Page 52

Amaia

“ F irst person to move toward you is fucking dead,” Alexiares growled at my back.

The cold steel in his voice sent a chill down my spine. He meant every word, and I was thankful for the sentiment. Alexiares grounded me in a way that nothing else could. My thumb rubbed over the bare skin of my ring finger. I’d never expected to wear another ring again, but now the absence of his cut deeper than I cared to admit. At least he was here.

I had him—and I had Elliot. That was about the only guarantee as we approached the doors that hung off the hinges of Royal Oaks City Hall.

Moe and Hunter had stayed behind with Reina. Watching over her and tending to the other injured … waiting. We knew the grim odds. Understood they were fifty-fifty. If you were bitten today, it was a coin toss on whether you’d be one of those things by tomorrow. After the first hour, we didn’t witness any others turn. But the waiting, unknowing of what could come later—that was its own kind of hell.

“If they make a move, let them,” I said quietly. “It’s our law. Either I put them down, or they take me down. Each settlement has the right to challenge me individually for their loss. Fair is fair.”

“Fuck fair.” The anger cracked in Alexiares’s voice.

“It’s okay,” I murmured, even though it wasn’t. I didn’t feel okay. Not at all. “That’s how this works, my little hound. It’s okay.”

The doors creaked open, and the noise of the hall hit me all at once—murmurs of grief, the quiet weeping of a broken few, and the oppressive silence of others. Every head turned toward me as I stepped inside. I scanned the room, trying to read their expressions, but all I saw were stone-cold faces, their eyes hollowed by loss and exhaustion.

“Welp. Fuck, you want me dead,” I said, letting my voice carry through the space. It wasn’t a question. “I get it. You want to challenge me? We can get that over with in a minute. But first—” I paused, meeting each of them in the eye, “I’m here to bear more bad news.”

“Riddle me shocked,” Finley muttered from the side.

My glare snapped to her like a whip. “Funny you should be the one to speak,” I shot back, and she flinched.

I moved to the center of the room, Alexiares a step behind me. His mere presence offered a false sense of safety, though I understood it was meaningless. Only my words could. I needed them to remember what we were here for. Despite the loss. No, fuck that, because of the loss. Because there would only be more. More death. More hard choices. More fuck ups.

“What we faced out there is exactly what we stand to go against in this war,” I said, my voice rising above the scattered murmurs. “We all saw it—their speed, their strength, their intelligence . And it doesn’t stop there. In case you’ve been under a fucking rock, anyone bit during that interaction has a 50/50 chance of turning into one of them . Pansie, zombie, the walking dead, whatever you want to call it, it’s a potential in your future.”

The gasps and shifting were immediate, a ripple of fear and disbelief washing over the room. I clenched my fists, pushing forward before the panic could spiral into something outside my control. Fear was good. We could adjust to fear, work with fear. Panic would destroy us.

“He’s playing games with us,” I said, pacing now. “Laughing in our faces, daring us to retaliate. Ronan Moore wants us to know he understands war is coming—and he accepts.”

The room quieted as curiosity replaced the fear. I saw it in their eyes: anger. Perfect. Now anger, anger I could make warriors from.

“But what I’ve seen today,” I said, stopping to face them all, “what all of you managed out there? I don’t think he knows half of what’s coming to him.”

The silence stretched. It was thick—suffocating—as my words settled over them. My heart pounded in my ears, louder than the muffled sounds of grief and anger that filled the room moments before.

Then, slowly, someone stood.

It was General Clayton Harper. He stepped forward, his face like granite, and kneeled, lowering his head. Gray hairs falling into wet, sweaty strands across his weathered forehead.

My chest tightened, the weight of the moment crushing me.

General Rossi from San Jose followed. Then the newly appointed Samantha Serviar, leader of Ogden.

The wave swept through the room, a blaze that spread with ruthless speed. Even Finley, her jaw clenched tight, dropped to one knee.

It wasn’t relief that hit me. My chest heaved with a vindication that burned hotter than Steamfire. I willed myself to stay composed.

I stared at them. Not as their superior. Not as a notorious general who sought to be feared, but as the young girl who never asked for this but owned the position she’d fought for. The scared girl Prescott had molded, the one he’d instilled confidence in, made her realize that with blood, sweat, and a determination that refused to falter, I could take on the world. I could rule the world. I had the power to dream and make it a reality, if only I dared to try.

Alexiares was the last to kneel. His gaze held mine as he lowered himself down, both knees hitting the floor in a vow.

“None of us asked for this,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. “But here you are, anyway. Stepping up. Doing what’s right. Fighting for a better world you may not get to enjoy. That doesn’t matter to any of us. I know that innately. It is not why we do what we do. So let me promise you this—when the storm comes, when Ronan Moore and every Pansie in his army comes for us, we won’t just fight back.”

I scanned over them, my voice rising, bouncing off the empty walls in a haunting echo.

“We’ll burn them to the fucking ground.”

The roar of cheers erupted, filling every crack in the broken space we stood in. For the first time since stepping foot in Royal Oaks, California, I allowed myself a spark of hope.

They weren’t just listening.

They believed.