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The dark-haired one has claws where his fingers were a second ago, and the other one’s eyes have gone fully wolf, bright amber irises with vertical pupils. Every muscle in both of their bodies is wound tight enough to snap.

“Control it,” Logan murmurs in my ear, his wind settling around us in a barely perceptible barrier.

“Right,” I mutter back. “Control. The greatest of my many talents.”

His hand finds the small of my back, and his fire seeps through the fabric of my jacket, warm and steady.

“Glass sphere,” he tells me. “Build it.”

I close my eyes and picture the sphere forming in my chest, smooth and clear. Its walls thicken as I pull the charge inward, away from everything except the space between my ribs where it lives.

The lightning overhead flickers.

Logan’s fire presses harder against my back, and I latch onto the warmth of it, using it as an anchor. His heat, my electricity. His control, my chaos.

Finally, the silver arcs across the dome fade back into a steady celestial glow, and the boom in my chest settles into a manageable hum.

I open my eyes. Both guards are staring at me.

The dark-haired one takes a careful step forward, his claws growing longer. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. I didn’t do anything.” I hold my free hand up, palm out, the universal gesture for please don’t kill me. “I swear, I just walked up and it⁠—”

“That’s only happened once before.” He cuts me off, his gaze snapping between the dome and my face. “When the sun one came.”

“The sun one,” I repeat, pieces clicking into place. “Do you mean Amber?”

“Yes.” His claws start to retract, although not completely. “She’s visited Pine Valley a few times. Every time she crosses the wards, they light up. But with her, they’re golden and warm. This isn’t either of those things.”

“No, it’s not,” I agree. “Amber is the sun goddess’s star touched champion. I’m the storm goddess’s. Tempest’s. I can control lightning.”

The wolf-eyed guard’s pupils dilate. The dark-haired one’s claws fully retract, his hands hanging loose at his sides.

Neither of them speaks for long enough that I wonder if I broke them.

“Look.” I keep my hands up in the don’t kill me position, even though I can shoot lightning out of my palms, which technically makes this the most threatening peace gesture in supernatural history. “We’ve come a long way, and we need to get inside. I need to speak with Ruby.”

The guards exchange another look, and I can practically see the conversation happening behind their eyes. And despite my urge to fill the silence, I somehow control myself, because we’re close, and the last thing we need is to mess this up.

Although if we do mess up, Logan can bring us back to give us a second chance at this conversation. And a third, and a fourth, until we figure out the exact right words to convince the guards to let us in.

Or Logan can compel them. I don’t know why he isn’t doing that now, which doesn’t surprise me, since Logan works in mysterious ways.

I suppose you have to be mysterious when you’re constantly lying to anyone who gets close to you.

Finally, the wolf-eyed guard speaks.

“We believe you,” he says carefully. “But this isn’t our call.”

He walks about thirty feet away—far enough that he clearly doesn’t want to be overheard—and pulls the radio from his belt. The dark-haired guard shifts his weight, positioning himself between us and the entrance, his body language polite but unmistakable.

Try anything, and you’ll regret it.

Eventually, the wolf-eyed guard comes back over. He clips the radio back to his belt, then turns to me. “Connor’s on his way.”

“Great,” I say, because what else do you say when the alpha of a wolf pack is about to come evaluate whether you’re telling the truth about being a cosmic weapon? “We’ll just wait here then.”

The dark-haired guard nods once and doesn’t move from his position.