Page 45 of Echoes From the Void

Through our bond, I feel the pack’s resolve flowing like rivers of strength—Bishop’s controlled fury barely contained beneath his perfect posture, Leo’s determined light carrying an edge of shadow tonight, Matteo’s protective rage making his new fangs flash, Dorian’s precise calculation hidden behind color-coded notes. Each bringing their own strength to what’s coming.

“Your pack bonds are displaying fascinating resonance patterns,” Dorian notes, adjusting his monitors. “The energy signatures suggest?—”

“If you say ‘fascinating’ one more time,” Matteo growls, fangs extending.

“Now, now,” Leo soothes, patting Matteo’s arm. “Let the man have his academic moment. We all cope differently. Some of us bake cookies, some of us categorize the apocalypse by color.”

“The apocalypse is clearly a situation that requires proper organization,” Bishop mutters, straightening his already perfect tie.

“The realm stability readings are critical,” Dorian announces, pointing to his monitors with a perfectly steady hand that betrays his concern. “Though I suppose preventing apocalyptic collapse takes precedence over proper documentation.”

“There’s always time for proper documentation,” Bishop mutters, earning a surprised look of approval from our resident academic.

My wolves prowl the edges of the armory, hunting restless. Near the door, Matteo scents the air, growling low. “More shadow beasts gathering. Their corruption... it tastes wrong.”

“Because they’re not natural,” I say, remembering cells full of failed experiments. “They’re what’s left of her other test subjects. The ones who didn’t survive becoming vessels.”

Finn’s light pulses with deadly intent that matches my shadows. Gone is the broken boy from the medical wing. In his place stands a predator as dangerous as me. Through our twin bond, I feel perfect alignment—this isn’t just about vengeance. It’s about balance. Correction. Setting right what she made wrong.

“Time to remind her,” he says softly, “why she should never have tried to cage us.”

The pack moves out as one, shadows slipping into darkness.

The hunt begins.

Chapter 17

Frankie

“The fun partabout learning to slip through shadows,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the technical aspects rather than the memories threatening to drown me, “is discovering how many rules become... flexible. Distance, time, space—they’re all negotiable when you know how to ride the darkness between moments.”

“Trust us,” Leo murmurs, his hand warm on my shoulder. The usual playfulness in his voice has been replaced by something steadier, stronger. “We’ve got you. Both of you.”

I nod, grateful they’re pretending not to notice how I’m clinging to their strength. Five years ago, I faced these walls alone. Now I have a pack, a twin, a family forged in shadow and light.

“Three,” Bishop counts down, Guardian marks pulsing with contained power. “Two. One.”

The world shifts.

Shadows wrap around us like silk, like water, like the space between heartbeats. My instincts scream to fight, to maintain control—too much like being strapped down, like needles in my arms, like?—

No. Focus. Trust.

We emerge in darkness that tastes of antiseptic and abandonment—stale air tinged with ozone from decaying wards. The familiar hospital smell hits first, wafting from broken windows, making bile rise in my throat. Those same green walls. Those same flickering lights.

Beside me, Finn wrinkles his nose exactly like I do, making Bishop hide a smile behind his hand. The small gesture of normalcy helps ground me in the present.

“Stop that,” I mutter to my twin, desperately needing something normal to focus on. Anything to keep from looking too closely at the scratch marks still visible on the walls. My scratch marks.

“Stop what?” Finn mirrors my stance, arms crossed. He’s doing it on purpose now, trying to distract me. Through our bond, I feel his own tension, his understanding.

“Being creepy.”

“You’re being creepy.”

“Children,” Dorian interrupts, temporal energy crackling as he dismantles the outer ward. His precise movements falter slightly as he encounters the facility’s defenses. “Perhaps focus on the potentially lethal security system? These wards... they’re familiar. Like they were designed specifically for?—”

“Us,” I finish quietly. My stomach knots as understanding hits. Of course they were. This whole place was built around containing people like us.

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