As Valerie chased Koji off with her arrows, I fell to my knees at Will's side, gathering his dusty, broken body in my lap and kissing the top of his head.

He clutched the arm I'd looped around his torso, giving my wrist a feeble squeeze. Then he closed his eyes and released a long, shaky breath.

Too close, the embrace said. Too damn close.

I tried not to look at his busted knee, but even in my periphery, I could tell the limb was bent at unnatural angle, and I feared he wouldn't be able to walk properly for weeks, possibly months—assuming he made it out of here alive.

The others joined us in the center of the living room, and Mason's shield of light enveloped us in a dome of translucent, glowing mist. The swirling matter was not unlike the trail of white smoke seeping from my clavicle, and a million questions assaulted my brain.

"You sure know how to make an entrance," I got out as Torian crouched to inspect Will's knee. I raised my brow at Valerie. "And you. I thought you were in Averly?"

The archer dragged the king's unconscious body to the inner edge of our dome. "I had to be here," she said with a tight smile. "I couldn't let him win."

We both knew she didn't mean Regulas.

"I'm glad you made it, Val," Will told her through his pain, the only man aware of what she'd overcome.

Her smile softened at the sincerity in his voice, the understanding on his tongue. "Me too. It took one day at home for me to realize it wasn't where I oughta be, so I followed the army's trail across the Gorge." She jerked her chin at the boys. "Then I ran into these unpunctual welts just south of the palace."

Cinder, muzzle soaked in Two-Ton's entrails, left to stand guard in the corridor, and I peered at Mason again and his glowing palm. "Speaking of..." I gestured to his puzzling display. "How?"

With a snort, Mason used his free hand to lift the bottom half of his shirt, and his exposed abdomen put a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Thin streaks of blood stained the bandages hugging his ribcage—streaks that formed the edge of a very familiar design.

My wide eyes trailed back to his unapologetic face. "You didn't."

"He did," Torian muttered.

"It's the second rune in Ayla's journal. The one previously assigned to Will...or so we thought," Mason explained, dropping his shirt. He and Eagen traded knowing looks. "Turns out the pattern was never shared with Godric—because it's what Trevor used on himself to become the original spirit delegate."

Will tensed in my arms, and I glanced at Torian in shock. Delegate?

Judging by the medic's resigned expression, I sensed he'd attempted to talk Mason out of it more than once.

I shook my head, still reeling from the magic pouring out of my friend's hand. "How's this even possible?"

Just a week ago, we'd feared no living mages existed in this world, and now Mason was standing here claiming to be the commander of all spiritual energy.

"Eagan's how," he said, squeezing the boy's padded shoulder. "After Isaac translated Ayla's instructions, Eagan confessed to inheriting his parents' abilities. He was able to perform the delegation ritual all on his own."

My mouth parted, and I stared at the bunker dweller in awe. "...You have the gene."

Guilt shimmered in the boy's brown irises. "My uncle made me swear never to tell. It was for my safety—that's why he didn't say anything before. But...after reading the journal, he agreed it was the right thing to do. He said it would restore honor to our family. Make up for their mistakes."

Torian huffed as he strapped a makeshift splint to Will's leg. "He also recognized that you'd run away with us if he denied your heritage. Granting you permission was the only way to save your stubborn hide."

The boy passed him a sheepish grin before addressing me once more. "He and Aunt Eliza are here in the valley, by the way. Tending to the wounded. They wanted me to tell you good luck."

My mind spun. Isaac had translated the journal, Havard and Eliza had left their private bunker to help us, and Eagan was a mage—a mage who'd appointed Mason as the new spirit delegate through some spontaneous, back-alley operation.

"I...Mason, what were you thinking?" I hissed when the gravity of his actions hit me at last. "We have no idea what the consequences—"

"Kingsley, you're not allowed to lecture me on impulsive, reckless decisions," he cut in, and I clamped my mouth shut. "I know it's risky, and Tori will never let me forget it. But we needed reinforcements."

I jolted at the word, but Will beat me to the follow-up question. "What kind of reinforcements?"

Mason angled his head at the war beyond the palace walls, his lips twitching with a smugness I hadn't seen in weeks. "See for yourself."

Wary, I twisted to observe the courtyard of debris and bloodshed, and I gasped at the battlefield's transformation. Not only had the portal itself turned a bright, candy-apple red—as if the raw, ethereal energy had gobbled up any lingering shadows—but the grounds were no longer a demonic hunting ground.

