Page 28 of Echoes From the Void

“Of course,” I echo, fighting a smile as my wolf abandons its post to nose at the book.

A shadow wolf finally gives up its pacing to flop across my lap like an overgrown puppy, while another accepts cookies from Leo with surprising delicacy. Even my most vigilant wolf, the one guarding Finn’s bedside, keeps sneaking glances at Dorian’s book.

“Traitors, all of you,” I mutter, but scratch behind ethereal ears anyway.

“Your wolves have excellent taste,” Dorian says, carefully stepping over Leo, who has sprawled across the floor withhis own stack of research. “Though their organizational system leaves much to be desired.”

“Not everything needs color-coding.”

“Debatable.” He sets the book down with precise movements. “Though these passages about Nyx suggest?—”

The medical equipment suddenly shrieks as Finn’s light flares. My wolves snap to attention, surrounding his bed as memories crash through our bond—cold rooms, endless tests, needles filled with stolen shadows. His light pulses erratically, making the machines spark.

The experiments. Blackwood had separated us—Valerie’s father. He injected Finn with shadow essence, while Valerie injected me with light essence. Finn never took to the shadows like I did to the light. His light keeps rejecting the darkness, fighting against it rather than merging. I can feel his struggle through our bond—a constant, exhausting battle.

“Hey.” Tori appears in the doorway, still in her scrubs. She takes in the scene—my hovering wolves, the guys’ badly hidden concern, the mountain of stress-baked cookies—and sighs. “When I said get help, I didn’t mean summon the entire pack for a midnight snack crisis.”

“I brought research,” Dorian protests.

“You brought an excuse to check on her,” Tori corrects, then softens as she looks at Finn. His light dims slightly at her presence, settling into a steadier rhythm. “Though since you’re all here, someone should tell Dr. Sharma that her patient’s vital signs are all over the place.”

“Already texted my mother,” Matteo says, his fangs appearing briefly as Finn’s monitors spike again. “She’s bringing more healing incense.”

“And I’ve got those Council reports about twin power stabilization,” Bishop adds, producing another stack of papers from somewhere in his formal robes.

“Great.” Tori rolls her eyes. “Research, cookies, and overprotective pack energy. Just what the doctor ordered.”

“The cookies are medicinal,” Leo insists from his floor sprawl. “Tell them, Frankie.”

“I’m not getting involved in your baking justifications.”

“But they’re made with love! And expensive chocolate that I definitely didn’t steal from Dorian’s private stash.”

“You what?” Dorian’s perfect posture actually slips.

“Would this be a bad time to mention I reorganized your color-coding system?” Leo grins up at him. “The sunshine yellow section needed expanding.”

Before Dorian can have an organizational crisis, Finn stirs. His eyes—like violet amethyst—flutter open, immediately finding me. But this time, his gaze also tracks to the others, taking in the chaos they’ve brought to the sterile room.

“Sister,” he breathes, reaching out. “Your pack is... loud.”

“Loud is an understatement,” I say, taking his hand. Power explodes through the room as shadow and light merge, but this time it feels... steadier. Like our powers are learning each other’s rhythms. “Meet the chaos squad.”

“Hey!” Leo protests from his cookie fort. “We prefer organized mayhem specialists.”

“There is nothing organized about you,” Dorian mutters, but his perfect posture relaxes slightly as Finn’s light stabilizes. One of my wolves nudges his hand until he absently starts petting it.

“The one drowning in cookies is Leo,” I tell Finn. “Professional sunshine dispenser and apparently now a stress baker.”

“The cookies have healing properties,” Leo insists. “Try one. They’re made with stolen expensive chocolate and approximately six hours of worry.”

Finn accepts a cookie with tentative wonder, like he’s never been offered something just because. His light pulses with simple joy at the taste, making my shadows dance in response.

“The walking arsenal of fangs by the door is Matteo,” I continue. “Don’t let the growling fool you. He’s basically a guard dog with excellent fashion sense.”

“I do not growl,” Matteo protests, then actually growls as an orderly walks past too quickly. His fangs catch the light, but Finn just looks curious rather than afraid.

“The one buried in papers is Bishop. Former professor, current Guardian rebel, surprisingly good at PowerPoint presentations.”

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