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He sent the messages without expecting an immediate reply. It was almost three in the morning, after all. When a bubble appeared with three moving dots, his brows rose. He knew River was a night owl, but this seemed late, even for her.

The dots came and went several times before a message popped up.

You didn’t change your mind the moment you left? I won’t blame you if you did.

His eyes widened, and his fingers grew wings and flew over the screen. Why in the gods’ names would she think he’d do that?

Change my mind? Never, little storm. I’ve wanted you for years.

She’d have to try a lot harder to get rid of him now. He didn’t think he’d ever let her go.

You think I would give you up now? No. I’m here for the gods-damn long run.

Little storm?

He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting to keep his smile inside lest he attract attention.

It fits. You are a storm.

You say that like it’s a good thing.

It is.

Even without the wind’s whispers, his enhanced fae hearing picked up footsteps in the hallway. Moments later, shuffling filled the otherwise silent room as everyone started putting their devices away.

I have to go, princess. Sleep well.

He put his phone away, only to find his best friend studying him intently.

“Princess?” the fae captain whispered, his brown brow arching in interest as he leaned closer. “Who are you talking to, Nik? Do you have a new special friend?”

Damn it. How much did Ryker see? Presumably not the entire conversation, since Nikhail’s face was still intact. He imagined that telling Ryker that not only had he kissed River, but he planned to do it many more times, wouldn’t go over well.

Thank the gods, before he could figure out what to say, the doors swung open.

Nalon re-entered the conference room, trailed by the two guards who had followed him out.

The Fortune Elf’s hair was in disarray, as if he’d run his hands through it, and his face was paler than before.

Rather than reclaim his seat, he stood behind it and placed his hands on the top rail.

“The silver planes have shifted once again,” Nalon announced ominously.

The air in the room grew heavier, and a weight pressed down on Nikhail’s shoulders.

“Don’t be cryptic, Winterthread,” Dranya Silver, a Light Elf Representative from the Southern Region, called out from the other side of the room. “It’s late. Just tell us what you Saw.”

Ripples of agreement ran through the room, but they were silenced the moment Nalon released the chair. He straightened, balling his fists at his side.

“Death is waiting in the wings,” he said, repeating the same warning from earlier. “Darkness paints the paths of the future, and they are rapidly solidifying.”

“What does it mean?” Dranya asked.

Nalon spun towards her, lifting a finger. “Death is coming, Representative Silver.” His voice rose, each word louder than the last. “It is coming for us all, and the future won’t be changeable for much longer!”

A pin dropping would’ve been as loud as a roaring engine.

“Once the paths become stone, there is no way to alter what will come!” Nalon yelled.

Nikhail squeezed the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t the only one reaching the end of his limit. All around the room, faces were twisting in frustration.

This is normal , he reminded himself. His kind is known for their cryptic nature .

It was one thing to be aware of that, but dealing with a Fortune Elf in the midst of their visions was another entirely. Sometimes, they could See events that would soon take place, but often, their visions were wider and less specific.

There had been a few famous Fortune Elves throughout history—the thirteenth Emerald Empress’s Hand, the High Lady of Death’s mate, and the Sunwalking Queen’s half-brother all came to mind.

Each had a reputation for being abstruse, especially when it came to their visions. That was just the way they functioned.

Some people weren’t silent in their frustration. Even Ryker growled, although the low sound was barely audible over the other grumbles of discontentment making their way through the space.

“Silence!” the Chancellor shouted after a minute. Her command rang through the room, an indisputable order. “Continue, Nalon. And please.” She sighed. “Get to the point.”

The Fortune Elf nodded, and his footsteps echoed through the room. He circled the table, stopping behind Grave Blackwing’s vacant seat.

“As I was saying, the time to change what is to come is quickly waning. Where there is light, there is darkness. Where there is sun, there will also be shadows.”

He picked up the dead Representative’s name card and slapped it face down on the table. The sound echoed through the space like a gunshot, and Nikhail shuddered.

“The Republic’s light is in danger of being extinguished.” The Fortune Elf straightened and looked directly at the Chancellor. “Darkness is waiting to take over. Eager, it is prepared to do whatever it takes to wipe out the light once and for all.”

Every eye was trained on Nalon; every expression was one of worry.

“Grave’s death was the first of many, Ignatia.

Every person in this room—in this entire country—is at risk of suffering the same fate as Blackwing.

” Nalon’s voice deepened, and even though magic was blocked in this room, Nikhail could’ve sworn silver flashed through the Fortune Elf’s eyes.

“We must act now and root out the darkness before it’s too late. ”

Silence fell, thick and uneasy and utterly awful.

“What if we don’t?” This came from a witch from the Central Region who sat a few seats down from Nikhail. “What happens if we can’t find the Black Night in time?”

Nalon leaned onto the table, spreading his fingers wide. A vein pulsed in his jaw, and he slowly shook his head.

“If we do not find them,” he paused, looking around the room with purpose, “then everything will be lost. Chaos will reign, and the Republic of Balance will be no more. Stop the Black Night, or the end will come. There is no third option. No other way to restore the light. This is it. Our last chance.”