Firelight cut a clean line across the table where he sat with one arm resting along the back of the sectional, his tie loose, and his shirt open at the throat. He looked like the aftermath of something holy and ruined.

Excerpt 1: 

Paislee leaned her head on Michael’s shoulder. 

“You didn’t look surprised by that envelope.” 

“Because I wasn’t.” 

“What is it?” 

“An invitation,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers and brushing her knuckles with his lips. 

Her head lifted. “An invitation for what?” 

“To Etxe Bakarra.” 

“What’s that?” 

“A celebration they hold every year—but barely understand. It was hand-delivered. Required my signature. Which means I must attend or face consequences.” 

She studied the envelope, running her fingers over its embossed seal. “It’s beautiful. What is Etxe Bakarra?” 

“A celebration of unity. Of peace.” 

“Are you required to attend every year?” 

“No.” 

“Then why now?” 

“Because the harvest moon aligns with the autumn equinox. It’s incredibly rare.” 

She blinked. “Harvest moon, autumn equinox . . . the Order sounds mystical.” 

He chuckled. “It’s their favorite bedtime story.” 

As the car hummed down the avenue, she turned the envelope over in her hands. 

“You didn’t even open it.” 

“I know what it says.” 

“I’ll open it, then.” 

Her eyes skimmed the elegant script inside. Then she paused. “Michael . . . why is my name on it?” 

He went still.  

“Right under yours. It says the invitation extends to ‘Michael Chamberlain and companion, Paislee Sullivan.’” 

He reached over and took the invitation from her hands. His easy charm shuttered, replaced by something darker. Calculating. 

Michael stared out the window for a long moment. 

“They want to see you,” he said quietly. 

Paislee frowned. “Why?” 

“I don’t know.” 

A pause hung between them. 

She rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the steady thud of his heart beneath the fine weave of his jacket. He didn’t speak again, but he didn’t have to. She could feel it in the way he held her hand tighter than before—the silent promise tucked into his touch.  

Whatever this celebration meant, whatever game the Order was playing, she was now a part of it. 

 

Excerpt 2: 

The quiet didn’t feel peaceful. 

It felt hollow. Stretched thin across the walls like something waiting to tear. 

Downstairs, Michael stood at the tall window with one hand braced against the glass. The woods beyond blurred into shadow and light, but he wasn’t seeing them. His reflection stared back instead—drawn, sharp, almost feral around the eyes. 

He barely recognized himself. 

He had broken a law older than the Order itself. 

Not a regulation. Not a protocol debated in chambers and amended with ink. 

A primal rule, one carved into bone and instinct long before there were councils to enforce it. 

The reason had never been framed as morality. It wasn’t based on ceremony or superstition. It was survival. Control. A hard stop built into their kind because whatever came from it was never predictable—and never safe. 

And he had shattered it. 

It struck like broken glass in his chest.  

Every sound from the second floor cut straight through him. 

Paislee’s steady breathing. 

The soft rustle of movement. 

His fingers tightened against the glass. They were shaking. 

Engines rumbled in the distance. 

Gravel crunched outside, sharp and intrusive. 

Three black cars rolled up the drive. 

Paislee’s voice floated down from the stairs. “What’s going on?” 

Michael didn’t answer.  

Then, Alexander Bishop stepped out of the first black car. 

“Agents,” he said.