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Adriel scoffed at such hypocrisy. “How do you act so high and mighty when you personally played a part in the near murder of Jonas Hartzler?”

“We were never going to kill him.”

“And I was never going to kill Danny. Who do you think is better off, him or Jonas?”

“Jonas burned down my house and murdered my aunt!”

Adriel frowned. “I heard it was Grace Hartzler who killed her.”

“That bitch killed my other aunt, Venus. Aunt Mabel died in the fire Jonas purposely started because she wouldn’t help him.”

“Is that true?”

“Why would I lie?”

“You could have told The Council?—”

“Fuck The Council.” The scent of her grief filled the kitchen. But there was also the delicate fragrance of truth and innocence behind her words.

Realizing there was much Adriel did not know about Juniper’s story, she abandoned her point for the sake of their friendship. “I’m sorry, Juniper. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The room silenced.

“Please don’t look at me like I’m some sort of a monster. I also lost my home, and I may never see my son again.” Adriel looked away as the truth became impossible to bear once she said it out loud. “He’s all I’ve ever had, and I may never have the chance to tell him how much I love him again.”

“I knew a different side of your son. Thatcouncilwas cruel.”

Adriel instinctively defended her son. “Christiannever ordered the things they did to you. I’m sure of it. I was listening.”

“Well, he also never did anything to stop them or save me.” Tension charged the air as Juniper’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Why do you protect them?”

She wanted to argue that The Council was made up only of honorable males, but Juniper knew that wasn’t true, and Adriel would not minimize her pain or discredit her suffering by speaking lies. One of the elders had done despicable things to her, she could tell by the bruises on her neck and the faint scent of male sweat on her skin.

“My son was not the dishonorable male who hurt you. You cannot blame an entire population for one individual's crimes. Despite what happened to you, there is still good in The Order. If you told the bishop what was happening, he would have?—”

“Seriously?” She flung out her hands. “What does it take for you to stop defending them, Adriel? If they’re so great, why aren’t they helping you?”

“They did help me! Without them, I never would have escaped the first time.”

“Well, times sure have changed. Look around. They abandoned you. You’re all alone. I’m all you’ve got. So please don’t preach to me about their honor. Your son might not have hurt me but he also never protected me. They’re only honorable whenit suits them. You know what they’re capable of. You knew they wouldn’t risk their peace to protect you from your psycho ex, that’s why you ran away.”

She was right. They wouldn’t have interfered because, in their eyes, Cerberus was still her mate.

“You have to understand, the life I had on the farm, it was all I’ve ever known. Before that, there was only pain. I can’t remember my childhood or what it felt like not to live in fear. The Order made me feel safe.”

“You were only safe if you lived according to their terms.”

Adriel tried to picture what it must have been like for her, sentenced to a small, dark cell, muzzled and bound because they feared her magick. They tortured the witch with fire and water in hopes of breaking the spell on Jonas. But it was not just captivity and inquisitions she’d suffered.

Someone fed from her.

Someone took her blood without consent.

What else did they take?

Adriel lowered her gaze. “There’s a lot we both don’t know about each other, but I believe we both know more than any female deserves to know about suffering.”

“So why defend them? I’m sick and tired of relying on others for scraps. There’s more to life than fear or pain, Adriel. And I’m going for it.” She turned her back and faced the window. “I refuse to accept that this struggle is all there will ever be.”