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CHAPTER FIFTY

ECHO

T he vibration of my phone yanks me from the depths of sleep. I jolt upright, my heart slamming against my ribs, reorienting my world to my darkened bedroom. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the shadows as I fumble for the device on my nightstand. The screen grows bright, and I squint against the glare.

At the top sits a single name in the encrypted app.

Recruit

Everything inside me freezes before it kicks into motion. I swipe the notification open, my pulse thundering against my throat as I scan the text.

Recruit

I need a favor.

I stare at the message, trying to figure out how to respond. A full minute passes as I type, delete, type, delete. What I really should do is call her out for texting me in the middle of the night, but the truth is, we need her.

My fingers hover over the keys before finally settling on a simple response, one that puts the ball back in her court. She wants a favor? She knows exactly what she needs to do.

Echo

Thought you weren’t ready to commit.

Seconds tick by before my phone vibrates again.

Recruit

I’m not. But someone I love just got taken.

I suck in a harsh breath, and my fingers fly across the keys.

Echo

Where?

Before she responds, I’m already launching out of bed and rummaging in my dresser for clothes. I’d had a late night training, so I’ve only had a few hours of sleep. While I wait for her reply, I bring my clothes to the bathroom and turn the shower on cold. The icy water jolts me fully awake as I step under the spray, watching as goosebumps pebble my skin. I grit my teeth against the chill, willing it to sharpen my senses, to clear the lingering fog of sleep from my mind.

I’m barely out of the shower when my phone buzzes on the little shelf above the sink.

Recruit

I don’t know. But I know who took him. And I’m going to get him back.

It can only be one person. I’ve had MFS members keeping an eye on Nova, and there’s always one person in particular with an almost obsessive need to orbit her every move—watching, waiting, like a predator circling its prey. Sylus doesn’t just want to control her. He wants to own her, to break her down piece by piece until she fits whatever twisted image he has in his head. And if he can’t have that? He’ll make her suffer in the only way he knows how—by taking what she loves and twisting the knife until she bleeds for it.

Fae born might claim to hate her, but they’re all liars. If they can’t own her, they want to ruin her. If they can’t bend her to their will, they’ll do everything in their power to break her. She’s proof of everything they despise—a made fae who refuses to kneel, refuses to acknowledge their so-called superiority.

The phone clatters onto the sink as I yank my towel off the rack, scrubbing the icy water from my face and hair. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror, water dripping from my jaw, my breath fogging the glass. The mask of sleep is gone, replaced with something sharper. More focused.

Sylus.

The name slithers through my mind like a sickness. If she knows who took him, it means he left a trail. He wanted her to know.

He wanted her to react.

And he’s the worst of them all.

The leader of the Fae Born Society doesn’t just want to put her in her place—he wants to erase her. To tear her down until there’s nothing left but a hollow shell, something he can reshape, something that won’t threaten the delicate order he believes in. And if he has to carve his message into the people she cares about to make her understand, he will.

I grit my teeth, shoving the thought away as I throw on a plain black shirt, tugging it over damp skin before stepping back into my bedroom. The moment I cross the threshold, my focus narrows. My movements shift into pure efficiency.

Phone. Mask. Weapons.

After a quick charm to dry the rest of my body and hair, I yank on some black jeans, and reach for the wardrobe against the wall, the hinges creaking softly as I pull it open. Waiting inside is the mask—a wolf’s face sculpted from dark obsidian, smooth except for the carved details that mimic fur along the edges. The sloped muzzle, the cut of the cheekbones, the pointed ears, all give it an air of something ancient, something meant to instill unease.

My fingers close around it. This isn’t only a disguise—it’s my shield, the boundary between who I am and what I need to be.

Each member of the Made Fae Society has one, crafted in secret, shaped to reflect the werewolves we once were. A reminder that while the fae born would rather erase us, strip us of our past, our instincts, our very nature—we refuse to be tamed.

We wear them when we strike back, when we remind them we won’t be cast aside like failed experiments. Some of us sabotage their supply lines, disrupting the delicate trade networks that keep their elite well-fed and comfortable. Others infiltrate their institutions, slipping past wards and false security, stealing back what was taken from us—knowledge, weapons, magic they claim we don’t deserve.

Our resistance network spans Bedlam, hidden in plain sight, but we are still outnumbered and outmatched. The Born Fae Society’s influence runs deep, their resources vast.

It’s why we need this new recruit. She could turn the tides for us.

I tug the mask into place, adjusting the straps before strapping my blades to my thighs. A quick check of my gear—a set of reinforced gloves, lightweight armor beneath my clothes, knives tucked where they need to be. By the time I step toward the door, my phone buzzes again.

Recruit

Please.

It’s Sylus.

Her response is immediate.

Recruit

How do you know that?

I make it my business to know.

Recruit

So are you helping me or not?

I’ll bring the MFS

Recruit

I’ll send you a location. Meet me in thirty minutes.

I swipe the message away and open another chat.

Show time. Assemble at the fallback point, triangulate Sylus’s location. We move in one hour.

Three dots appear, then disappear. Then a single word.

Second

Understood.

I pocket the phone and grab my coat.

The apartment is silent, save for the steady tick of the clock on the wall. No matter how long I’ve been in the fae realm, I still cling to my technology from Earth. Donning an invisibility charm, I yank open the door and step into the hallway.

Outside, campus is still thick with night, the glow of fae lamps pooling against snow-covered sidewalks. I slip quickly down the stairwell, my boots whispering against the worn steps.

By the time I reach the courtyard, I’ve picked up my pace, breaking into a jog toward her location. Shifting isn’t necessary—I have enough time to get there without it.

She’s about to walk straight into hell.

And we’ll be right there with her.