Page 17 of Echoes From the Void (Shadow Locke Shifters #3)

Chapter 16

Frankie

The Council’s decision still echoes in my mind as we prepare. With their reluctant backing, we’ve finally been given clearance to move on Valerie & Blackwood’s old asylum. It feels like borrowed time, using this window of Council leniency to do what should have been done years ago—put an end to her horrors. More importantly, they’ve realized her corruption actively destabilizes the realms, making this not just personal vengeance, but necessity.

The shadow armory thrums with violent potential—gunpowder and old magic mixing with the electric tension of an impending hunt. Ancient weapons line obsidian walls, each piece humming with contained power. My reflection fractures across spelled mirrors, each shard showing a different facet: predator, protector, weapon, alpha. The pack bonds pulse with shared anticipation as I check my arsenal—silver knives singing with shadow essence, guns loaded with Guardian-spelled bullets, and a new blade that hungers for corrupt power.

“Your brother’s form is fascinating from an academic perspective,” Dorian notes from his workstation, surrounded by color-coded notebooks despite the chaos. The monitors tracking realm stability flicker red with each pulse of our combined power. “Though his light output remains concerning when merged with your shadows. I’ve categorized the variations by intensity and?—”

“His energy output is exactly what we need,” I say, testing a blade’s edge. Blood wells up black in the spelled lighting, making the weapon hum with recognition. Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s light surge in response.

“Some of us are trying to maintain professional distance,” Dorian mutters, but his precise handwriting has grown messier with concern. “Even if certain parties insist on bleeding on my carefully organized data.”

Near the door, Matteo’s head snaps up at the scent of my blood, his new fangs flashing. Leo touches his arm with practiced ease. “Easy there, gorgeous. Save the fangs for the bad guys.” But even his sunshine presence carries an edge tonight, his usual playful grin sharp with purpose.

“Western shadow paths are active,” Bishop announces, entering with fresh intel. His Guardian marks pulse with barely contained violence as he adjusts his perfectly straight tie. Some habits die hard. “We’ve got confirmed movement near the old asylum outside Morrow Bay. She’s not even attempting to conceal her presence anymore.”

“Why should she?” Finn’s voice carries that clinical edge I recognize from my own darker moments. His light casts harsh shadows as he methodically checks each weapon. “She wants us to come home.”

“Home.” The blade in my hand vibrates as my shadows curl around it. “Interesting definition of home for a torture chamber.”

“The asylum’s sub-levels are heavily warded,” Bishop says, spreading tactical maps with academic precision. Trust a former professor to treat battle plans like lesson materials. “The wards are corrupted, feeding on?—”

“The failed experiments,” Finn finishes quietly. His light casts stark shadows across the maps, highlighting maze-like tunnels. “The ones who didn’t survive her tests. She uses their pain to power her barriers.”

My fingers tighten on the blade’s hilt until my knuckles go white. Through the mirrors, I catch glimpses of myself—violet eyes almost black with predatory focus, shadow marks writhing beneath my skin.

“These convergence points show abnormal shadow beast activity,” Bishop continues, marking locations with different colored pins. At our raised eyebrows, he straightens defensively. “Color-coding improves tactical clarity.”

“Of course it does,” Leo grins, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Did you and Dorian coordinate your organizational systems? Please tell me there’s a PowerPoint.”

“It’s a comprehensive visual guide,” Bishop and Dorian say in unison, then glare at each other.

“They’re gathering,” I say, feeling the truth of it in my bones. My wolves pace faster, responding to the echo of agony that lives in these maps. “The beasts. They remember being human. Before she twisted them into something else.”

Matteo moves closer, his protective instincts warring with predatory nature. “The asylum’s defenses?—”

“Have a weakness in the eastern barrier,” I cut him off, tracing a path through the tunnels. “Old drainage system. She’ll expect us to use it.”

“Because you didn’t,” Finn says softly, his light pulsing with shared memory. “Not for lack of trying.”

“The shadow beasts will follow our lead,” I continue, feeling their wild energy gathering outside. Their corrupted essence calls to something in my blood, recognition born of shared trauma. The beasts were children once, before Valerie twisted them into weapons. Now they hunt with a purpose that matches our own. Through our bond, I feel Leo’s struggle—wanting to lighten the mood while knowing some moments need their darkness.

“They remember what she did to them,” Finn adds, his clinical tone making Leo wince. “Like we do. The failed experiments, the ones who didn’t survive her tests... they’re still in there somewhere.”

“Your connection to the corrupted entities is fascinating,” Dorian mutters, adding another color-coded note to his already crowded notebook. “Though perhaps we could focus on surviving first, documenting second?”

