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He kept me small. Called it love.

But what I feel now—this wild, roaring thing beneath my skin—it doesn’t ask for permission. It doesn’t shrink for anyone.

“I’ve been loving you for three years!” His military composure cracks completely. “Every coffee, every mission, every moment I kept you safe and human and with me. That’s love. Real love.”

But I’m not listening anymore. I’m remembering every headache after our coffee talks that I blamed on dehydration. Every moment of bone-deep exhaustion I attributed to stress. Every time I felt disconnected from myself, like something essential was missing, when it was actually systematic suppression disguised as care.

He’s been destroying my true nature because he preferred the broken human version.

Because he wanted to own a weapon instead of love a person.

In the Unseelie gallery, Kieran’s smile turns razor-sharp as Davis’s careful performance crumbles. Political maneuvering at its finest—let your enemies destroy themselves with their own weapons.

From the Seelie gallery, crystalline laughter rings out like breaking glass made of malice.

“How utterly illuminating,” Lady Amarantha purrs, rising with grace that makes light bend around her form. Her violet eyes gleam with predatory delight. “Perhaps our dear candidate requires sanctuary from these... overwhelming influences.”

Every head in the chamber turns toward her, shock rippling through the assembly like waves hitting shore.

“The Seelie Court has long valued careful consideration of such... delicate matters,” she continues with the kind of gracious concern that hides knives. “Questions of magical coercion, mental manipulation, the capacity for truly free choice under supernatural influence.”

Dread spreads through my bones like poison as understanding crashes over me. She’s not defending Davis—she’s using him.

“Perhaps,” Amarantha suggests, “the candidate requires time away from magical influences to determine her authentic desires. Uncontaminated by supernatural persuasion.”

Graves’ eyes light up with predatory recognition. An alliance he never expected but will willingly exploit.

“The Seelie Court offers such... clarity,” she continues with silken malice. “Protected space for the candidate to explore her true nature without... external pressures.”

“Seconded,” Graves says immediately, stepping forward. “Joint human-Seelie supervision would ensure objective evaluation.”

The scope of their betrayal crashes over me like a tidal wave: they want to cut me off from my awakened nature, my bonds, everything I’ve discovered about myself. Turn me back into the weapon they preferred.

And they’re calling it rescue.

Davis steps forward, emboldened by unexpected support. “Ash, please.” His voice breaks like a man watching his world end. “Let me help you remember who you were before they got their claws in you. Remember us. Remember what we had.”

His eyes burn with obsessive conviction that makes my thorns recoil beneath my skin, seeking shelter from something that feels fundamentally wrong.

“I request the right to pose a question,” Graves announces, his voice carrying military authority across the chamber like a blade through silk.

The chamber goes dead silent except for the sound of my heart trying to hammer its way out of my chest.

“That is... unprecedented,” Master Valeborn protests, but uncertainty makes his voice waver.

Amarantha’s crystalline laughter fills the void like poison gas. “How delightfully bold. The Seelie Court recognizes the human delegation’s right to representation.”

She gestures gracefully toward the Truth Stone, violet eyes glittering with malicious anticipation. “After all, if the candidate truly has human attachments, shouldn’t those bonds be... examined?”

Stone drops into my stomach. They’re going to force me back to the Truth Stone. Back to that agonizing magical invasion that strips away every defense and leaves me bleeding truth from every pore.

Graves steps forward, steel-blue eyes burning with total confidence. He genuinely believes he’s about to win. About to prove that everything I feel is artificial, everything I’ve chosen is programming, everything I am is his weapon wearing someone else’s clothes.

“Place your hands on the stone, Agent,” he commands with that familiar authority that’s shaped eight years of my life.

I want to refuse. Every instinct screams against subjecting myself to that violation again. But magical compulsion draws me forward like invisible chains, because the trial isn’t over until all parties are satisfied.

The Truth Stone flares to life the moment my palms touch its surface. Agony explodes through my skull as ancient magic burrows into my consciousness again, seeking whatever truth Graves wants exposed.