Dawn, in a windowless room, was a theoretical concept marked only by a shift in the quality of silence. The deep, resting quiet of the night was replaced by the low thrum of early activity in the main bay. The scrape of a chair, the hiss of a coffee maker, the soft thud of weights being lifted.
Elena had slept in fits and starts, her mind churning with the alien sensations she'd felt within herself. Old blood. Breach-taint. The words were hooks in her consciousness, pulling at fears she'd spent a lifetime burying.
The key turned in the lock just after what her body clock guessed was seven. It wasn't Kaelen. It was the severe blonde woman from the van, holding a bundle of clothes.
"Shower. Then this," the woman said, her voice flat. She tossed the bundle onto the bed—a pair of grey sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and running shoes that looked roughly her size. "Kitchen's to the left. You have fifteen minutes before the Alpha expects you." She left, leaving the door open.
The gesture was small, but the unlocked door felt like a test. Elena took the clothes and retreated to the small bathroom. The shower was blisteringly hot, washing away the grime and sweat of the previous night but doing nothing for the fatigue etched into her bones. The clothes were soft, worn, and smelled faintly of detergent and a scent she was beginning to associate with the Pack—clean skin, fresh air, and that subtle, wild undercurrent.
The main bay was more populated now. About a dozen people were present, engaged in various tasks. Some were working out with a focused intensity that bordered on violence. Others huddled around computer screens, monitoring feeds she couldn't see. A few glanced her way as she emerged, their expressions ranging from indifferent to mildly curious. No one spoke to her.
She found the kitchenette, helped herself to coffee from a large pot, and stood awkwardly by the counter, sipping the bitter, strong brew. She watched them. They moved with a shared, unspoken economy. There was hierarchy here—subtle deference shown to certain individuals, easier banter among others. She saw Sebastian at a far table, speaking quietly into a phone, his gaze sweeping the room and lingering on her for a cold second before moving on.
"Nervous?"
She jumped. Rourke had materialized beside her, a massive thermos in one hand. He looked her up and down. "The clothes suit you. Less… breakable looking."
"I feel plenty breakable," she admitted, the honesty surprising her.
He gave a gruff chuckle. "The first lesson usually involves getting knocked on your ass. The trick is getting back up." He nodded toward a cleared area of mats near the back wall. "He's waiting."
Kaelen stood in the center of the mats, wearing similar workout gear. He looked more relaxed here, in his element, but no less formidable. His attention was on a tablet in his hand, but as she approached, he set it aside.
"You felt the two currents last night," he began without preamble. "The old blood is lineage. Dormant, mostly. It's what gives you the sensitivity, the longevity whispers in your cells. The Breach-taint is the corruption, the wild energy that soaked into you or your bloodline from the Gloom. It's reactive, unstable. Right now, they're fighting each other. That fight is what leaks out, what everything can sense. Your control starts with… introducing them."
Elena blinked. "Introducing them? They feel like they want to destroy each other."
"They might. Or they might find a balance. That's what we're here to see." He gestured for her to sit opposite him on the mat. "Close your eyes. Find them again. Don't reach for them. Just acknowledge they're there."
She did as instructed, falling back into the uneasy focus of the previous night. It was easier this time, perhaps because she knew what to look for. The warm, deep pulse, like a sleeping beast. The skittering, cold-electric threads, like lightning trapped under her skin.
"Good," his voice was a calm anchor. "Now, imagine the old blood not as a pulse, but as a… territory. A quiet forest. The taint isn't an invader; it's a storm passing through. The forest doesn't fight the storm. It withstands it. The storm doesn't hate the forest; it simply is. Let the storm pass through the forest."
The metaphor was strange, but she tried. She visualized the deep, rooted warmth as ancient trees. The electric chaos as wind and rain. She tried to relax the instinctive, panicked resistance she felt whenever the cold threads flared near the core warmth.
For a moment, there was a bizarre sense of equilibrium. The warring sensations didn't merge, but their conflict muted. A strange, humming stillness settled in her center. The constant background anxiety that had been her companion since finding the journal… faded. Not gone, but pushed back.
She opened her eyes, feeling a flicker of something like hope.
Kaelen was watching her closely. "What happened?"
"It… got quiet. For a second."
