Page 27 of Dark Night of the Soul

She believed she’d chosen death. She spoke of choice like it ended with her. It didn’t.

What she never saw—what I had never told her—was what that choice had done to the rest of us. It left wreckage in its wake. And I was still standing in the debris of hers.

I stayed where I was because following her would have forced the truth into the open. She would hear the truth in my silence and she wasn’t ready for it.

The Fae ward along the tree line pulsed once. A faint ripple that would have been missed if I hadn’t been looking. As if someone was testing.

I didn’t move. The sun fell behind a gathering of clouds. Shadows shifted over the lawn still glimmering with the residue of morning.

Another ripple.

Fae wards didn’t flare unless something touched them without permission. They whispered.

I shifted my stance without moving my feet, fingers brushing the hilt of my knife. The forest ahead of me looked unchanged—sunlight through leaves, birdsong drifting lazily—but the air had tightened. Like a breath held too long.

They were closer than Anna believed.

And that, more than anything, confirmed what I already knew.

I hadn’t sent Silas first because I didn’t trust her strength. I sent him because this was only the beginning.

There, at the far end of the property, movement. Stealth and shadow creeping along the edge of the trees. The second scout. A Watcher sent ahead to see what would respond. To see what defenses awoke.

I waited to see how far he’d go. How close he’d get to the manor. He moved with fluid grace. Sharp. Trained. Effective.

He skirted the boundary instead of crossing it outright. He wanted reaction, not confrontation.

I let him come closer.

Let him believe the manor’s guardian was distracted. Emotional. Sloppy.

When he stepped past the last line Edward had etched into the land, when his attention turned toward the house—

I moved.

The distance between us vanished.

His gaze snapped to mine. And for a brief moment, recognition slammed hard. We knew each other. Had fought together once. When the world was at war.

A grin split his face as he approached, reaching for the weapon at his waist. Then he charged, whipping out the knife.

Steel flashed.

We collided hard, momentum carrying us into the underbrush. Leaves tore free beneath us as I deflected his blade and drove my elbow into his ribs. He rolled with it, faster than I expected, boots digging into the soil as he came up already striking again.

“You’re slow. She make you soft?” he sneered.

I slashed for his throat, but he ducked. He laughed.

“I saw her walking the grounds. She doesn’t see us. Not yet.”

Wild, hot rage flared.

I went at him then—hard, relentless. Blade met blade, sparks flashing as we traded strikes too fast for a human eye to track. He caught my wrist, twisted, pain lancing up my arm, but I used it, drove my knee into his gut and sent him staggering back.

“I will end you,” I said.

He flashed a grin again. “Sebastian wanted to know if you stayed. She can’t be all that. She’s a skinny girl with a death wish.”