"Or destroy yourself trying," Rook's voice was rough with barely suppressed fear.
Silence fell, broken only by the soft clinking of Jeffrey and his new companions reorganizing their formation around the bone shard they'd delivered.
I watched them, these tiny creatures who'd somehow walked out of an impossible prison to deliver a fragment of ancient power directly into my hands. They moved with purpose, with devotion even, arranging themselves in patterns that seemed significant in ways I couldn't quite grasp.
"The bones can still act," I repeated Milo's earlier words. "Even locked away, even fragmented, they have agency."
Milo nodded. "The Oracle's will persists through them. And right now, that will is focused entirely on you."
Well, fuck me.
Chapter
Fifty
Winter
Iwoke to sunlight painting stripes across the bedroom ceiling and the distant murmur of voices filtering through the door. The Oracle's mark on my forehead pulsed warmly, a constant reminder that normal was officially dead and buried.
Horrace was curled at the foot of the bed, his twelve eyes closed in sleep, his colors cycling through gentle blues and purples. He looked peaceful despite everything that had happened yesterday. The six mysterious mini-skeletons had apparently claimed the dresser as their new territory, arranged in a perfect line like the world's smallest honor guard.
I pushed myself up, wincing as my bad knee protested. The blue markings covering my body had settled into a steady, rhythmic pulse that felt almost comfortable now, like they'd finally stopped fighting against my skin and decided to just exist there instead.
The bedroom door creaked open, and Rook's dark head appeared. His amber eyes swept over me, checking for threatsor injuries or whatever wolves checked for when they looked at people they cared about.
"Morning, Firecracker," his voice was rough with sleep. "Breakfast?"
I blinked at him. "Did you just offer me breakfast without growling first?"
His mouth twitched. "Don't get used to it."
But he was already moving into the room, carrying a tray loaded with what looked like actual food, not vending machine approximations. Scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a cup of coffee that smelled like heaven.
"You cooked," I stared at the tray as he set it on the nightstand. "With actual ingredients."
"Zane cooked," Rook corrected. "I supervised by standing there looking threatening."
"Very helpful," I smiled, reaching for the orange juice.
He settled on the edge of the bed, close but not crowding. Horrace woke at the movement, blinking his eyes in sequence before stretching his tentacles in what looked remarkably like a yawn.
"How do you feel?" Rook watched me take my first sip with what might have been concern.
"Like I absorbed an ancient Oracle's power yesterday and my forehead is now permanently stamped with a cosmic delete button," I shrugged. "So, pretty normal for a Tuesday."
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but was close enough to make my heart skip. "The others are downstairs trying to convince Fenric that we don't need fifteen different safety protocols for basic defensive training."
"Defensive training?" I set down my cup. "As in teaching me to punch things?"
"As in teaching you to not trip over your own feet when cultists attack." Rook's amber eyes held warmth beneath the gruffness. "Which happens with alarming frequency."
I couldn't argue with that logic. "Fine. But after breakfast."
Twenty minutes later,I stood in the apartment's cleared living room, facing Rook across an open space where the coffee table had been relocated. Zane lounged on the couch like a smug cat, Milo perched on the armrest, and Fenric stood by the window with his tablet, ready to document my inevitable humiliation.
"Basic defensive stance," Rook demonstrated, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. "Weight evenly distributed. Always be ready to move."
I tried to copy his position, wobbling slightly as my bad knee protested. "Like this?"
