"In here." Thalia pushes open a set of ornate glass doors that lead into the solarium.
The space opens before us—glass ceiling revealing morning sky above, walls curved like embracing arms. At its center stands an ancient willowy tree with weeping white blossoms, its branches bending gracefully toward a carpet of emerald grass.
"Place him beneath the tree, against the trunk," Thalia instructs, already gathering supplies from a cabinet built into the wall.
I kneel and lay Cormac gently beneath the tree's boughs. His blood drips onto the perfect grass—crimson on green, life staining life.
"What happened?" Thalia kneels beside him. Her hands hover over the wound, already glowing with soft azure light of healing magick.
"GUIDE agent shot him." The words scrape my throat raw. My fingers curl into fists, claws threatening to emerge. "We found her—my mate—but she's one of them."
Thalia's eyes flick to mine, surprise rippling across her features before her mask of calm returns. "This wound carries a different signature than typical GUIDE weapons," she says, frowning as her fingers probe the injury. "We know they use controlled magick in their arsenal, but this..." Her brow furrows. "There's something unique about this particular agent's ammunition. It’s different from what I’ve seen before."
She looks up at me, concern evident. "It's actively resisting my healing in a way standard GUIDE weapons don't. Almost like it's... alive."
The tree above us rustles without wind, blossoms releasing sweet fragrance that mingles with blood-scent. Thalia’s magick pulses in the air around us both.
I watch, trembling, unable to still the storm inside me. Astrid's scent. Astrid's eyes. Astrid's weapon aimed at my heart. The electric connection that hummed between us like a plucked bowstring. Even now, separated by worlds, I feel the pull of her soul like a hook lodged beneath my sternum.
"The projectile fragmented," Thalia murmurs, brow furrowed in concentration. "Earth's magick is fighting mine."
My claws dig into my palms, drawing blood that heals instantly. "Will he live?"
"Yes." She doesn't look up, fingers tracing blue light over torn flesh. "But healing him is impossible until I lure the fragments out. It will take time."
Relief crashes through me, followed immediately by despair. GUIDE. Hunters. Killers. And my mate is one of them. How do I court the enemy?
Yet even as frustration builds, I remember the moment our eyes locked across her mother's yard. The wolf inside me, usually clawing and snarling for control, had simply been at peace.
"My wolf let me be in control," I whisper, the revelation trembling through my bones like distant thunder.
Thalia looks up, her ancient eyes searching my face. "What did you say?"
"My mate," I explain, words tumbling out. "Even when she shot at me—the wolf was calm. I haven't had that during a shift in years."
Thalia's lips curve into a knowing smile. "The soul recognizes itself, Lord Fenrir. Even when divided."
She gestures to the tree trunk. "You should lean against it as well. Let Yggdrasil refill your magick. You're running low on energy as well."
I move to sit against the rippled bark. The effect is immediate—magick flowing into me, slower and warmer than the frantic energy of my wolf. It seeps into my bones, soothing away tensions I didn't realize I was carrying.
I close my eyes and tip my head back, allowing myself this moment of vulnerability. Each breath carries the sweet scent of blossoms, each exhale releases a fraction of the rage and frustration coiled within me.
For the first time in years, the wolf isn't clawing at my insides. No ambrosia-induced suppression, just... peace. Fragile. Likely temporary. But very real.
Behind closed eyelids, I see Astrid again—gun raised, eyes fierce, breath visible in the cave's chill. She'd thought I was going to kill her. But something in her eyes... not just fear, but recognition. She had faced me with a warrior's courage and a hunter's focus.
She was my other half in every way imaginable.
The solarium doors creak open. Arik strides in, posture tense, a weather-worn leather satchel clutched in one hand. His eyes dart to Cormac's prone form before settling on me.
"You look like shit," he says by way of greeting.
I snort, the familiar banter a welcome distraction from the war inside me. "You should see the mess we crawled out of."
"Heard you found your mate though." Arik steps closer, holding out the satchel. "Delivery from the sirens. Said you'd want this once you had Cormac in good hands." He bows to Thalia. "Healer Thalia, blessings on you."
She acknowledges him with a smile and continues working her fingers over Cormac's wound.
