37. Thane
Thane
We crest the hill just as the first light breaks through the trees.
Bree reaches the top first—and stops so abruptly I nearly walk into her.
“Thane,” she breathes.
I step beside her and look down.
The sanctuary spreads below us—stone and garden, walls and pathways. It should be empty. Zira said it was empty.
It’s not.
The courtyard is alive with movement. Dozens of figures working the grounds—tilling, hauling, building. But the rhythm is wrong. Too uniform. Too quiet.
Then I see the collars—silver bands around every throat, glowing faintly with suppression runes. The kind the Counsel uses to dampen Feeder magic. To keep us compliant.
My stomach drops.
“They’re bound,” Bree whispers beside me.
“They’re enslaved,” I correct, voice flat. The word tastes like ash. “We used to call it protection.”
Two guards stand at the gate, relaxed and bored. They’re not expecting trouble. Why would they? The Ether’s doing Riley’s work for her—keeping everyone docile, obedient.
Bree’s hands curl into fists. Her Ether rises, silver threads flickering at her fingertips. “I can feel them. Their magic—it’s crying out.”
“I know.” My throat tightens. “I can too. ”
Because that’s what we do. What Feeders do. We feel the emotional weight of everyone around us, and right now it’s crushing.
Despair. Exhaustion. Resignation.
The others catch up behind us. Riley stumbles between Wes and Zira, her face pale.
“I’m sorry,” Riley whispers, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
No one answers her.
Gray moves to my other side, taking in the scene below. His jaw works, but he doesn’t speak.
Rhett’s flames flicker out completely.
Theo’s eyes go distant, seeing futures I don’t want to know about.
Bree’s breathing hard beside me, her whole body trembling. Not with fear. With rage.
“I can’t stand here and watch this,” she says quietly.
I look at her. Really look at her. The woman who’s been broken and rebuilt more times than anyone should have to endure. The woman who just healed her own mirror self instead of destroying her. The woman who keeps choosing compassion when the world gives her every reason not to.
She’s looking at me now, waiting. Asking without words: What do we do?
And I realize this is the moment. The choice I’ve been avoiding for centuries.
Stand with the Counsel’s order, or stand with her truth.
“Then don’t,” I say.
Her eyes widen slightly.
“We go down there,” I continue, voice steady now. “Together.”
She nods once, certain .
I turn to the others. “Stay back. All of you. If this goes wrong—”
“It won’t,” Bree says.
Gray steps forward. “Bree—”
“Please.” She meets his eyes, then each of the others in turn. “Trust me.”
Rhett’s the first to nod. Then Theo. One by one, they step back.
Riley’s still whispering apologies, tears streaming down her face. Zira puts a hand on her shoulder, steadying her.
Bree and I start down the slope.
The Ether responds to her immediately—daisies blooming in our footsteps, the air warming despite the morning chill. The land recognizes her. Welcomes her.
The guards at the gate finally notice us approaching. One straightens, reaching for his weapon.
Bree doesn’t break stride.
The air shifts. The daisies at the gate shimmer, and a soft pulse of silver light rolls outward like a wave.
Both guards sway, then collapse—breathing slow and even. Asleep.
“You didn’t kill them,” I say quietly.
“They’re not the enemy,” Bree replies. “Not yet.”
We reach the stone wall together. It’s higher than it looked from above, rough stone that’s stood for centuries.
Bree climbs first. I move beside her, steadying her hand when she slips on a loose stone. Our eyes meet for a breath—silent understanding passing between us.
We’re in this together now. Whatever comes next.
We pull ourselves up and over, dropping down into the courtyard on the other side .
The moment we land, heads turn.
Feeders stop working, tools falling from numb hands. They stare at us—at Bree’s silver Ether, at my face they probably recognize from Counsel meetings.
One woman meets my eyes and flinches.
And I feel it run through me.
They fear me. They see me as the enforcer. As the one who kept this system running.
And they’re right.
Then Bree goes rigid beside me.
“Mairen,” she breathes.
I follow her gaze across the courtyard. A woman kneels in the garden, hands in the dirt, collar glowing at her throat. Her face is lined with exhaustion, but I recognize her—the one who cooked for us, for everyone, who came to the sanctuary months ago with her family.
Beside her, a man works silently. Torn. Her husband.
And further back, near the stone wall—their son, Kellan. Barely sixteen, shoulders hunched under the weight of a collar that shouldn’t exist.
Bree’s hand finds mine, squeezing so hard it hurts.
“They came here for safety,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I promised them safety.”
More faces turn toward us now. The collars flare, then flicker—fighting her Ether and losing.
Mairen looks up. Her eyes widen—recognition, then hope, then fear all crossing her face in the span of a heartbeat.
My voice cracks when I finally find it.
“Stop.”
The entire courtyard goes still.