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“You want closure,” I observe, recognizing the need beneath her strategic framing. “To say the things you couldn’t.”

“I want to stand before him as the person I’ve become,” she acknowledges. “Not running or hiding or pretending. Just… me. The scientist. The tactician. The woman who loves a Jersey Devil.”

That declaration makes my skin shift to iridescent wonder again, words temporarily beyond me.

“That woman,” I say finally, wings curving more fully around her, “is the most formidable being I’ve ever encountered. And if she believes she can face William Andrews on her own terms, with proper sanctuary protection, then I trust her judgment.”

Relief washes through our bond, her shoulders relaxing as she leans into my embrace. “Thank you.”

We quickly establish safety measures—I’ll be part of the security detail, close enough to intervene if needed, and she’ll wear monitoring equipment with emergency extraction protocols. By the time we return to the sanctuary with our decision, the mate bond hums with shared purpose—not perfect agreement, but mutual respect for each other’s concerns.

Her hand finds mine as we walk, fingers intertwining with casual intimacy that heats my skin. “The statistical probability of a positive outcome has increased significantly with our integrated tactical approach.”

“Is that your scientific way of saying we make a good team?” My tail curls around her wrist, drawing a small smile from her.

“Empirical evidence supports that conclusion, yes.” Her eyes meet mine with unexpected softness. “Though further data collection is always warranted for comprehensive verification.”

“Always the scientist.” There’s only affection in my observation as we prepare to face whatever comes next. As a team.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Blair

The western valley spreads before me, bathed in midday light that does nothing to warm the chill in my bones. Behind me, concealed among the rocks and trees, sanctuary defenders maintain silent watch. Somewhere among them, Dante waits—close enough to intervene, but hidden from view.

The monitoring device beneath my clothes transmits vital signs while a crystal earpiece connects me to Volt.

William Andrews approaches with measured precision—each step deliberate, calculating. His silver-streaked hair catches the sunlight, and the lines around his eyes have deepened since I last saw him.

“Blair.” My father stops several meters away, his analytical gaze sweeping the terrain. “They let you come. Apex told me you had a mental breakdown, and they were treating you when the cryptids captured you.”

“Apex was torturing me for information. I wasn’t captured. I was rescued.” Keeping my voice steady requires more effort than I anticipated. “I’m here of my own free will.”

“You’re not alone, I presume.” He gestures vaguely toward the ridgeline. “Your… friends… are watching.”

“Basic tactical precaution.”

He ignores my comment about Apex entirely. Denial? Or does he think I’m lying?

His lips twitch slightly. “Still thinking in scientific frameworks, I see. Some things don’t change.”

“Many things have.” Meeting his gaze directly feels like a small victory. “That’s why I’m here.”

He studies me with the same intensity he once applied to specimen samples. “You look… different.”

“I am different.” The simple truth emerges easier than expected. “Not the person you trained me to be.”

“Because of them.” Not a question—an accusation tinged with genuine bewilderment. “Because of the cryptids you’ve chosen over your own kind.”

“I haven’t chosen one species over another.” Scientific precision helps me maintain composure. “I’ve chosen compassion over prejudice. Connection over isolation. Truth over comfortable lies.”

My father’s expression tightens. “Truth? You think living among monsters represents truth?”

“They’re not monsters.” The words emerge with quiet certainty. “They’re people with different evolutionary paths. Different adaptations. But no less deserving of respect than humans.”

“They killed your mother.” His voice drops, harsh with old grief that never properly healed. “Have you forgotten Eleanor? What that basilisk did to her?”

The familiar ache rises, but it no longer carries the burning rage he stoked for decades. “I remember her every day. But one basilisk’s actions don’t define an entire class of beings. Just as one human’s cruelty doesn’t make all humanity evil.”