Marie Burkhardt's grave was simple—a modest headstone, fresh flowers, the careful maintenance of someone who visited regularly. Nick, probably. The nephew who'd inherited a legacy he barely understood.
I stood beside it as evening fell, waiting for Kelly to arrive.
She came at sunset, approaching through the cemetery's northern entrance with the confidence of someone who'd walked into ambushes before and survived them all. Her silver eyes found me across the distance, assessing, calculating.
"You're the one they're calling the King of Monsters." Her voice was flat, unimpressed. "That's not a compliment."
"No. It's accurate."
She stopped ten feet away, close enough to talk, far enough to react if either of us attacked. Her hand rested casually on a weapon concealed beneath her jacket.
"You killed the Mauvais Dentes."
"With help. My Pack."
"Your Pack." The word dripped contempt. "You've domesticated them. Made pets of monsters who should be put down."
"I've built alliances with people who want to live in peace. Some of them are predators by nature. Others are prey. All of them chose to work together."
"Chose." Kelly's laugh was harsh. "Wesen don't choose. They follow instinct. The predators hunt, the prey runs, and Grimms keep balance by killing the ones who break the rules. That's how it's always been."
"That's how it was. I'm building something different."
"Something different." She took a step closer, her posture shifting from assessment to challenge. "You've been a Grimm for what—two months? And you think you understand the rules well enough to break them?"
"I think the rules killed your sister." I met her eyes. "Marie followed tradition. Protected her nephew by hiding him from the truth. When she died, he was alone, confused, facing a world she'd never prepared him for. Is that what the old ways accomplished?"
The mention of Marie struck like a physical blow. Kelly's composure cracked—grief and anger bleeding through the professional mask.
"Don't you dare use her against me."
"I'm not using her. I'm making a point." I gestured at the grave between us. "Marie spent her life hunting. Killing. Following every rule the Grimm tradition demanded. And in the end, she died in a hospital bed, surrounded by people who wanted her inheritance, leaving a nephew who didn't know what he was."
"She was protecting him—"
"She was isolating him. The same way every Grimm has isolated their children, their families, their communities. Keeping secrets, hunting alone, dying alone." I kept my voice steady. "I chose differently. I built a Pack. I created alliances. When the Reapers came for me, I had friends who stood beside me. When Kimura came, I had people who fought for each other."
"And how many of them died?"
"None." The word carried weight. "We took injuries. Serious injuries. But everyone survived, because we protected each other instead of fighting alone."
Kelly was silent for a long moment. Her hand had moved away from her weapon—unconsciously, I suspected, as her combat calculations shifted.
"You're naive." But her voice held less certainty than before. "You've built something that looks stable because you've only faced individual threats. Reapers, assassins, Royal agents. What happens when the Royals coordinate? When every Wesen underground decides your experiment is a threat to their traditions?"
"Then we adapt. Grow stronger. Find new allies." I took my own step forward. "The alternative is extinction. Grimms are dying out, Kelly. You know it. The bloodlines are fading, the traditions are failing, and every generation has fewer hunters than the last."
"That's why we train harder. Fight smarter—"
"That's why we need to change." I interrupted. "The old ways produced you—the best hunter of your generation. And what did you accomplish? Decades of killing, a family torn apart, a sister dead, a son who didn't know you existed. Is that success?"
Kelly's composure shattered.
She moved—fast, precise, the attack of someone who'd been killing longer than I'd been alive. Her blade came from concealment, slicing toward my throat in a motion too quick to track.
I caught it.
The Reaper reflexes I'd extracted guided my hand, intercepting the strike with speed that matched her own. Our weapons locked, faces inches apart, both of us testing the other's strength.
"Impressive." Her voice was cold. "The abilities you've stolen. Blutbad senses. Siegbarste durability. Something that lets you heal."
"Not stolen. Extracted. From enemies who would have killed me otherwise."
"Same thing." She pushed harder, trying to break the lock. "You're not a Grimm anymore. You're something else. Something that shouldn't exist."
"Maybe. But I'm something that survives." I held my ground. "I've killed Reapers. I've killed Siegbarstes. I've killed a Mauvais Dentes that other Grimms ran from for three centuries. What have the old ways accomplished that matches that?"
The standoff stretched. Neither of us willing to retreat, neither ready to commit to lethal force.
"Nick would never forgive me if I killed you." Kelly's voice was quiet. "He's heard about you. The Grimm who works with Wesen. He's confused, conflicted, wondering if there's another way."
"There is another way. I'm proving it."
"Or you're proving that one Grimm got lucky for a few months before everything collapsed." She pulled back, disengaging the lock. "I won't help you. Whatever you're building, it's against everything I've spent my life fighting for."
"I'm not asking for help. I'm asking for time." I lowered my own weapon. "Watch what I build. See if it works. If it fails, if the Pack becomes what you fear, you can put us down yourself."
"And if it doesn't fail?"
"Then maybe you'll understand that change is possible." I held her gaze. "Nick is finding his own path. A path somewhere between your methods and mine. Give him—give both of us—the chance to prove there's more than one way to be a Grimm."
Kelly studied me for a long moment. Whatever calculation she was running, I couldn't read it.
"I won't hunt your Pack." The words came slowly, reluctantly. "Unless they prove they deserve it. But I won't help you either. Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."
"And Nick?"
"Nick is my son." Her voice hardened. "He makes his own choices. But if you try to turn him into whatever you're becoming, I'll end this conversation very differently."
"I'm not trying to turn him into anything. I'm just showing him options."
"See that it stays that way."
She walked away without looking back, disappearing into the cemetery's growing shadows. I stood among the graves, feeling the weight of the conversation settle.
Kelly Burkhardt wasn't an ally. Might never be an ally. But she wasn't actively trying to destroy everything I'd built, and for now, that was enough.
The gravestones around me held generations of the dead—Wesen and Grimms alike, all of them following the old ways, all of them ending up in the same place. I'd chosen differently.
I hoped it mattered.
The night was cold as I left the cemetery, but my steps were steady. Tomorrow, the work would continue—refugees to process, alliances to maintain, a Pack to protect.
And somewhere in Portland, Kelly Burkhardt was watching, waiting to see if I was right or if I was the worst threat Grimms had ever faced.
Either way, I wasn't going back to the old ways.
Not for her. Not for anyone.
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