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INTELLIGENCE INADEQUATE. TIMELINE UNACCEPTABLE. MATERIAL CONFIRMATION REQUIRED WITHIN SEVEN DAYS OR EXTRACTION TEAM DEPLOYS. AGENT DAVIS STANDING BY FOR REINFORCEMENT.

Davis.

His name sends dread spiraling through my chest, cold and leaden. Not because he’s incompetent—he’s one of our best—but because his presence would shatter something fragile taking root inside me. Davis doesn’t do subtle. He doesn’t care about collateral damage. Anyone between him and his objective becomes a problem to solve. Permanently.

Seven days. Not two weeks. Seven fucking days to deliver intel on artifacts I barely understand, connected to abilities I can’t explain, awakening inside me.

Seven days before I lose my dinner with Orion. Before Finnian’s secrets become irrelevant. Before I’m ripped away from whatever I’m becoming here.

I power down the satphone too hard, shoving it into my pocket as I turn back toward the boundary. The pendant sits heavy in my hand, suddenly offensive. What exactly is Graves suppressing with this thing? And why?

The boundary slides over me as I cross back—world expanding, colors and sounds and scents rushing back with painful intensity. I gasp, lungs struggling with air suddenly thick with information. The patterns pulse beneath my skin, greeting long-lost friends after separation.

That’s when I hear it—movement through underbrush. Coordinated. Deliberate.

They emerge from opposite directions simultaneously. Perfect pincer movement.

From the west: foxes made of fractured moonlight, eyes like silver coins that hurt to look at directly.

From the east: shadow-hounds with frost-breath and eyes that swallow light.

Seelie and Unseelie. Working together.

“Well, this is fucking fantastic,” I drop into combat stance, scanning for exits that don’t exist. “Seelie and Unseelie playing nice together. Either I’m hallucinating or I’m more important than anyone bothered to mention.”

I drop into defensive stance, knife sliding from boot to hand. No way back to the Academy. They’ve blocked every path.

The light-fox lunges first, body stretching like liquid mercury. I slash through luminous fur?—

Pain explodes up my arm. My blade melts in my hand, metal glowing cherry-red.

“Of course you’re made of pure energy,” I snarl, shaking molten metal from my fingers. “Why would anything in this place be simple enough to stab normally? That would be too fucking convenient.”

These things are made of pure energy.

The shadow-hound attacks from the right, jaws releasing frost-breath that crystallizes the air. I roll beneath it. Ice forms in my hair where the breath passes overhead.

Nothing in my training covers this.

A second light-fox circles while the shadow-hound advances. My back hits ancient oak.

Trapped.

The patterns beneath my skin pulse urgently, warmth spreading across my chest. My heartbeat shifts—not fear but anticipation.

“Come on then,” I growl, raising my hands as ancient instincts override human training. “Let’s see what I can really do.”

The light-fox pounces. I raise my arms instinctively?—

The patterns explode.

Green-gold energy erupts through my skin, raw and untamed. The scent of lightning and loam fills the air. Power tears outward in spiraling vines that seem to pull nutrients from nothing.

Power floods through me, ancient and wild. For a heartbeat, I understand everything—why Orion’s fire calls to mine, why Finnian’s magic feels like coming home, why Kieran’s ice doesn’t burn me.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” The truth slams into me like enemy fire. “I’m not human. Twenty-five years of missions, and I’m the biggest classified secret of all.”

The attacking creature recoils mid-leap, luminous eyes cycling through shapes as it processes what it’s seeing.