CHAPTER 9: BETRAYAL

Sera leads me away from the main campus buildings, her pace brisk but not running—trying not to attract attention. We cut through a wooded area that separates the college from the surrounding neighborhood, following what seems like a deliberately meandering path.

"Where are we going?" I ask after we've been walking for fifteen minutes.

"Somewhere safe," is all she says, checking over her shoulder periodically.

We emerge from the trees into an old industrial area—abandoned warehouses and manufacturing buildings that have been empty since long before I was born. Evidence of the economic collapse that preceded the Emergence War. Sera guides me toward a dilapidated brick structure with most of its windows broken out, weathered plywood covering the gaps.

"This is your idea of safe?" I mutter, but follow her anyway.

She approaches what looks like a sealed loading dock, checks her surroundings carefully, then slides aside a panel of plywood that moves more easily than it should. Behind it is a metal door with no visible handle or lock.

Sera places her palm against it, and I see her red aura flare briefly. The door clicks open.

"Come on," she urges, holding it for me.

I step through into darkness. Sera follows, closing the door behind us with a heavy thud that echoes through the empty space. For a moment, we stand in complete blackness.

Then a soft red glow emanates from Sera's hand—a small flame dancing above her palm, casting eerie shadows across her face. The fire Elemental in her element.

"This way," she says, using the flame like a torch to guide us through what appears to be an abandoned storage area. Massive shelving units loom like skeletons in the dim light, dust thick on every surface except for a narrow path that shows signs of regular use.

We reach another door, this one looking more substantial—steel with what appears to be modern security features despite the decrepit surroundings. Again, Sera places her hand against it, the flame flickering to nothing as she needs both hands for whatever unlocking mechanism she's activating.

The door swings open, revealing a corridor that looks jarringly out of place in the abandoned building—clean, well-lit, with smooth concrete walls painted a neutral gray.

"Welcome to the Refuge," Sera says, gesturing for me to enter.

I hesitate, suddenly uncertain. "Refuge for whom, exactly?"

"For those who don't align with either side. The unaffiliated. The ones who just want to be left alone." She nods toward the corridor. "It's safer inside than out here, I promise you that."

Still wary, I step through. Sera follows, closing and securing the door behind us. The corridor extends about thirty feet before opening into a larger room. I can hear voices ahead—conversations, movement, sounds of life.

But before we reach the end of the hallway, Sera's demeanor changes. She grabs my arm, spinning me around and shoving me roughly against the concrete wall. Her forearm presses against my throat, not hard enough to cut off air but definitely hard enough to make her point.

"TALK!" she demands, her face inches from mine, all pretense of friendliness gone. "Where is my brother! I don't want to play games. Whatever you think you can do to get me to cooperate, I won't! I know your games, it doesn't matter which faction you're from, I—"

Before she can continue, something rises in me—a power, a certainty, a command that needs to be spoken.

"STOP!" I yell, the word carrying a force that seems to ripple through the air between us.

Like a puppet whose strings have been suddenly pulled, Sera freezes. Her hands jolt to her sides, releasing me completely. Her eyes widen in shock, her body rigid as if physically restrained though nothing visibly holds her.

I adjust my clothes back into place and fix my hair, heart pounding with adrenaline and the strange rush of power that came with the command.

"I told you I'm not in this," I say, looking around the empty corridor. "But in the last two days my world has been flipped upside down, and now I don't know what is what, who is what, and which of any of them is safe."

I pace in front of her still-frozen form, frustration building.

"A week ago I was the orphan of murdered war heroes," I continue, voice rising. "And now—" I raise my hands and jerk them awkwardly around in a gesture of futility, "I am running like an escaped convict from people seemingly holding a fucking phone!"

The absurdity of it all hits me at once. I crouch down, wrapping my arms around my knees, and shake my head. "What the fuck is this world coming to..."

Gradually, I become aware that Sera is still frozen in place, her eyes the only part of her that can move, and they're tracking me with a mixture of fear and astonishment.

"Oh," I say, realizing what I've done. "You can move now. Sorry."

The effect is immediate—she gasps as if she's been holding her breath, stumbling back a step and rubbing her arms as if to restore circulation.

"What. The. Hell," she says between deep breaths. "What did you do to me?"

