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“How?” Orion demands, his voice breaking slightly on the word.

“By doing what researchers do best,” I reply, mind already racing through possibilities with desperate precision. “We learn. We plan. We find a way to beat them at their own game.”

I meet their gazes—prince and guardian, politician and protector, two men who’ve become more important to me than centuries of careful reputation.

“In two days, we reveal everything. All three treasures, all our secrets, all our power.” The words taste like revolution distilled into syllables. “We save our mate, neutralize the bone swords, and show the courts that love is stronger than their fear.”

“And if we fail?” Kieran asks, his voice carrying the weight of accepting inevitable sacrifice.

“Then we die protecting what matters most,” Orion answers grimly, adjusting his hold on the traumatized child. “Together.”

“If we can even reach her,” I snarl, composure finally cracking completely as helplessness floods my chest. Air stops moving in my lungs while my shoulders drop like anchor stones. “The Seelie Court’s barriers?—”

“Are designed to keep us out,” Kieran finishes, shadows writhing with helpless fury that sends frost climbing the trees in violent spirals. “Light magic that would burn me alive the moment I try to shadow-walk into their territory.”

Orion slams his fist into the nearest tree with enough force to crack ancient bark, divine flames erupting around his shoulders in response to guardian frustration that has nowhere to go. “Wild Court magic gets detected and repelled before I could get within miles. They would have armies waiting.”

“And I have diplomatic immunity,” I add bitterly, my voice coming out hoarse with strain, “but not until the trial day itself. Not in time to stop whatever Davis is doing to her right now.”

Helplessness floods my chest, drowning me from the inside until each breath requires conscious effort. She’s trapped, alone, being systematically broken, and we can’t reach her. Can’t save her. Can’t do anything but plan for tomorrow while she suffers for seventy-two hours.

“She is alone with that psychopath for two full days,” Orion growls, amber eyes blazing with guardian fury that has nowhere to go, flames flickering around his shoulders like frustrated lightning. “Forty-eight hours of conditioning, manipulation, breaking down everything we have built with her.”

“The suppression magic will make her compliant,” Kieran says through gritted teeth, frost spreading from his feet in patterns sharp enough to cut skin. “Easier to convince that we are the real threats, that Davis is safety.”

I close my eyes, mind calculating exactly how much psychological damage can be done in seventy-two hours by someone who knows every one of her vulnerabilities. “By the trial day, she might not even want us to save her.”

The words taste like poison, but they’re true. Davis has three entire days to rebuild the trauma bonds, to make her grateful for his protection, to convince her that the trial is for her own good.

And we’re powerless to stop any of it.

The Morrigan’s laughter echoes through the burning encampment, ancient and terrible and utterly delighted. “Oh, boys. This is going to be magnificent.”

37

ASH

“You look surprised,”Davis says, and the familiar voice hits me like ice water despite the suppression magic trying to muffle my reactions.

Davis steps from the shadows wearing jeans and a gray sweater, moving with that calculated precision I remember from the field—weight on the balls of his feet, hands visible, ready to react. The cologne hits me first—cedar and leather. My throat seals shut.

Three years of that scent meaning safety. Backup. Someone watching my six.

Now it makes my skin crawl.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I manage, though each word requires effort like speaking through honey.

His hurt expression is perfectly crafted—the same wounded look from every time I declined his invitations, deflected his advances, maintained professional boundaries he pretended not to see. “Three years, Ash. Doesn’t that earn me a conversation?”

Each step requires conscious effort, feet dragging across pearl floors like I’m walking through deep water. I press my palm to my chest where Orion’s warmth should live and find only hollow space.

Where are they?

Where is Orion’s rage, Kieran’s precision, Finnian’s quiet strength?

I press my palms to my temples, searching desperately for any trace of the bonds that should connect us. Nothing. The silence where their voices should answer makes my next breath catch like swallowing glass.

The beautiful chamber suddenly feels like a tomb, all pearl and crystal surfaces reflecting his approach from multiple angles. Everywhere I look, there he is—moving closer, patient as a hunter who knows his prey can’t escape.