“I came back for you, Caroline,” I say, the words raw and honest. “The moment I heard something was wrong, I came back.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “But the roads… Rosehill…”
“I found a way,” I say. I close the remaining distance between us, my hand coming up to cup her cheek. Her skin is burning hot, so hot it’s alarming.
She flinches at my touch, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Tell me what you need,” I whisper, my thumb stroking her jawline. “Just tell me.”
She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. The fear is still there, but now it’s mixed with something else.
“I don’t know,” she confesses. “I don’t know what I need.”
I lean down, my forehead resting against hers. I can feel the fine tremor running through her body. “Yes, you do,” I murmur. “You just have to let me give it to you.”
Circle of Shelter:
Ashes and salt traced on the floor keep harm away.
The last rune settles into the granite of the town square’s central fountain with a faint, satisfying click. The air, thick with the scent of ozone and damp stone, hums with a residual energy that makes the teeth ache.
Noah Kemp wipes a hand across his brow, his face etched with a fatigue that mirrors my own. “You said that’s the last of them for the perimeter, right?”
“Yes,” I tell him.
“It’ll have to hold.”
Damon nods, his gaze sweeping across the deserted square. The streetlights cast a sickly yellow glow on the wet pavement, illuminating a scene of minor devastation. A toppled bench, a shattered storefront window from the bookstore, trash cans scattered like bowling pins.
The town is holding its breath.
“It’ll hold,” Damon confirms, his tone certain. He turns to me. “You heading out?”
Every muscle in my body screams in protest. I have been on my feet since before dawn, channeling energy into the warding stones, a task that’s as mentally draining as it is physically. A deep, hollow hunger gnaws at my stomach. I need food. I need silence. I need a bed.
“I am,” I say, giving a curt nod to the chief. “If there’s nothing else.”
“Go,” Kemp says, waving a dismissive hand. “We’ll handle the cleanup. Get some rest. All of you.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I turn and walk away from the fountain, my shoes crunching on broken glass. The wind picks up, whipping my coat around me, carrying with it the scent of pine and wet earth from the surrounding forest. My mind is already turning, working through the problem of the Rift.
The prevailing theory is that the flares are tied to the emotional surges of unbonded Omegas. It makes a certain kind of logical sense. Omega magic is potent, life-giving, and when untethered by a bond, it can become volatile. A powerful emotional event—a panic attack, a moment of terror—could theoretically act as a catalyst, a match thrown near a can of gasoline. The Rift, a volatile source of raw magic, would simply be the accelerant.
But the theory is flawed. I see that now. The key is the timing. The suddenness. Why now? Willowbrook has had unbonded Omegas for generations. Why would the Rift suddenly start reacting to them now with such violent, unpredictable force? It feels… orchestrated. As if someone or something is turning a key, amplifying the town’s inherent instability.
Perhaps the Omega surges are not the cause, but merely a symptom. A convenient, distracting symptom. It’s a troublingthought, one that implies a level of planning and malice far beyond a simple magical imbalance.
I pull my phone from my pocket as I walk toward the station where I left my car. I don't miss the driver. I no longer need someone waiting outside every door I walk through, and blending into Willowbrook is easier this way.
The screen is dark. No messages. I sent one to Helena this morning, a brief, coded update.
The subject is more complex than anticipated. Require further guidance.
Nothing.
Her silence is more damning than a sharp reply. It means she’s either busy with far more important things or she’s deliberately ignoring me. I suspect the latter.
I glance at my watch. Nearly nine o’clock. Still, I need to try. I need to report something, anything, to justify my presence here. I find her contact and press the call button, holding the phone to my ear as I continue to walk. The line rings once, twice, before she picks up. There’s no greeting.
