Page 30 of Echoes From the Void (Shadow Locke Shifters #3)

Chapter 29

Bishop

The summons arrives with precise Guardian formality—crisp parchment that pulses with ancient magic, silver ink that writhes like captured shadows, and timing designed to be maximally inconvenient. I’m updating my tactical maps when Cassandra appears in my doorway, her Guardian marks flickering with barely contained tension.

“The Council requests your immediate presence.” Her eyes flick to my recent oath marks, which burn brighter in response. “Full formal dress.”

I resist the urge to adjust my already immaculate tie, feeling my own Guardian marks pulse with instinctive response to the summons’ magic. “Of course they do. Because apparently preventing realm collapse operates on a black-tie dress code.”

Through our pack bonds, I feel Frankie’s quiet amusement at my irritation with Guardian formality. Even now, exhausted from healing Leo, her shadows reach for mine with teasing warmth. Her presence steadies me as I retrieve my formal robes, their embedded protection sigils gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“Bishop.” Cassandra’s voice drops lower, formality cracking to reveal the friend who survived freshman combat training with me. The one who helped me investigate my father’s death, who shared coffee and complaints about Professor Wells’ impossible shadow theory assignments. “You should... prepare yourself. Commander Stone has been in meetings all morning with the Shadow Court.”

The careful way she says it—each word measured like a spell component—sends ice through my veins. In all our years at Shadow Locke, through classes and training and late-night study sessions, I’ve never heard Cass sound like this. She’s always been the bold one, challenging professors and ancient traditions alike. She doesn’t do careful. Doesn’t do subtle warnings.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, Guardian marks pulsing brighter with anxiety. Our years of shared history make her hesitation more concerning than any outright warning.

She opens her mouth—probably to share the brutally honest assessment I’ve come to expect since our first year—then closes it as heavy footsteps approach. Her marks flare in recognition moments before the Council messenger appears.

Unlike Cass, who at least tempers her Guardian formality with genuine friendship, this one radiates pure institutional power. Commander Stone’s personal insignia burns on his chest, the ancient sigils a clear threat to those who know how to read them.

“Guardian Mercer.” His tone carries that particular blend of respect and warning that the Council has perfected over centuries. “The Commander expects you within the hour.”

“Understood.” I keep my voice neutral, professional, everything a proper Guardian should be. Everything my mother—no, my aunt—trained me to be. Inside, my newly strengthened pack bonds scream warning, Frankie’s shadows stirring with concern.

Cass lingers as I dress with mechanical precision—each button aligned, each fold perfect, my tie a study in geometric accuracy. The familiar ritual usually calms me, like organizing tactical charts or creating comprehensive lecture outlines. Today it feels like strapping on armor, each layer of formal robes heavy with protective magic that reminds me of everything I stand to lose.

“Your research,” she says quietly, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “About the twin programs, about what happened with your father...” She hesitates, an echo of our shared grief crossing her face. “Some of the older records are missing from the archive. Files I know we both studied during training.”

My hands still on my tie as understanding hits. “How many?”

“Enough to be concerning.” Real fear crosses her face now, something I haven’t seen since the day my father died. “Bishop, they’re systematically erasing something. And after what happened with your father?—”

“My maps,” I cut her off, not ready to face those implications, “are securely stored. In a location the Council doesn’t know about.”

She nods once, sharp and decisive. The same way she used to when we discovered something particularly damning during our investigation of my father’s “accident.” “Good. You might... you might want to make sure they stay that way.”

Through our pack bonds, I feel Frankie stirring with increasing concern at my growing unease. Feel Leo’s weakened presence reaching out in question. Feel Matteo’s protective instincts rising. Feel Dorian’s temporal energy fluctuating with shared anxiety.

I send back reassurance I don’t feel, straightening my already straight tie one final time. The Guardian marks on my chest pulse with barely contained tension.

“Cass,” I say quietly, “if something happens...”

