Page 48 of Shifting Fate (Descendants)

I stared into Wesley’s eyes, knowing the answer went deeper, his hesitation implying much more. I was struck with an image, something not quite a vision, not quite right. Brendan, head down as he sat at his desk, a desk at the Westlake house, waving off a fretful Ellin as she tried to offer him a cup of hot tea. His face was scarred, but not like Wesley’s. This was worse, much worse, as the skin that covered one side of his face and most of his ear was raw, even with the healing. I placed a hand absently over my cheek, as if feeling the damage, and Wesley nodded.

There was something so off about the image that I couldn’t process it. It was not a vision, not the future. Not something that would come to pass. It was the impression of Brendannow, hurt worse than the healing could repair in the days since I’d been taken. It meant that he must have been near death when they’d found him.

But it wasn’t a vision. And I didn’t know how it had gotten there.

The others were watching us. Wesley laid a hand briefly on my arm before walking to his seat, leaving two chairs open at the head of the table beside Emily and Aern. I glanced at her, a silent inquiry about her reaction to the changes I’d made and she shrugged a shoulder, apparently not sure if she felt any different. I’d have to do more, there was something I’d missed.

Aern was determined to do whatever he could to keep me safe, so he opened discussion without mention of our discovery, of our plans, merely allowing the others to relay the updates and information they and their teams had gathered. Morgan’s numbers were growing too big. He was getting to a point that he would have been hard to deal with even without the benefit of sway. But he did have that influence, which meant that every man, every soldier, would fight until the end, to whatever lengths Morgan had ordered them. However he had manipulated them.

“It’s not just that,” Kara said. “He’s placing them in strategic locations around the city.” She dropped a map to the center of the table, dots spreading out and around the Council properties, near Division houses, and near any place unpopulated. Any place where the Seven would be free to fight without having to conceal themselves from the masses of unknowing, from the watching eyes of humans. My fingers tightened on the cold metal frame that supported the glass top table. He was collecting rundown properties, vacant lots that were no longer under the care, the watchful eyes, of the city. To build his army.

“He’s getting close,” Seth said, his gaze skirting mine. No one was going to make predictions with me in the room, but that didn’t stop them from thinking it. Morgan was coming, and soon.

“Let’s keep teams at these four locations,” Aern said, gesturing to points outside the Council gates. “Keep an eye on his movements, but don’t engage. We only want you to report what he’s up to.”

“By then it will be too late,” Eric argued, “all we have to do is—”

Aern cut him off, “We do not engage.”

He wasn’t one to repeat an order, and the room fell silent. Eric said, “Sir.”

When he leaned back, openly accepting the instruction, Aern looked to Kara. “I want your team outside the Westlake Properties.” She nodded, and by her solemn expression, I knew the vision, the impression I’d had, had been right about where Brendan was recovering. Aern didn’t take his eyes off her. “This is your call, Kara. But you have to know, if they descend too quickly, we won’t be able to get there in time.”

My focus drifted from the conversation as I became aware of the meeting’s purpose. They had decided it was time, were prepared for the end. This group, the leaders of the last soldiers of the Seven Lines, was prepared to either give their lives in the fight or to lose themselves to Morgan and his sway. All of it, to protect their way of life, what they believed in.

And they believed in me. Their prophet. Their guardian. I closed my eyes, sinking in to the horrible, horrible feeling. Maybe I was put here to save them, and to save the human lives. Or maybe I was put here to stop them. A shade, a hidden shadow, meant to slay the dragon. Their leader,theirdragon.

It was Morgan, no matter what the visions said. It had to be Morgan. That other sight, the one with fire and Aern, that was some alternate fate, some destiny that wouldn’t come, that couldn’t play out, because my sister wasnotgoing to die.

Logan put his hand over mine under the table and I squeezed, grateful for the touch. I could do this. Iwoulddo this. I concentrated, finding that network again, fusing my connections back into place. I didn’t stop to think what it meant, how they could have been destroyed, why the power was taken from me. I just did what I could do. What I had to do.

“Brianna,” Aern whispered from his chair beside me, and I opened my eyes to find him leaned over, as if he were casually offering me water from the pitcher while the others talked. But I could see the truth, the concern in his eyes, and I came back, abruptly aware of how far I’d fallen into my task. I nodded, assuring him I was okay, and pulled my grip free of Logan’s.

It was ice cold. He watched me, waiting for some sign, neither of them wanting to cause a scene, and I said, “Tea if you have it. Something warm.”

They exchanged a glance, but Ava had heard, and a steaming mug and the fall of her auburn hair were suddenly intersecting their view of each other. I managed a casual smile and slid my hands around the heat of the cup, my gaze raking the table, finding Seth, Eric, Council women and men. Suddenly, a loudpopbroke the remaining conversation as everyone’s heads snapped in my direction.

I sat the mug onto the glass tabletop, the chink of its contact too loud, and managed a light laugh. “Sorry to scare everyone.” I pointed toward the cup, keeping the rest of my hand folded over my palm. “Mug must have had a crack in it.”

Ava was there, a damp towel wiping at the tabletop and an apology on her lips, but I stopped her, “No, no, really. It’s fine. I’ve just,” I covered my stomach, as if there were a spot, some stain I was embarrassed to let everyone see, and stood. “I’ve made a bit of a mess. I think I’ll go get this cleaned up.”

I hadn’t felt it, hadn’t realized how severe the chill had been.

Logan pushed out his chair, following close behind me, and I could see out of the corner of my eye it took everything Emily had not to stand up and follow as well. But she didn’t have an excuse.

His hand went to my lower back, steps swift as we made our way down the hall. We passed a member of the staff, her hair pulled tight into a braided bun, crisp white shirt tucked into a navy pencil skirt, and I smiled at her greeting. Logan reached in front of me, twisting the lever to my room, and practically thrust me inside. The door clicked shut behind us and he drew me back to him, gently pulling my fisted fingers away from my palms.

They were clean. Free of cuts, marks, or liquid of any kind. Nothing had touched me, and his gaze came up to mine, clearly awhat was that?

I raised a brow. “Thermal shock?” He stared at me, and I said, “It’s when something really cold touches something really hot. Like dropping an ice cube in coffee.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. He knew what thermal shock was.

I bit back a grin. Shrugged. “I guess the connections are working.”

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