“Says the man who color-coded our weapons rack by lethal potential,” Leo teases, though his usual brightness carries an edge tonight.

“This isn’t just about vengeance,” Dorian warns, adjusting his color-coded monitoring system. Each screen shows different aspects of realm stability, all flashing concerning shades of red. “Though I admit my data suggests a certain poetic justice to using her own creations against her.”

“The children she twisted,” Finn says, his voice carrying that new edge that would worry me if I didn’t hear it in my own. “We free them, the realms start healing. Two birds, one stone.” His clinical tone makes Leo wince.

“Eastern approach,” Bishop says, Guardian marks blazing as he adjusts the tactical map with professor-like precision. “When the wards react to Guardian presence in the north?—”

“They’ll pull power from other sections,” Matteo finishes, fangs extending as his predator nature recognizes the hunt. “Creating a weakness.”

“That we exploit,” I confirm, checking my final weapon—a spelled dagger designed to disrupt corrupt power. The blade drinks in the light, hungry for what’s coming.

“Your auras are displaying fascinating resonance patterns,” Dorian observes, still taking notes despite everything. “Though I feel compelled to point out this plan violates approximately seventeen different tactical protocols. I’ve listed them by severity using a color-coded?—”

“Dorian,” Leo interrupts gently. “Maybe save the chromatic analysis for after we survive?”

“Knowledge is power,” Dorian sniffs, but his hands shake slightly as he adjusts his perfectly arranged pens. “Even if certain parties insist on disrupting proper documentation procedures.”

“The eastern tunnels will be heavily trapped,” Finn notes, arranging his weapons with the same precise efficiency I recognize from my own habits. His light casts strange shadows as he works, making Dorian’s monitors flicker wildly. “She’ll expect us to fall back on her conditioning. Her perfect little weapons, following the paths she carved into our minds.”

“Your synchronized movements are quite remarkable,” Dorian observes, frantically adjusting his equipment. “Though deeply disturbing from a psychological perspective. I’ve started a separate notebook just for twin behavior analysis?—”

“Really not the time for a case study,” Leo interrupts gently, though I catch him watching us with concern. The way Finn and I mirror each other’s movements, precise and deadly, reminds everyone what we were meant to be.

“There’s always time for proper documentation,” Bishop and Dorian say in unison, then share a look of mutual academic approval.

“Good.” I bare my teeth in something too sharp to be a smile as I reply to Finn. “Let her think she still owns us. Right up until we show her exactly what her perfect vessels have become.”

“I’ve mapped the most probable trap locations,” Bishop says, adjusting his cuffs even while discussing violence. “Color-coded by lethality and—” He catches our looks. “What? Organization improves survival rates.”

“And here I thought you just liked pretty colors,” Leo teases, but his hand finds Matteo’s arm as our enforcer’s fangs flash again. The gesture is automatic now, sunshine calming shadow.

Through our bond, I feel the pack’s resolve flowing like rivers of strength—Bishop’s controlled fury barely contained beneath his perfect posture, Leo’s determined light carrying an edge of shadow tonight, Matteo’s protective rage making his new fangs flash, Dorian’s precise calculation hidden behind color-coded notes. Each bringing their own strength to what’s coming.

“Your pack bonds are displaying fascinating resonance patterns,” Dorian notes, adjusting his monitors. “The energy signatures suggest?—”

“If you say ‘fascinating’ one more time,” Matteo growls, fangs extending.

“Now, now,” Leo soothes, patting Matteo’s arm. “Let the man have his academic moment. We all cope differently. Some of us bake cookies, some of us categorize the apocalypse by color.”

“The apocalypse is clearly a situation that requires proper organization,” Bishop mutters, straightening his already perfect tie.

“The realm stability readings are critical,” Dorian announces, pointing to his monitors with a perfectly steady hand that betrays his concern. “Though I suppose preventing apocalyptic collapse takes precedence over proper documentation.”

“There’s always time for proper documentation,” Bishop mutters, earning a surprised look of approval from our resident academic.

My wolves prowl the edges of the armory, hunting restless. Near the door, Matteo scents the air, growling low. “More shadow beasts gathering. Their corruption... it tastes wrong.”

“Because they’re not natural,” I say, remembering cells full of failed experiments. “They’re what’s left of her other test subjects. The ones who didn’t survive becoming vessels.”

Finn’s light pulses with deadly intent that matches my shadows. Gone is the broken boy from the medical wing. In his place stands a predator as dangerous as me. Through our twin bond, I feel perfect alignment—this isn’t just about vengeance. It’s about balance. Correction. Setting right what she made wrong.

“Time to remind her,” he says softly, “why she should never have tried to cage us.”

The pack moves out as one, shadows slipping into darkness.

The hunt begins.