“I’ll make sure your pack knows.” No hesitation now. Just the steadfast loyalty of a friend who helped me piece together the truth about my father’s death. “But Bishop? Try not to let anything happen. Some of us still remember what your father died trying to prevent.”

The words hit like a physical blow, but I maintain my careful composure. Through my Guardian marks, I feel the Council’s magic already reaching for me, demanding my presence. Control is all I have left as I head toward whatever storm is brewing in the Council chambers.

The Council chambers smell like old power and stale tradition—centuries of Guardian magic soaked into stone. Ancient wards pulse along the walls, shadow-script flowing like dark water. Commander Stone sits at the center of the raised platform, flanked by other Council members whose formal robes catch candlelight, creating shadows that writhe unnaturally.

“Guardian Mercer,” she intones, her voice carrying that particular weight that makes younger Guardians flinch. I’ve known her too long to show such weakness, especially now that my father’s death sits heavy between us. “You understand why you’ve been summoned?”

“Enlighten me.” I keep my tone perfectly respectful while letting my new oath marks pulse visibly. A reminder that some loyalties—pack loyalties—run deeper than Council politics.

Her eyes narrow at my subtle defiance. “The twins represent our best chance at stabilizing the realms. Their recent display of power with Leo Martinez proves they can absorb and neutralize corruption.”

“They nearly died doing it,” I point out, though I already know where this is heading. Feel it in the way the other Council members won’t meet my gaze, in how their shadows twist away from mine.

“Individual lives must sometimes be sacrificed for the greater good.” Council member Blake’s voice carries false sympathy. “Surely your father understood that before his... unfortunate decisions.”

The mention of my father makes my Guardian marks flare hot against my skin. Through our pack bonds, I feel Frankie’s sudden attention, her shadows reaching for mine despite her exhaustion.

“The twins are under my protection,” I say carefully, each word measured against decades of Guardian training. “As is my right as both Guardian and pack member.”

“Your pack bonds are precisely the problem.” Commander Stone stands, her own shadows spreading across the chamber floor like spilled ink. “You’re too close to see what must be done. The void grows stronger every day. The realms fracture further. And now we have proof that the twins can absorb that corruption.”

“By dying in the process,” I snap, control slipping. “You’re talking about sacrifice like it’s some noble choice when really you’re just?—”

“Following precedent,” she cuts me off, her Guardian marks flaring with warning. “This isn’t the first time such measures have been necessary. Your father’s rebellion proved costly last time. Don’t make his mistakes.”

The implications hit like a blade between ribs.

Through our pack bonds, I feel Frankie’s growing alarm at my emotional state. “Last time,” I repeat, voice hollow. “How many times have you tried to sacrifice twins, even knowing they couldn’t fully stabilize the realms?”

“As many times as necessary.” Blake’s tone suggests he’s discussing weather rather than systematized murder. His shadows spread across the floor, merging with Commander Stone’s. “Though none showed quite the promise these two do. With their combined power?—”

“You can’t have them.” The words emerge as a growl, my carefully maintained Guardian facade cracking. My own shadows rise to meet theirs, oath marks burning with defiance.

Commander Stone sighs like I’m a particularly disappointing student. Ancient magic crackles around her as she speaks. “This isn’t a request, Guardian Mercer. The Council has made its decision. We’re merely extending the courtesy of allowing you to say goodbye.”

“How generous,” I manage through clenched teeth. The chamber’s wards pulse with growing tension, responding to our clashing powers.

“You have twenty-four hours.” She sits back down, already dismissing me. “Use them wisely. And Bishop?” Her use of my given name carries warning as her shadows reach for mine. “Don’t do anything foolish. We’d hate to have another tragedy in your family.”

I bow with perfect mechanical precision, each movement controlled despite the rage building in my chest. Through our bonds, I feel the pack’s growing alarm at my emotional state. Feel Frankie’s shadows reaching to steady me, even from a distance.

