Page 43 of Echoes From the Void

She opens the wooden box, pulling out the silver pendant. Ancient magic pulses from it like a heartbeat. “This was your father’s. It contains some of his memories, his hopes for the future. For you.” She holds it out. “I always planned to give it to you when you were ready.”

I grip the box in my hands, holding it to my chest as I stand. Like a ghost, I walk to the door, my vision swimming.

“Tori?” I question, because my mother tried so hard to get me to match with a pack.

“Safety in numbers,” she whispers.

I can’t look at her because betrayal turns my blood to venom.

Then a thought strikes me as swift as a viper’s bite. “Just how old is Valerie?” I ask as I spin back around.

My mother’s face tightens, shadows gathering around her protectively. “Older than she appears. Valerie has... ways of prolonging her life. Unnatural ways.”

The implications send my Guardian marks burning. “How long has she been experimenting on shifters?”

“Decades, at least. Possibly centuries. She’s remarkably adept at covering her tracks.”

“And the Council has done nothing?” The anger in my voice makes nearby artifacts shudder.

“It’s... complicated,” she says, rubbing her temples. “Valerie has powerful allies, both within the Council and outside it. And her research, while morally abhorrent, has produced results that some find... valuable.”

The room seems to tilt as the implications sink in. “You’re saying the Council has been turning a blind eye to torture and experimentation on children because it’s politically convenient?”

Her silence is answer enough.

“This is why Dad wanted to tear it all down,” I realize, the pieces falling into place. “Why he was willing to risk everything.”

“Yes,” she nods, a glimmer of pride in her eyes.

I turn away, my bite from Frankie throbbing with the intensity of my emotions.

“Bishop,” my mot—aunt calls after me. “I love you.”

I pause at the threshold, my hand on the doorknob. The words hang in the air between us, heavy with decades of secrets and love and pain. Part of me wants to turn back, to embrace thewoman who raised me, who protected me all these years. But the betrayal cuts too deep.

“I know,” I say softly, not turning around. “But right now, that’s not enough.”

I walk away, the pendant burning against my chest like a brand of truth I’m not ready to face.

Chapter 16

Frankie

The Council’sdecision still echoes in my mind as we prepare. With their reluctant backing, we’ve finally been given clearance to move on Valerie & Blackwood’s old asylum. It feels like borrowed time, using this window of Council leniency to do what should have been done years ago—put an end to her horrors. More importantly, they’ve realized her corruption actively destabilizes the realms, making this not just personal vengeance, but necessity.

The shadow armory thrums with violent potential—gunpowder and old magic mixing with the electric tension of an impending hunt. Ancient weapons line obsidian walls, each piece humming with contained power. My reflection fractures across spelled mirrors, each shard showing a different facet: predator, protector, weapon, alpha. The pack bonds pulse with shared anticipation as I check my arsenal—silver knives singing with shadow essence, guns loaded with Guardian-spelled bullets, and a new blade that hungers for corrupt power.

“Your brother’s form is fascinating from an academic perspective,” Dorian notes from his workstation, surrounded by color-coded notebooks despite the chaos. The monitors tracking realm stability flicker red with each pulse of our combinedpower. “Though his light output remains concerning when merged with your shadows. I’ve categorized the variations by intensity and?—”

“His energy output is exactly what we need,” I say, testing a blade’s edge. Blood wells up black in the spelled lighting, making the weapon hum with recognition. Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s light surge in response.

“Some of us are trying to maintain professional distance,” Dorian mutters, but his precise handwriting has grown messier with concern. “Even if certain parties insist on bleeding on my carefully organized data.”

Near the door, Matteo’s head snaps up at the scent of my blood, his new fangs flashing. Leo touches his arm with practiced ease. “Easy there, gorgeous. Save the fangs for the bad guys.” But even his sunshine presence carries an edge tonight, his usual playful grin sharp with purpose.

“Western shadow paths are active,” Bishop announces, entering with fresh intel. His Guardian marks pulse with barely contained violence as he adjusts his perfectly straight tie. Some habits die hard. “We’ve got confirmed movement near the old asylum outside Morrow Bay. She’s not even attempting to conceal her presence anymore.”

“Why should she?” Finn’s voice carries that clinical edge I recognize from my own darker moments. His light casts harsh shadows as he methodically checks each weapon. “She wants us to come home.”

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