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DANTE

T he second I see her silhouette stumble through the outer barrier, I know something’s wrong.

Not just hurt. Not just scared. Shattered.

She’s covered in soot and ash and streaks of blood—I can tell some is hers but not all of it. Her eyes are vacant. Her skin flickers with faint light, like there’s a star trapped inside her trying to claw its way out.

“Liora—” I’m already running, heart in my goddamn throat.

She makes it three more steps before her knees buckle.

I catch her mid-collapse, arms locking around her waist as we hit the dirt.

“Hey. Hey—look at me. What happened?” My voice shakes. I don’t care.

She doesn’t look at me. Just whispers, hoarse and cracked, “He’s gone.”

I already know who she means.

My stomach twists.

“Thorne?”

She nods once, and then her whole body folds into mine.

“He killed him,” she chokes out. “Seraphiel. Left his body there like—like it meant nothing. ”

I hold her tighter. One hand cradles the back of her head, the other around her waist as she curls into me like I’m the only thing keeping her from turning to dust.

She smells like smoke and lightning. She feels like war. She cries until her voice breaks.

I don’t say anything. I just hold her and let her unravel.

She’s always been the storm. But tonight, she’s the wreckage.

When she finally lifts her head, her eyes are rimmed red, glowing faint beneath the tears.

“I couldn’t stop it,” she rasps. “I lost control. I—I tore part of the Veil. I felt it rip. Like it screamed.”

“Then we’ll stitch it back together,” I say, brushing a thumb down her cheek.

“You didn’t see what I did, Dante. I—” Her voice hitches. “I could feel him smiling while I lost it. Like he wanted it. Like I gave him exactly what he needed.”

I nod, jaw clenched. “Because you did. And we both know he’s not done.”

She grabs the front of my shirt, eyes wild. “You have to go. You need to get out while you still can.”

“No.”

Her breath catches as she bites her lip.

“I’m not leaving you,” I say, low and hard. “Not when you’re like this. Not when he’s circling like a fucking vulture.”

“You didn’t see what I did?—”

“I know what he made you do.”

“I could hurt you.”

“But you won’t.”

She shakes her head violently. “You don’t know that. ”

“I do,” I say, softer this time. “Because even when you’re burning, you still reach for me.”

That stops her. She swallows. Closes her eyes. And leans her forehead into mine.

“I don’t know how to come back from this.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper. “Let’s burn the rest down with it and control the fire and only make him burn.”

Later that night, after I’ve gotten her inside, after she finally collapses into sleep on the couch wrapped in every blanket I can find, I step out into the center of the compound.

The rebels are gathered—ten of them now, rough and jagged and willing.

They all look at me like they’ve been waiting for the call.

I don’t raise my voice. I just say it.

“He took her mentor. Provoked her. Pushed her to snap.”

They exchange glances. Some already know.

“He wanted her to fracture the Veil. She did.”

Mara steps forward. “So what now?”

I stare at the firepit at the center of the courtyard.

“Now?” I say. “Now we give him the war he wants.”

By the end of the night, the messages have gone out.

To every contact I’ve ever worked with. Every ally left in the ashes of PEACE. Every fae, vamp, druid, and shifter who ever gave a shit about balance or blood or what’s right.

We’re not just resisting anymore. We’re fighting back.

And Liora’s not just seen as a weapon.

She’s the reason the rest of us remember what we’re fighting for.