Chapter 22 Bree
Bree
The crow calls again, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the sacred quiet that still clings to the clearing. I'm standing at the edge of where normal forest becomes something else—where the path I walked still shimmers faintly with residual light.
Behind me, I can hear the others regrouping. Voices carrying across the distance, footsteps on gravel, the sound of car doors slamming. They found their way back to the cars. Good. I hadn't even thought about that until now, but the relief settles warm in my chest anyway.
The crow calls a third time, and something about it makes my skin crawl. It's not just the sound—it's the timing. The way it feels deliberate. Like it's trying to get someone's attention.
Soft footsteps approach from behind. Not rushing, but there's tension in them.
"That's not just a crow." Thane's voice carries an edge I haven't heard before.
I turn to look at him, then follow his gaze up to the tree. The bird sits perfectly still now, watching us with those too-intelligent eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"Shifter." His jaw ticks. "Council representative. Nyx." The name comes out like a curse. "She's... observing."
"Spying, you mean."
His mouth quirks, just barely. "Observing."
The wrongness I felt crystallizes into something colder. "Someone's watching us."
"Yes." His silver eyes are hard now, angry. "And she's not supposed to be here."
The crow shifts on its branch, and something about the movement makes my skin crawl. Like it's listening to every word, cataloguing every detail to report back.
"She won't leave," I say.
"No. Not unless you make her."
I frown, looking between him and the bird. "How?"
"Use your Ether."
The word hits different than 'mist.' Heavier. More real. "The mist?"
"The Ether," he corrects, and something in his tone makes it clear this distinction matters. "That's what it's called. What you are."
I stare up at the crow, then back at him. "How?"
"The same way you opened the path. The same way the forest answered you." His silver eyes study my face. "Set a boundary. Make it clear she's not welcome."
I close my eyes, trying to feel for that same instinct that guided me to the well. The mist—the Ether—stirs around my ankles, but when I reach for it, it slips away like trying to hold water.
"I don't—"
"Don't think. Feel."
I try again, this time focusing on the feeling rather than the how. The sense of wrongness, of being watched by something that doesn't belong. The Ether responds, rising around me like a protective barrier, and I push that feeling outward.
Not welcome. Not here. Go.
The crow launches off the branch so suddenly I jump, black wings beating hard against the air as it disappears into the deeper forest.
My knees nearly buckle with the effort, but satisfaction floods through me anyway. I did that. I made it leave.
Thane steps forward instinctively—like he's going to steady me—but stops short. Hands hovering. Watching me.
"Why do you only let Jace touch you?"
The question catches me off guard.
I straighten slowly, bracing myself without help. "I don’t."
He doesn’t respond right away. Just studies me with that too-perceptive gaze, like he’s trying to measure something invisible.
“I saw him holding your hand earlier,” he says quietly. “At breakfast. The others hold back.”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter.
He hums, low and unreadable. “Is it trust?”
I glance away, suddenly needing the forest more than the conversation. “It’s survival.”
A beat of silence.
Then, softer: “For what it’s worth… I understand what it means to be touched less.”
That stops me. Not fully, but enough to hear the edge under his voice.
We walk in silence for a while, the Ether curling lazily around my ankles again—like it’s watching both of us now.
“So what happened to me back there?” I ask finally. “At the well.
"I don't fully know," he says, and I can tell he's choosing his words carefully. Not lying, but not telling me everything either.
I file that away for later and try a different approach.
"You told all of the guys what they were. What are you?"
He's quiet for so long I think he might not answer. Then: "A Feeder."
"And that's...?"
His jaw ticks, just slightly. "Nothing you need to worry about."
The dismissal in his tone makes something hot and sharp rise in my chest. "I know what it feels like to be treated like I'm less," I say, stopping abruptly. "I won't do that to someone else. So try again."
He turns to face me fully, silver eyes searching my expression like he's trying to solve a puzzle. After a long moment, he exhales.
"Feeders survive off energy. Magic, emotion, life force—it depends on the individual. We're not..." He pauses, choosing his words. "We're not always respected. Some see us as parasitic. Dangerous. Necessary, but barely tolerated."
The words land like stones in my stomach. "That's why they don't respect you."
"Yes."
"That's why they sent you."
"Yes."
I study his face—the careful mask, the controlled expression that doesn't quite hide the years of dealing with being seen as less than. "And yet... you volunteered."
"I did."
"Why?"
His mouth curves into something that might be a smile if it reached his eyes. "Just like I told you—I thought you were going to be a problem."
I cross my arms, not buying it. "And why did you really volunteer?"
This time his expression shifts, becomes something more honest. "Because I needed to see you for myself."
I don't answer him. Just start walking again, faster this time, the Ether swirling around my feet like it's annoyed on my behalf.
Behind us, maybe ten paces back, I can hear Stellan following. Not trying to catch up, not trying to disappear either. Just... there. When I glance back, he's watching with that unreadable expression of his, like he knows exactly what conversation just happened and finds it mildly entertaining.
"The hierarchy," I say after another stretch of silence. "It's based on power?"
"Perception of power," Thane corrects. "Elementals and Shifters are seen as pure magic. Seers are respected for their gifts. Mentalists..." His lip curls slightly. "Mentalists think they're superior to everyone."
He pauses, studying my face. "And then there are Sources."
"Sources?"
"The original magic. Bloodlines that can create bonds, amplify others' power, channel raw magic." His voice goes quiet. "They used to rule everything. Until most were hunted down."
Something cold settles in my stomach. "Most?"
"There are other Source bloodlines left, but they're far less powerful.
They've been left alone." He stops walking entirely.
"Your bloodline—the Scarborne line—was the only one that wielded Ether.
And that died out generations ago. You're the first Scarborne to manifest Ether in over a century.
That's why the Council is afraid. That's why they sent me.
Ether doesn't just reshape magic—it reshapes everything. "
I stare at him, trying to process what he's saying. "And Feeders?"
"Are at the bottom," he finishes. "Always."
The injustice of it burns in my chest. "That's bullshit."
He glances at me sideways. "Perhaps. But it's the way things are."
"It doesn't have to be."
"No," he says quietly. "I suppose it doesn't."
The forest around us is changing as we walk—less wild, more structured. Like we're approaching something built rather than grown. The sanctuary, maybe. Whatever that means.
"They're afraid of you," I realize suddenly. "That's why they sent you instead of coming themselves. They're afraid of what I might do."
"Yes."
"But you're not."
He stops walking, and when I turn to face him, there's something raw in his expression. Something that looks almost like surprise.
"No," he says finally. "I'm not."
The admission hangs between us, weighted with everything he's not saying. Behind us, Stellan has stopped too, still watching, still silent.
"Good," I say, echoing his earlier approval. "Because I'm tired of being afraid."
The Ether pulses once around my ankles, like agreement. Like a promise.
And when we start walking again, it feels less like following a path and more like forging one.