“Twenty-four hours,” I repeat, voice steady even as my shadows writhe against the Council’s power. “Understood.”

I turn to leave, steps measured, posture perfect. The very image of Guardian compliance. My father wore the same mask, I remember, right before he died trying to save the last set of twins.

The heavy chamber doors close behind me with an echoing finality. I make it exactly three steps before my careful composure cracks, Guardian marks pulsing with barely contained fury.

“Bishop.” Cass’s voice, quiet but urgent. She falls into step beside me, her own formal robes rustling. “Not here. The archives.”

I follow her lead without question, trusting instincts forged through years of friendship. The archives, at least, are protected by older magic—wards that predate Council surveillance. Wards my father helped maintain.

“They’re going to kill them,” I say once we’re safely enclosed by ancient texts and protective spells. “Just like they killed the others. Just like they?—”

“Like they tried to do when your father interfered,” Cass finishes. She pulls a slim file from beneath her robes, its pages radiating old power. “I’ve been tracking the missing records. Every major realm disturbance in the past century corresponds with twin disappearances. Always explained away. Always covered up.”

My hands shake slightly as I take the file. “You’ve been investigating this?”

“Since freshman year.” Her voice carries a hint of our old shared academic determination. “Since I noticed how many historical documents mentioned twins but never explained what happened to them. Since I realized your father’s ‘betrayal’ coincided with another set of disappearances.”

Through our pack bonds, I feel Frankie’s growing concern. Feel her shadows reaching for mine, seeking answers I’m not ready to give. Feel the others stirring with shared unease.

“Why are you showing me this now?” I ask, though I already suspect the answer. The file pulses with contained power between us.

Cass meets my eyes directly, her Guardian marks dim with old guilt. “Because I was there when they killed the last pair. I watched them sacrifice children in the name of temporary stability. I...” She swallows hard. “I helped cover it up. And I can’t do it again.”

“You’ve been feeding information to my mother—my aunt,” I realize, pieces clicking into place. “All these years, you’ve been the one helping her protect potential twins.”

She nods once, sharp and decisive. “Your father recruited me before he died. Made me promise to watch, to record, to wait for the right moment.” Her lips twist. “I think this qualifies.”

I study my oldest friend, seeing her properly for the first time in years. The perfect Guardian exterior hiding steel determination. Just like me. Just like my father before us.

“They’ll kill you if they find out.”

“They’ll try.” She straightens her already perfect posture, her marks pulsing with resolve. “But right now, they’re focused on your pack. On the twins. Which means...”

“We have twenty-four hours to get them somewhere safe,” I finish, mind already racing with possibilities. “To expose everything.”

“Less than that.” She glances at the archive’s ancient clock, its shadow-marked face counting down with grim purpose. “They won’t wait the full time. Stone’s already mobilizing her personal guard.”

My Guardian marks pulse with fresh urgency. Through our bonds, I feel the pack responding to my rising tension. Feel Frankie’s shadows stretching toward mine with growing alarm.

“I need to warn them,” I say, already turning to leave. The archive’s protective wards swirl around us, older and purer than the Council’s corrupted magic.

“Bishop.” Cass catches my arm. “There’s more. About your father, about why he really died...”

“Later,” I cut her off. “Right now, I need to protect my pack.”

She nods, understanding in her eyes. “Go. I’ll keep monitoring the Council. Just...” She presses a small communication crystal into my hand, its surface warm with contained power. “Be careful. And Bishop?”

“Yeah?”

“Make it count this time.” Her smile carries echoes of freshman year determination. “Make all the sacrifices mean something.”

I clasp her shoulder briefly—a gesture from our training days that carries volumes of shared history and trust. Through our pack bonds, I feel them gathering, responding to my silent call.

We have less than twenty-four hours to prevent another sacrifice.

To prevent my pack from becoming just another redacted file in the Council’s archives.

To finally finish what my father started.

No pressure.