Mammals fought mammals, insects swarmed corvids, and wisps of white light chased away the Pots who dared approach our soldiers. Some spirits even adopted the shape of fellow humans, equipping themselves in armor made of grass and stone and concrete—and in some disturbing cases, corpses.

Their semi-corporeal forms fought beside our men and women, just as Styx had done for us at the riverbed all those months ago.

Ghosts and mortals, fighting for humanity.

In a matter of minutes, the war had become a supernatural lightning storm: flashes of light and smoke; bursts of celestial energy and acidic blood; paranormal opposites intercepting one another and spiraling to the ground in a tangle of gray.

It was phenomenal.

"You...you're doing all this?" I asked Mason.

It seemed like years ago when we'd discussed supernatural alliances on the Rim, and the next thing I knew, Mason had gone and made that a reality. Only...the allies he'd secured were far more powerful than butterflies.

The delegate dipped his chin, and I couldn't help thinking he looked a little older since I'd seen him last—and it wasn't just the hair stippling his chin. "It's taxing, but I'm able to command unbound energies, newcomers, and the spiritually possessed at will."

Valerie's head jerked around at that. "Newcomers? Are you saying you reopened the door to the spirit world?"

He gave a slow nod, and my eyes darted back to the battlefield with fresh astonishment.

Mason had rebuilt Trevor's bridge. He'd brought soldiers capable of fighting the untouchable.

He'd saved us.

And as valuable as it was to have the animal kingdom on our side, we also had the dead. But unlike the demons Regulas recruited, I sensed these spirits didn't require Mason's coercion. These souls were our loved ones, our deceased veterans, our brethren, and Mason had granted them a second chance to save their comrades.

The spirits had seized the opportunity to die with glory. To die with purpose. And that vigor was something a demon army could never hope to acquire.

Tears pricked my eyes, and I spun to gape at Mason—at the young man who no longer resembled the trainee deprived of attention, but a hero.

"You did it, Mace," I breathed. "You gave us a fighting chance."

The blond swallowed, his lashes fluttering at the praise he'd longed to hear, longed to deserve. "Not alone. I couldn't have done it without Eagan, Tori, or Blaze." His gray eyes gleamed in the shining gossamer surrounding us. "Or Nikki."

The name wrapped around my heart like a fleece blanket.

Fudge had foreseen this outcome long before his death. His chicken scratch had emphasized the contrast of light and dark, the interrelation between Will's scar and the assistance Styx provided. He'd suspected all along that we'd need spirits to defeat Godric's forces, and he'd known our path would require the Seventh Order.

Together, he and Mason really had changed the course of history. Just not how they'd envisioned.

"Thank you," I whispered to the group. For saving Will and me. For sacrificing their safety and wellbeing to defeat the unconquerable.

I wasn't sure what I'd done to deserve friends like these. To find a family like this. But it made my path of pain and destruction feel less gratuitous.

"I'd save your thank-you's for the after party," Tori said, moving from Will's leg to mine. His gaze flicked over my puzzled face, then back to my poorly bandaged wound. "We still have a portal to disable, and it's not gonna be pretty."

My breath caught in my throat. "So there's a way to turn it off, then?"

Mason sobered, and I swore his shield dimmed a little. "There is."

I didn't like the look in his eyes; it said something akin to 'brace yourselves.'

"Well, what is it?" Valerie pressed.

He pursed his lips as he considered the best way to deliver the news. Then he sighed. "Regulas and I...we're commanders of the supernatural. But the portal stems from a stronger spell—something rooted in ancient magic." He hesitated. "Dark magic."

"Which means it can only be undone by magic," I said, glaring at the giant red beam through the wreckage. "...So what will it cost us?"

Mason turned to Eagan, and the boy wrinkled his brow. "Powerful magic needs to be tethered to something in this world. And this tether...Ayla calls it as an anchor." He opened the journal to a dog-eared page, then flipped it around to reveal a wall of text. The word bundai jumped out at me, which Ayla had used repeatedly throughout the passage. "Basically...the anchor binds the portal to this dimension. And if we want to close the bridge, the anchor has to be...."

He faltered, unable to finish his sentence, and Valerie crossed her arms. "Has to be what?"

"...Dismantled," Tori supplied.

Will disentangled himself from me so he could properly face the group, cringing in pain as adjusted his leg beneath him. "Did she give any indication as to what this anchor might look like? Is it an object of some kind?"

