Page 30

30

SERAPHINE

T here’s a sharp kind of peace that comes after telling someone the worst of you and having them stay.Especially when it feels as heavy as this and never telling a soul.

A silence that doesn’t feel empty.

I don’t know how long Jackson and I sit like that on the couch—legs tangled, his palm warm against my neck, his heartbeat steady through our bond—but it’s long enough that the world outside stops feeling real.

Long enough for me to pretend we could disappear.

But the world doesn’t forget. And neither do we.

“I think we need to go public,” I say, hours later, curled beside him on the bed, fingers tracing the tattoo just under his ribs.

He stills.

“Public?” he repeats, voice rough with sleep. “As in, what, post a selfie and a love letter to the supernatural net?”

I give him a look. “Don’t be an ass.”

He grins. “No promises.”

I sit up, tucking a leg under me. “They already know. The cult, the Brood, the ones watching us. But the rest of the world? The supernatural communities? PEACE? They’re still guessing.”

“And if we tell them?—?”

“They’ll stop guessing,” I say. “And they’ll start choosing sides. And maybe me protecting you from that attack at PEACE will make more sense as well.”

Jackson’s quiet for a long moment before he says, “You really think forcing their hand is the best option?”

“I think if we keep hiding, they’ll strike again. Harder. Cleaner. They’ll use the shadows to bleed us out and others will suffer while they try.” My voice tightens. “At least if we go loud, we get to control the narrative and maybe draw out those doing these things if it’s meant for us and not all of the others.”

He exhales slowly. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Just like that?”

He shrugs, meeting my eyes. “I already picked my side. Might as well let the rest of the damn world know.”

We meet with Halbrook two hours later.

His office is dim, blinds drawn, light bleeding in slats across the floor like prison bars.

He doesn’t look surprised when we announce what we want to do. He does look pissed.

“Tell me this is a joke,” he says.

“It’s not,” I reply calmly. “We’re making it official.”

“‘It’ being what?” he snaps. “An alliance? A bond? A political suicide pact?”

Jackson just folds his arms. “All of the above.”

Halbrook glares at me. “You understand what this means?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“You’re already hanging by threads with the dragons. The vampires are using your name to leverage fear, and the Fae are one heartbeat from calling for exile. You do this, you alienate every supernatural council still pretending to respect you.”

“And the ones who never did will come out of hiding,” I reply. “And then maybe we can finally finish this war instead of playing chess with corpses.”

Halbrook doesn’t respond right away. Then he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

“You want to burn the bridge,” he says. “Just to see who’ll try to jump after you.”

“Exactly.”

He studies me. And then Jackson. Then back again.

Finally, he says, “Fine. You want to go public? You do it on your terms. But don’t expect PEACE to save your ass when it turns.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jackson mutters.

Halbrook’s voice turns hard. “You go live, you take the risk. Whatever comes next, it’s on you. ”

“We know,” I say. Because we do.

And still, we choose this.

The message goes out that night.

A statement from both of us—broadcast on every supernatural channel, encrypted and then immediately leaked by people we trust to spread it further.

We don’t name names. We don’t give locations. But we show our faces. We admit the bond. We show unity between a human hater and one who tracks down supernaturals.

The aftermath is immediate.

Some of PEACE calls it brave. Others call it betrayal.

I walk through headquarters the next morning and feel eyes on me like daggers. Two agents step out of my way like I’m contagious. One spits a curse under his breath loud enough for me to hear.

Jackson walks beside me as we head to the interrogation room where our prisoners are held.

They glare at him too.

But his chin is up. Eyes hard. He’s not pretending anymore either.

Halbrook doesn’t speak to us again. Not yet.

But I can feel it—the fracture in the walls of PEACE, in the community, in everything. Splintering like glass under heat.

Jackson glances at me as we walk through the central atrium.

“You okay?”

“We’re still breathing.”

His fingers brush mine as we pass through the main doors.

“That’s something.”