Pay attention to the ceremony.
I am. You’re part of the ceremony.
You’re impossible.
I know. That’s why you love me.
I shoot her my widest grin. She rolls her eyes and responds with a slow shake of her head, but the corner of her mouth curves upward before she turns her attention forward again.
On the dais, Xander approaches a large ornate table that juts out nearly half its width. It’s carved from dark mahogany embossed with interlocking wolf head sigils and every phase of the moon circling the edges in an endless loop. The thick legs end in clawed feet that grip the stone floor like they’ve grown from it. The carved lunar phases catch the torchlight, each one polished to a depth that speaks of decades of careful hands.
Stasio stands beside Xander, Haron’s hand steady at his elbow. The Elder moves with deliberate care, his body still rebuilding its strength, but his hazel eyes burn with a purpose.
“Today marks a new era.” Xander’s voice carries through the hall, pitched to reach every corner without strain. “For generations, the Lycans of the Crescent Pack and the Shaman of Hima Mountain have regarded each other with suspicion and fear. Even violence.” He pauses, his silver-blue gaze cutting across the assembled crowd. “That ends now.”
A scribe appears bearing a scroll of thick parchment, unrolling it across the table’s gleaming surface. The treaty. Weeks of negotiation have been condensed into flowing script and binding promises. I catch myself holding my breath.
Xander and Stasio face each other, their right fists over their hearts.
“By the moon and stars, by the Goddess and gods,” they speak in unison, their voices resonating through the stone walls, “I pledge my people to this covenant. Let peace bind us. Let trust guide us. Let betrayal find no harbor between our kind.”
Xander accepts a quill, dips it in ink, and signs with a flourish.
He offers the quill to Stasio, whose hand moves with confidence, his name taking shape in flowing script beneath Xander’s.
The scribe retrieves the quill. Xander extends his hand. Both leaders clasp forearms, their grip firm, sealing the oath they’ve sworn.
Applause erupts, hesitant at first from both sides, then building as everyone rises and the reality of what this means fills the hall like air rushing back into starved lungs.
Peace. Documented, legally binding, signed-on-the-dotted-line peace, between two peoples who’ve been killing each other for generations. And I’m sitting here in this secret, parallel world to witness it all. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was just the dumb kid from Creek Falls who used to scrape burnt eggs off a diner griddle.
You did it!I send the bright and unguarded words to Rhiannon, half expecting her to snap at me for breaking her focus.
Rhiannon keeps her gaze forward, maintaining her composure, but her smile breaks through, and the warmth of her unmistakable pride washes through me.
Wedid it, Truth Seer.
That hits me harder than I can handle.
She isn’t just being humble by saying “the pack did it,” or, “it was a team effort.” She said we did it. She wants me to know that I’m not just an observer, but someone who deserves to take pride in this too. That my watchful eyes, my quick mind, and my stubborn human instincts brought something to a world full of supernatural, superior beings that they never knew they needed. That they couldn’t have done this without me.
My throat tightens. I grip the fabric of my pants against my thigh, anchoring myself.
I’m not expendable. I never was. The human who thought he couldn’t make a difference for anyone helped build all this.
Stasio raises his hand, and the applause fades. He scans the guards positioned throughout the Great Hall until his gaze lands on Conan, Jayme, and Rhiannon.
“Sir Jayme of the Crescent Pack.” Stasio’s words reverberate throughout every corner of the chamber. “Please step forward.”
Jayme freezes beside Rhiannon on the dais.
Rhiannon’s hand drifts to her sword hilt. It’s subtle — automatic — the kind of movement most people would miss. But I catch it. I catch everything about her.
Jayme doesn’t move. His whole body stiffens, his green eyes darting to Rhiannon for guidance.
Neither of them knows what the Shaman have planned for him. Neither do any of us, for that matter.
Conan nudges Jayme forward with an elbow.