Again, the boys exchanged nervous looks, and the dread returned to my bloodstream.

"Not exactly," Mason said. "It's tied to a life source, just as the demons require souls and memories to ground them here."

"In other words, it's human," I deduced.

A second nod. "And the logical choice for a life source would be Godric himself, but—"

"He's dead," Will answered. "And the portal's still here."

"Which means your father was never the anchor," Mason continued. "And, considering he wasn't above using his own sons as test subjects..."

The prince stilled, his glare pivoting to his unconscious older brother. "...It's one of us."

My heart stumbled over his realization, and for a moment, the seven of us simply stared at Regulas and his bloody tunic, afraid to probe any further, lest we find something unbearable. Something too horrible to fathom.

Torian was the first to speak. "Will...did you spend any time with the Order before the portal was erected?"

"I'm not sure. The year my mother died is...blurry," he admitted. "But before my father attempted to incarcerate them all, he'd appointed a number of Order members to his council. So they were always here in the palace, helping him plan his revenge, holding meetings in the basement. I didn't understand why they were in our home at the time. Why they were always watching us." He tore his gaze from Regulas to scan our worried faces. "I don't recall any other encounters like the delegation ritual...but if this tethering spell was less invasive, it's not impossible. I could very well be the anchor."

A knot formed in my belly at the mere thought of it, and I shook my head. No. I wouldn't even entertain it. Not after we'd come so far.

Will was not going to die because of his sick, twisted father.

"Regulas makes the most sense," I decided, ignoring Will's sympathetic look. He'd endured the threat of inevitable heartbreak longer than anyone. He knew denial was all I had left. "He was always the heir to the throne, and Godric would have put his faith in him, knowing he'd be protected here in the palace. Knowing he could control the demons at will."

"Or," Tori said, wincing at the aggravated look I shot him, "Godric wanted to divvy up the power between his two sons. Then, if something should happen to the other, he wouldn't have all his eggs in one basket. Either the portal would close upon Will's death, and Regulas would be here to rule over the kingdom as intended, or Will would be able to control the demons in the event that Regulas perished, and the portal would vanish at the end of his life."

My pulse quickened. Gritz. Was this what Lucy had meant by 'switch'? That her brothers would switch places, should the portal claim one of their souls?

"Both choices are plausible," Will said, his tone measured and unrevealing. "But whoever it is...they'll need to die. Correct?"

"We're not certain," Mason confessed. "Ayla left it intentionally vague. But..."

"The day the anchor expires, so too will the bridge," Eagan read, and the sentence leeched all the oxygen out of the room, leaving each of us cold and stiff and breathless.

This was the death sentence we'd expected, the confirmation we'd needed from the Order. Just not the guessing game we'd anticipated.

And I hated guessing.

"If it's process of elimination we're up against," Valerie put carefully, "then we all know which son to...eliminate first. So why don't we start there?"

Frigid silence followed, but no one blamed the archer for saying what needed to be said. There was only one way to get our answer, and I sure as hell wasn't gambling on Will's life.

I inspected the prince's blank face, his carefully crafted stolidity. And though he wore his mask well, I knew this wasn't the coup he'd imagined. Because it was one thing to kill an armed, conscious enemy, and another to murder them in cold blood.

"Let me check his memories first," I proposed. "Just in case we're missing something. The last thing we want is to trigger some kind of self-destruct mechanism because we acted in haste."

Will nodded, and while his expression didn't betray his relief, the tick of his jaw told me he'd needed a few extra minutes to gather his composure. And hell, if time was all I could give him in this moment, then I'd do everything in my power to slow the clock.

I crawled over to the sleeping man at the edge of our dome, preparing myself for the mental landscape of a psychopath.

I thought Regulas might seem less threatening in this state. That, like Will, he'd appear less jagged in his dreamland. Less mean. But cruelty had infected every inch of his phenotype, and even at rest, he looked like a monster.

I sent my friends a small, reassuring smile over my shoulder, and then I pressed my palm to my enemy's bloody tunic.

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Eyyyyo. Lots of info in this chapter! Mid-battle intermissions are not my forte, so hopefully it didn't halt the flow too much.

Also. I've been spending every hour of every weekend scraping asbestos popcorn ceilings, removing wallpaper, texturing, mudding, sanding, priming, caulking, and painting. And we just pulled the carpet out and had the hardwood floors refurbished! But the house is almost ready, and these last few chapters should go quick once I'm actually moved in. 🙌🏼