Marcus ca back on day three with information that was either exactly what we needed or proof we were completely screwed, and honestly I couldn’t tell which because my brain kept bouncing between this might actually work and we’re all going to die.
"She was there." He spread papers across the conference table while everyone crowded around. "Fifteen years ago. Stayed for six months under the na Catherine Thorn. Left before anyone realized who she was."
Catherine Thorn. Cassia Blackthorn. Not even trying to hide the connection, which was either arrogant or she wanted to be found eventually.
"Did she leave anything behind?" Draven’s clinical tone had an edge to it that bled through our bond—tension wrapped tight. "Research notes? Personal items? Anything that might tell us where she went?"
"Better." Marcus pulled up photos on his tablet. "She left an entire workshop. The witch enclave preserved it after she left—thought it might be historically significant. They had no idea who she actually was."
An entire workshop. Three hundred years of hiding and she’d just—left her workspace intact for anyone to find?
That felt like a trap. Or bait. Or both.
"What’s in it?" The words ca out rougher than I ant because my throat was doing that thing again where it decided swallowing was optional.
"Summoning circles. Ritual components. And this." He pulled up an image of what looked like a black stone about the size of a fist, covered in symbols I didn’t recognize. "The witches called it an anchor stone. Said Cassia was obsessed with it. Spent hours every day doing sothing with it they couldn’t identify."
An anchor stone. So demon summoning apparently required physical objects and not just, like, wanting it really hard.
"That’s the binding anchor." Morgana leaned closer to examine the image. "Every major summoning requires a physical tether. Destroy the anchor, destroy the binding."
Destroy the anchor. That sounded way simpler than finding Cassia and forcing her to break it herself.
"So we just—what, smash the stone?" Because that seed too easy and nothing about this had been easy so far.
"If it were that simple, soone would have done it three hundred years ago." Draven’s voice went grim. "Anchor stones are warded. Protected. Touch it wrong and it could kill you. Or worse."
Worse than killing you. Excellent. Love the specificity. Very reassuring.
"What’s worse than death?" I had to ask even though I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.
"Soul corruption. Magical possession. Transformation into the thing you’re trying to destroy." Morgana rattled off options like she was reading a grocery list. "Anchor stones are designed to punish anyone who attempts to break them without the summoner’s permission."
Oh good. So the stone that could free us from the demon would also potentially turn whoever touched it into a demon. Wonderful. Very sustainable plan.
"Can you break the wards?" Kael directed the question at Morgana. "With enough ti and preparation?"
"Potentially." She pulled up more notes. "But we’d need to examine it in person. Wards this old are specific to the caster. I’d need to identify Cassia’s magical signature and reverse-engineer the protection."
Reverse-engineer three-hundred-year-old wards. Simple. Totally achievable in the five and a half months we had left before the demon ca back.
My thumbnail found my finger and I was notching through skin before I registered what I was doing, and when Thorne’s hand caught mine I couldn’t even be embarrassed because everyone in this room had watched nearly die twice so clearly coping chanisms were public knowledge.
"Where’s the stone now?" Riven cut through my spiral.
"Still in Millbrook. The witch enclave is guarding it." Marcus scrolled through more photos. "They don’t know what it is, just that Cassia valued it enough to leave protective wards around the entire workshop."
Protective wards around the workshop. Of course approaching the thing required getting through multiple layers of magical security that would probably kill us.
"We need to see it." The words ca out flat. Decided. "If the anchor is the key to breaking the binding, we need to examine it in person."
"I’ll go." Draven stepped forward. "It’s my ancestor. My bloodline. I should—"
"We go together." I cut him off. "You’re not facing Cassia’s magic alone."
All four alphas spiked with protective concern through the bonds and I had to push calm before they started arguing about who was going and who was staying behind.
"Selene and Draven." Kael’s voice was firm. Decided. "Riven and I stay here to manage the alliance. Thorne goes as backup. Morgana to handle the ward analysis."
Thorne and Morgana. That actually made sense—Thorne for protection, Morgana for magical expertise, and Draven because it was his bloodline and my responsibility.
"When do we leave?" The words ca out steadier than I expected.
"Tomorrow." Marcus pulled up travel logistics. "It’s an eight-hour drive. You examine the stone, Morgana analyzes the wards, you’re back in three days."
Seventy-two hours to figure out if we could actually destroy the anchor or if we were just chasing another dead end, and also seventy-two hours away from Kael and Riven which—the bonds would stretch but hold, we’d tested that after the first battle when Kael had to visit the allied packs, but being apart still felt wrong in ways I couldn’t articulate.
Kael’s reluctance mixed with resignation bled through our connection, and yeah neither of us liked it but we didn’t have better options.
"We leave at dawn." I tried to sound confident instead of terrified. "Examine the stone. Get Morgana’s analysis. Figure out how to break it without dying."
Simple. Achievable. Definitely not going to end with soone corrupted or possessed or transford into the thing we were trying to destroy.
The eting dissolved into logistics and planning and discussions about backup plans if things went wrong, and I just stood there trying not to focus on how we were putting all our faith in a stone that might kill us when we touched it.
---
That night I couldn’t sleep because my brain kept running through scenarios where touching the anchor went catastrophically wrong, so I ended up on the roof—because apparently that was still my default existential crisis location—staring at stars that didn’t care we were probably all going to die.
"You’re catastrophizing." Riven’s voice ca from behind and I turned to find him standing there with that patient expression that ant he’d been watching through the mind-link.
"I’m being realistic." The distinction was basically nonexistent at this point. "We’re going to touch a magical anchor that’s designed to kill anyone who tries to break it. That’s not catastrophizing, that’s just acknowledging we might die."
"We might." He moved to stand beside . "Or we might succeed. Both outcos exist until tomorrow actually happens."
Both outcos. Schrödinger’s mission—simultaneously successful and catastrophic until we opened the box.
Wait, was I the cat in this taphor? That seed unfair to cats.
"I can feel you spiraling." Riven’s hand found mine. "Your thoughts are getting weird."
My thoughts were always weird. That was kind of my baseline state at this point—weird thoughts interspersed with panic and occasional competence.
"What if touching the anchor corrupts Draven?" The question I’d been avoiding. "What if trying to break his ancestor’s binding turns him into sothing we have to fight?"
"Then we figure it out." Simple. Certain. "Sa as we’ve figured out everything else."
Everything else. The demon attacks we’d barely survived. The alliance we’d cobbled together through luck and desperation. The prophecy we were interpreting as we went.
Yeah. We’d figured all that out beautifully. No problems at all. Just eighty-one casualties and counting.
"Tomorrow we leave." Riven pulled against his chest. "Tonight we’re here. Together. That’s enough."
Tonight was enough. Except tomorrow we were driving eight hours to touch a potentially lethal magical object and hoping it didn’t kill us.
But yeah. Tonight. We had tonight.
Kael’s concern mixed with Thorne’s feral readiness mixed with Draven’s quiet determination, all bleeding through the bonds in layers I could almost taste, and at least I wasn’t facing this alone.
Small victories.
They’d have to be enough.
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