He nodded slowly. "That's the goal. Not control. Equilibrium. The quiet is your shield. The moment your emotions spike—fear, anger, even intense excitement—the storm rages, the forest bristles, and the shield drops. You broadcast." He stood up. "Now, we see how sturdy that quiet is."
He didn't warn her. One moment he was standing, the next he had moved—not with the blinding speed she'd seen on the roof, but fast enough. His hand shot out towards her face.
Instinct screamed DANGER. The fragile equilibrium shattered. The cold-electric taint erupted, a jagged bolt of panic-fueled energy that lashed out from her, invisible but tangible.
The coffee mug on a nearby workbench rattled violently. The fluorescent light directly above them flickered and died with a pop. Kaelen's hand stopped an inch from her cheek, but he flinched, a hiss escaping his teeth as if he'd touched a live wire. Around the bay, heads turned. The sparring stopped.
Elena scrambled back, her heart hammering, the energy receding as quickly as it came, leaving her drained and shaking. "You attacked me!"
"I moved," Kaelen corrected, flexing his hand. A faint red welt was visible across his palm. "You attacked. With a static burst strong enough to short electronics and sting an Alpha. Impressive. And utterly uncontrolled." His gaze was sharp, calculating. "The taint reacts to perceived threat. It's defensive. Aggressively so."
Sebastian's smooth voice cut across the space. "A weapon that goes off when startled. How terribly useful." He had approached, his arms crossed. "Tell me, Kaelen, will you be putting her on the front line? She can give our enemies a nasty static shock while revealing our position to every scanner within a mile."
The humiliation burned. She was a spectacle, a malfunctioning tool.
"She held the quiet for thirty seconds before I moved," Kaelen said, his voice cold, directed at Sebastian but his eyes on Elena. "That's thirty seconds more than yesterday. The reaction was primal, but it was directed outward, not inward. That's a start." He turned his full attention back to her. "Again. Find the quiet. Hold it. I won't move this time. But you will."
He made her sit again, close her eyes, rebuild that fragile internal truce. It was harder now, with the sting of failure and Sebastian's mocking presence in the air. But slowly, the quiet returned. This time, Kaelen spoke, his voice low.
"The quiet isn't emptiness. It's potential. See if you can… coax the storm. Not let it rage. Just ask for a single drop of rain."
She focused, trying to gently tug at one of the cooler threads within the imagined forest. It resisted, then, with immense effort, she felt a tiny, controlled spark separate from the chaotic whole. It sat in her awareness, a pinpoint of cold, sharp energy.
"Now," Kaelen whispered. "The mug on the bench. Just nudge it. Not with your hand. With the drop."
She imagined the spark floating towards the mug, giving it the gentlest push.
Across the room, the ceramic mug slid three inches across the metal bench with a dry scrape.
Elena's eyes flew open. She stared at the mug, then at her own hands. She had done that. Not a violent burst. A precise, conscious act.
A slow, approving nod from Kaelen. It felt like winning a minor war.
The moment was broken by the blonde woman—Mara, Elena overheard someone call her—approaching Kaelen with a tablet, her face grim. "Alpha. DPAC just released a statement. They're declaring last night's operation a success against 'feral supernatural elements,' but they're escalating the threat level for the old district. Curfew at dusk. Random checkpoints. And…" she glanced at Elena, "they've flagged an unidentified female associate for questioning. Sketch going out to all units. Low-res, but it's you."
The fragile sense of achievement evaporated. The world was still closing in.
Kaelen took the tablet, his expression hardening as he scanned the information. "Sebastian. The contact in the Fourth Precinct. I need to know how wide this net is being cast."
Sebastian looked almost pleased by the escalation. "Of course. Though, this does illustrate the… ongoing liability." His eyes slid to Elena.
Kaelen ignored him, turning to Elena. "The lesson's over. You've seen what control can look like. You've also seen what happens without it. Mara will show you basic physical defense drills. Strength and stamina matter when the power fails or you need to conserve it." He handed the tablet back. "We have until dusk before the streets get too hot. Then we move."
"Move where?" Elena asked, the fear returning.
"Somewhere the DPAC patrols won't go," Kaelen said, his gold-flecked eyes holding a glint of something dangerous. "The Gloom. It's time you saw the other side of the Veil up close."