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SERAPHINE

T he war might be over, but peace isn’t quiet.

Not when every street corner still smells like scorched blood and fallen magic. Not when you can still see claw marks on the buildings, like the city itself tried to fight back and lost. Not when the person who ran PEACE ended up being front and center at a plot to ‘cleanse’ the world. Not when I wake up in a cold sweat and still hear the way Hessa said his name.

Lio.

Yeah. Peace doesn’t mean silence. It just means the screaming is further away.

Jackson and I spend the first few days after the temple burning doing damage control. Patch jobs on both the supernatural and human sides. PEACE is in shambles—most of the old guard either dead, exposed, or too damn broken to function.

New leadership’s stepping in. Tentative. Fresh-faced. Still figuring out if they’re gonna make the same mistakes or not or if they should shut down PEACE all together.

They ask me to help rebuild. Of course they do. Everyone always asks me to fix the thing they shattered.

I meet with the council to see what they need me to do and to set my own negotiations.

And of course I take Jackson with me, because he’s a part of this too.

He stands next to me when they officially ask for my help. One hand on his belt, the other wrapped around a fresh cup of coffee he hasn’t taken a sip of. He doesn’t say a word—doesn’t need to.

I look at the half-circle of council suits and barely-reformed monsters across from me.

I shrug. “Fine. But I’m not cleaning up your mess without some authority.”

“You’re Underboss, what more do you want?” one of them ask.

I roll my eyes. “You know that only gets me so far. And only with the underground channels. I’ve earned that title. But now, if you are asking me to fix this, keep an eye on things officially, then I want as seat.”

Silence.

“On the new council?”

“Yes. I want to be a voice in what happens next.”

They exchange glances like teenagers trying to pass notes behind a teacher’s back.

“But,” one of them—Tomas, a fae with half a face full of ritual scars—clears his throat like he’s got glass caught in it, “There is the matter of… optics.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, this’ll be good.”

“You’re tethered,” he says, gesturing toward Jackson like he’s a misfiring bomb and not the guy who dragged half our team out of a literal death cult two weeks ago. “To him. ”

Jackson snorts. “Glad to be the elephant in the fucking room.”

Tomas ignores him. “The bond has… triggered something. You both know that.”

“Yes,” I say. “It kept me from dying. And kept Thranos from waking up. So you’re welcome.”

They don’t flinch. But they don’t deny it either.

“But it’s also what almost undid us all and woke him.”

I have nothing to counter that with.

Another councilwoman—Maribel, human, clean suit, tired eyes—leans forward. “No one’s saying it’s his fault. But it happened because of the link. And while we recognize your service, Seraphine, if you want a place at this table, we need assurances. Separation.”

Silence.

Then laughter.

Mine.

Loud, bitter, and a little too sharp.

“You mean to tell me,” I say, every word dipped in disbelief, “that after everything , you’re still asking me to choose between this man and saving your precious little order?”

Maribel doesn’t blink. “It’s not about humanity. Or race. Or love.”

“Bullshit,” I snap. “It’s always about love. Because gods forbid someone like me—someone old, dangerous, hard to control— feel something. That scares you more than Thranos ever did. You think that after the pressure and hell we went through that to serve as a member, I’d give this up even when I didn’t to abide by Black Sun?”

“He unlocked something in you,” Tomas says. “Something primordial. You know it. We all saw it. That’s why they wanted you.”

“And what if I say no?” I ask, eyes narrowing. “What if I take your offer and shove it straight down the throat of the next smug bastard who tries to leash me?”

Maribel sighs. “Then you’re a liability. One we can’t afford. I suggest you think on it.”