"So where do you think Ares is?" Wraith asks, stepping forward.
"He's likely in back in Sevastopol, Russia." Toran pauses, clearly savoring the moment. "You know he found his mate... months ago, apparently."
“We knew he’d found her, and that she’d told him to leave her alone, but he didn’t share where he was.” Hawke says.
"And why the hell did he purposefully dump his guide with Petals after he found her?" Wraith adds, his yellow eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Toran shrugs. "All excellent questions that I'd very much like answered myself."
"What if he lost control?" Boaz suggests, his voice softening. "Maybe he thought he was protecting Toran by keeping him away."
Hawke's expression darkens. "If he's lost control in a human city..."
"Sevastopol?" Astrid interjects, her brow furrowing. "That's Russian mafia territory. That city is a literal powder keg of problems. What exactly does Ares do when he loses control?" she asks, looking between us. "What's his... darkness?"
Wraith's yellow eyes meet mine briefly before he turns to Astrid. "Rage. He amplifies anger, violence. Makes people around him lose their rational thought, act on their basest instincts."
Astrid's face pales slightly. “That city will self-destruct. It’ll be a bloodbath.”
"We need to contact Maven at the ranch," I say, looking at the others. "Find out what she knows, do some reconnaissance before anyone goes rushing off to Russia."
Hawke nods in agreement. "Yes, absolutely."
"I'll take Toran to get some food and proper rest," Boaz offers. "He looks like he's about to fall over."
"Thank you, Lord Magra," Toran says, the fight seemingly draining from him.
As they move away, I notice Astrid watching me, her expression thoughtful. "Let's go somewhere quieter," I suggest, taking her hand. "There's a courtyard not far from here."
She nods, allowing me to lead her through a series of hallways until we reach a small, secluded garden enclosed by stone walls. A single bench sits beneath an ancient oak tree, its branches creating a canopy of golden-red leaves above us.
We sit side by side and for a moment, we simply breathe, taking in the relative peace of this place after the chaos of the tower and Toran’s unexpected appearance and revelation.
"What do you think it means?" Astrid finally asks. "About Ares?"
"I don't know," I admit. “But Ares doesn’t like rules. It’s a thing. So I’m actually not that surprised that he dumped Toran."
"You think something's wrong, though."
"I think… he wants to do this his way. I think he is likely struggling and he doesn’t like to ask for help. His darkness affects other people instead of himself, so he’s not as aware of it."
Astrid turns to face me fully. "You think he might have lost control with her."
I shake my head slowly. "No. That is not something I would fear. He would die first."
“What else worries you? It’s the chair thing, isn’t it. The Table chose me for something,” Astrid asks, somehow nailing exactly what’s bothering me.
"Yes." I lift our joined hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "That," I agree, "and everything it means."
“It’s a lot… yeah.” She exhales slowly, her shoulders dropping with the released breath. "Honestly? I'm terrified. For us. For everyone." Her voice drops lower. "I felt her, Fen. The queen. When I touched the sword… I felt her pushing against my mind. The way she looked at me… She’s crazy."
My wolf surges protectively at her words. "I won't let her hurt you."
Astrid's mouth curves into a small smile. "My protector."
"Always," I promise. "But don't forget, you're a warrior in your own right. The Table chose you, Astrid. That's no small thing."
She leans against me, her head resting on my shoulder. "We protect each other, then."
