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CALLUM

W e barely get Edmund through the bunker door before he slumps into the nearest chair like his bones gave up trying.

Kendall hovers near him, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, her other twitching like she’s not sure whether to fight or comfort. Maybe both.

I’m still half-shifted, claws aching to stay out. My gut hasn’t stopped turning since the run back. Something’s coming. And it’s not a hunch anymore—it’s fact.

“What did they say to you?” I ask Edmund.

He lifts his eyes to me—sharp again now, though rimmed in exhaustion.

“They weren’t guarding the chamber,” he says. “They were watching the forest. The ruins. Waiting to see who would open it. And when it was her—” he nods toward Kendall, “they changed course.”

“Course?”

“They stopped searching. Said they didn’t need to ‘excavate a vessel.’ Said the vessel had chosen its host. ”

The room drops into silence.

Elias, perched against the back wall, mutters, “Shit.”

“They weren’t trying to wake it,” Edmund continues. “They were trying to bind it. Anchor it in someone.”

“And they think it’s Kendall?” Elias asks, voice low.

Edmund shakes his head. “No. They don’t think she is the Hollowed. They think she’s the key to control the Hollowed’s next host.”

My chest tightens. My mind races.

Kendall stares at her father. “Then who is it?”

Edmund doesn’t answer.

But I think I know. Because there’s only one other bloodline that could balance Kendall’s. Only one with access, timing, power . And she’s been unstable for weeks.

Adora.

We make the call within the hour.

Split into three groups.

Elias takes a cluster of shifters to rally the west. Witches and dragons we’ve brokered peace with before. Old allies. Old debts.

Kendall and Edmund reach out to the remaining scattered werewolf lines and what he knows is left of the Bolvi line, cloaked deep in hiding. Only a few remain. But they’ll come for her.

And me? I go home to the Hollow. To my father.

Mathis meets me outside the old war den like he knew I was coming.

“You look like hell,” he says.

“Feels like it.”

I don’t waste time.

“We found the chamber. It’s been opened. The Hollowed’s gone.”

His face barely twitches. “So it’s begun.”

“You knew.”

“I suspected.”

I close the distance. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Because you weren’t ready. You let your compassion compromise your judgment.”

“Funny,” I snap. “It’s my compassion that’s holding all of this together.”

He says nothing.

“Gideon’s Torch is rallying humans to destroy us. Typhon’s Brood is trying to unleash a weapon that could erase what makes us us to unleash on all humanity. And you’re still playing chess with secrets.”

“You’re a child,” he says. “Still thinking unity can save you.”

“No,” I say. “I know it can.”

I look behind him. A few shifters look back at me.

Half-bloods. Reformists. Ones who’ve been waiting for someone to stand the hell up.

“I’m not asking for your blessing,” I say to Mathis. “I’m taking the ones who will fight for more than just survival.”

He narrows his eyes. “You walk out that gate, you’re no longer heir to this pack.”

I stare him down. “Then I’ll build my own.”

And I turn away. And they follow.

By the time we get back to the safehouse, it’s dusk. But the clearing is lit.

Fires in a circle. Shadows cast against trees. And bodies. Dozens of them.

Shifters. Werewolves. Witches. A pair of dragons in half-form, massive and silent and terrifying.

Kendall’s standing near the center, her hair braided back, jaw set. And beside her—Adora.

She’s thinner. Sharper. Her power practically bleeding off her in waves. But she nods when she sees me. And I nod back. We don’t need words yet.

Elias steps up to the makeshift platform first, clearing his throat.

“They’ve come,” he says, voice booming. “Because the world’s ending. Or maybe beginning. I can’t tell anymore.”

Scattered laughter. More than I expect.

“But what I can tell you,” he says, “is that the ones who want to see it all burn? They’re already moving. The Brood. Gideon’s Torch. And worse.”

He steps aside. And I step up. But I don’t look at them first.

I look at her.

Kendall steps forward, hands at her sides, eyes bright with something like lightning. I take her hand and together, we speak.

“She’s Bolvi,” I say. “And yeah, that means something. But not what they’ve told you.”

“She’s not your destruction,” I continue. “She’s not a plague. Not a curse. And not a prophecy. She’s a key,” I say. “To breaking the shit that’s held us apart for centuries.”

Kendall speaks then, voice strong and even.

“They want to use me. To turn me into something I’m not. To control what’s waking up inside me. Or weaponize it. But I’m not here to be used,” she says. “I’m here to stand. They want you to believe I’m dangerous because I’m different,” she says. “But if being different means standing between this world and the end of it—then I’ll be the loudest damn threat they’ve ever seen.”

The crowd roars.

And in that moment, I see it.

Not just her power. Her leadership. Her light. And I know we have a chance. We’re not following bloodlines or banners anymore.

We’re following her.