaten with the team instead of disappearing to eat alone as he sometimes did.
We did, I agreed, letting him feel the complicated tangle of emotions the scene evoked. A fragile, tentative hope.
Grayson's hand found mine, fingers intertwining with practiced ease. "Come on," he said aloud. "I want to show you something."
He led me from the common area, down the short hallway to the small room that had become our unofficial planning space.
Unlike the sterile Division conference rooms, this one felt lived in and personal.
Rhiot's notes covered one wall, his surprisingly elegant handwriting filling the spaces between Seph's more chaotic diagrams. A worn couch occupied one corner, piled with blankets and pillows.
Seemed my mates wanted to make all the areas for us more comfortable, following after Kearan after he'd made one of the main operations rooms less military sterile for me.
Grayson closed the door behind us, the click of the latch sealing us into our own private bubble. I sank onto the couch, suddenly aware of how tired I was. Not the bone-deep exhaustion of magic drained too quickly, but the softer fatigue of constant vigilance finally eased.
I pulled the dagger from my pocket, turning it over in my hands. The runes caught the soft lamplight, gleaming like they held their own inner fire. My fingers traced the largest one… convergence, balance, meeting point… the first to reveal its meaning to me.
"You've been studying it for hours," Grayson said, settling beside me. "Any progress?"
I shook my head. "A few more symbols make sense now. Protection. Boundary. Blood-right. But the rest..." I sighed. "It's like trying to read through fog. I know they mean something. I just can't quite grasp what."
He reached out, his fingers hovering just above the blade without touching it . "May I?"
I hesitated, then placed the dagger carefully in his palm. He didn't try to close his fingers around it, just let it rest there, eyes half-closed as he concentrated.
"It's not just a weapon," he said after a long moment. "It's... resonant. Like it's waiting for something. For you to unlock it fully." His eyes opened, finding mine. "Your mother put a lot of herself into this. A lot of love."
My throat closed suddenly, grief and longing tangling together until I couldn't separate them. "She knew," I said, the words barely audible. "All that time, she knew what I was. What would happen to me? And she never said anything. I just can't reconcile the two sides of her yet."
"She protected you the only way she could." Grayson's voice held absolute certainty. "She'd be proud of you, Parker. Of how far you've come. Of what you're building here."
I took the dagger back, its weight familiar and comforting against my palm. "I wish I could ask her what to do next." The admission cost me, pride bleeding out with the words. "About all the evil, hateful things she said and did. Or just asking my mother for advice like a daughter normally does."
"You know what to do next." Grayson's certainty wrapped around me like a blanket. "You already decided, didn't you? About Kearan."
I nodded, not bothering to question how he knew. Grayson always knew, even when I tried to hide my thoughts from him. "He's next. The bond... it feels right. Close already, in a way. Like it's been building toward this for a while."
"He might resist."
"I know." My fingers tightened around the dagger. "He keeps everyone at a distance." I trailed off, remembering Kearan's rare vulnerability, the way he'd finally let his guard down enough to sleep. "But he's ready. Even if he doesn't know it yet."
Grayson nodded slowly. "And Ryker?"
My eyes found the door, staring through it to where I knew Ryker still sat, maintaining his careful distance from everyone.
From me especially. The bond between us…
barely formed, hardly acknowledged… stretched thin and fragile across the space separating us.
Not broken. Not yet. But stressed nearly to the breaking point by whatever pain he carried about me, about what I represented.
"I don't know," I admitted. "There's a wall there.
Something I don't understand yet. Something I need to.
.." I shook my head. "He's not ready. And I'm not sure I've earned the right to push.
Zandia swears it will work this time. And Kearan wants me to go to Ryker first. But Kearan feels like the right one to bond with next. Now it's up to him."
"He will," Grayson said simply. "When it's time."
The certainty in his voice wrapped around me like armor. Not blind faith or empty reassurance. Just quiet confidence, born of years spent seeing patterns others missed. If Grayson believed Ryker would come around eventually, then maybe...
A sharp crack from the common room interrupted my thoughts, followed by Seph's startled laugh and Trux's rumbling curse.
We emerged from our temporary sanctuary to find Mephistral perched on the table, surrounded by scattered cutlery and a spray of breadcrumbs.
The imp demon clutched a piece of toast in his tiny hands, crumbs dusting his chin as he chewed with theatrical enthusiasm.
"This! This is real food!" he declared, waving the toast like a flag. "Not that garbage they serve in the Division cafeteria! That's not food! That's punishment with seasoning!"
"Get off the table, you oversized cockroach," Trux growled, but the threat lacked heat. "There are plates for a reason."
"Plates are for beings with dignity," Mephistral sniffed. "I am a creature of chaos and opportunity."
"You're a creature of theft and poor table manners," Kearan said, emerging from the kitchen with another loaf of bread. He set it on the table without ceremony. "There. Now stop stealing from other people's plates."
Mephistral beamed, completely unrepentant. "You made this? With your own grumpy hands? I'm honored!"
Kearan's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his posture, a subtle ease that hadn't been there before. He caught me watching and held my gaze for a brief moment, something complicated moving behind his eyes.
Then he nodded once… acknowledgment, acceptance, something too subtle to name, and returned to his seat at the table. Not apart from the others as he usually sat. With them. Among them.
I watched them all… these broken, brilliant people who had somehow become mine.
And how I'd become theirs. This fragile peace we'd built in the midst of demons and Division politics and ancient forces moving against us.
This moment of normalcy felt more precious than any magical breakthrough or tactical victory.
This was what I'd been fighting for all along. Not some abstract mission or Division promotion. Not even my own survival, though that had certainly been a factor. This. These people. This space where they could exist without fear, if only for an evening.
My gaze lingered on Ryker, who had relaxed enough to contribute a few words to the surrounding conversation. Still distant and wounded. Still keeping himself apart, especially from me. But present. A problem for another day. A bond to forge when the time was right.
I tucked that worry away somewhere quiet, somewhere it wouldn't poison this rare moment of peace. I'd figure it out. I had to.
For now, just for tonight, I'd allow myself to believe we might actually survive what was coming.
That the convergence Zandia spoke of, the balance my mother had prepared me for…
that it might lead to something more than just destruction.
That it might lead here, to this room, to these people, to something worth fighting for.
To something worth living for.