He clutches the mug tighter, knuckles whitening. "I was in the garden gathering vegetables. It was evening. I heard... singing." His voice breaks slightly. "The most beautiful music I'd ever heard. I followed it to the small nearby lake, and there was a woman—at least, I thought she was a woman."
My pulse quickens. "What did she look like?" I ask.
"Beautiful," he whispers. "I walked into the water toward her, and then everything went dark." He shudders. "When I woke, I was in a cage with others. Different beings from different worlds. They were... processing us."
"Processing?" Dugall asks, his voice a low rumble.
Tharin nods, a haunted look crossing his face. "That’s what they called it. They tested our magick. Took samples. Those with strong abilities were kept separate. The others..." He swallows hard. "I watched them drain three dry. Just... pulled the magick right out of them until there was nothing left. They were just cold and grey and gone."
Silence falls over the room. I exchange a glance with Cormac, whose expression has hardened into granite. This is proof that some sirens are working against us, but the real question is does Nimue know? Is the Siren Queen herself compromised??
"And the siren who took you," Maven prompts gently. "Did you see her again? Do you know her name?"
Tharin shakes his head. "She wasn't the only one. They would sing to keep us calm. We couldn’t fight back." His voice drops to a whisper. "I never heard their names."
"Nimue would never allow this," Nari says from across the room. “Never.”
"This changes everything," Dugall says, his deep voice cutting through the rising tension. "If the sirens are involved with our enemies?—"
"We don't know which ones are, just like they don’t know who works with us," Maven interrupts. "It has to be a few outsiders."
"Or they could be forced," Nari suggests. "Blackmailed somehow."
"Either way, we need to contact Avalon immediately," Cormac says. “King Stormblood needs to know.”
My wolf paces frantically beneath my skin. Go. Now. Protect mate. For once, I don't disagree with its demands. I have to go.
"I agree, but," Dugall counters. "We have to only tell King Stormblood that there are sirens working with the Enclave. We can’t tip our hand to Nimue."
"She would never," Maven argues. "She needs to know too!"
Cormac shakes his head. “We can’t chance that the Queen of Sirens has been compromised. There could be spies around her.”
I grip the edge of the table hard enough that the wood creaks beneath my fingers. Their paranoia isn't entirely misplaced, but it's wasting precious time. Nimue has good reason to be faithful to the rebellion, but I've lived long enough to know that even the most steadfast can fall with the proper motivation.
The argument escalates, voices rising as theories and accusations fly across the room. Tharin shrinks further into his chair, clearly overwhelmed by the conflict. Maven hands him a fresh cup of tea and he visibly relaxes a little.
My thoughts turn back to Astrid—alone, unknowingly surrounded by a network far more dangerous than she realizes. My wolf paces faster, more frantic. Go. Now. My wolf keeps insisting.
While the others continue their heated debate, I catch Cormac's eye across the room. Something in my expression must convey my intention, because he gives me a slight, almost imperceptible nod before turning back to the argument.
I slip out quietly, moving through the kitchen where Thistle and the other brownies are stress-baking, flour dust hanging in the air like snow. Astrid's car keys hang on the small hook by the back door where Cormac placed them. I take them and step out into the cool night air.
The path to the lake shimmers silver in the moonlight. I move silently, away from the heated debate still raging in the ranch house. My decision is made. My path is clear.
At the water's edge, I remove the silver ring from my pocket and kneel, touching the surface. The water ripples beneath my fingers. "I need passage back," I say quietly.
Silence stretches for several heartbeats before a familiar face emerges from the depths. Maris, her midnight hair floating around her like a dark halo, her opalescent skin gleaming in the moonlight.
Recognition flashes in her color-shifting eyes as she studies me. "Knight of the Round Table," she acknowledges, her voice carrying that ethereal quality unique to sirens. "You seek to return so soon?"
"I left something important behind," I tell her, the understatement of the century. "I need to return to the pond where we left the car."
Her head tilts slightly, those ancient eyes seeing more than I'd like. "The human woman," she says, not a question.
I stiffen, instantly alert. "How do you know about her?"
Maris's lips curve into something too knowing to be a smile. "Your scent carries her essence. And I can see the tether that connects you—it stretches thin, pulling you back toward the city."