"I don't know," I admit. "It's happened twice now. When I tell someone to do something, with enough... intent, I guess... they just do it. They have to do it."

"Voice of command," she whispers, taking another step back. "You really are Jorah's daughter."

"So everyone keeps telling me." I stand up, tired of being afraid, tired of running. "Look, I don't know anything about your brother. I don't know anything about factions or prophecies or whatever war is brewing. Until two days ago, I thought I was human. So if you brought me here to interrogate me, you're wasting both our time."

Sera studies me, rubbing her throat as if the memory of being compelled still lingers there. "If you're not with the Conclave or the Purists, why did Winters give you to Maddox? And why were the Sentinels tracking you?"

"Winters didn't 'give me' to anyone. And Maddox..." I hesitate, unsure how to explain that complicated relationship. "Maddox was hired to watch me, apparently. As for the Sentinels, I have no idea. Maybe because I'm suddenly manifesting abilities I can't control?"

She doesn't look convinced. "No one just stumbles into this world by accident, especially not someone with a power like yours. You had to know something."

"I knew nothing," I insist. "My parents died when I was twelve. Whatever they were involved in, they never told me about it. I grew up thinking I was an ordinary human whose parents died in the war—not supernatural royalty caught in some elaborate power struggle."

Something in my tone must convince her, because her hostility diminishes slightly. "So the command voice... that's new?"

"Brand new. The first time it happened was yesterday, with Maddox."

"And the aura-seeing? That's new too?"

I nod. "Started this morning. I'm guessing from your reaction that it's not a common ability."

"Not common at all," she confirms. "Seers can be trained to detect supernaturals, but natural aura-reading is rare. Usually a Vital trait, and even then, it takes years of practice."

"Great. Add it to the list of things that make me a target." I sigh, leaning against the wall. "So what now? Are you going to turn me in to whoever you're really working for?"

Sera has the decency to look somewhat ashamed. "I'm not working for anyone. I really am looking for my brother. He disappeared three months ago—not six, I exaggerated that part—but the rest was true. He's a fire Elemental like me. We were living quietly, keeping our heads down, when the Sentinels took him."

"And you thought I might know something because...?"

"Because you're connected to Winters, and Winters is connected to the Conclave, and rumor has it the Conclave sometimes feeds information to the Sentinels in exchange for being left alone." She shrugs. "It was a long shot, but I'm running out of options."

Before I can respond, the door at the end of the corridor opens, and a figure steps through—the earth nymph, Marcus, from the student center.

"I thought I heard voices," he says, looking between us with concern. "Everything alright? We felt a power surge."

"We're fine," Sera says quickly. "Just a misunderstanding."

Marcus doesn't look convinced. His gaze settles on me, thoughtful. "You used the command, didn't you? I felt it from the common room—like a pressure wave."

"I didn't mean to," I start to explain, but he holds up a hand.

"No need to apologize. But you should know—power like that doesn't stay hidden. If I felt it, others did too. Including those you might be trying to avoid."

A chill runs through me. "You mean Winters? The Sentinels?"

"Them, certainly. But also the Purists. And—" he hesitates, "—others. Things that hunt power."

"Like Shadowwalkers," I murmur, thinking of Maddox.

Marcus looks surprised. "You know of them? Few do, these days."

"I've met one. He's been watching me."

Marcus and Sera exchange a look that does nothing for my confidence.

"Then you need to come inside," Marcus says, gesturing toward the door he emerged from. "Quickly. The walls here are warded, but your command broke through those protections. We don't have much time before someone comes looking."

"Why should I trust either of you?" I ask, looking between them. "Sera just tried to interrogate me, and you—I don't even know who you are beyond 'earth nymph.'"

"I'm the caretaker of this Refuge," Marcus replies. "And while Sera's methods are... questionable"—he gives her a disapproving look—"her heart is in the right place. We protect our own here."

"I'm not one of 'your own,'" I point out. "I'm not anything definable yet."

"All the more reason you need sanctuary," he argues. "Come inside. Meet the others. Hear our side of things before you decide whose agenda to trust."

I consider my options. Going with Marcus means further delaying any decision about Winters' midnight meeting. But it also means potentially gaining new allies, or at least new information.

"Alright," I decide. "Show me this Refuge of yours. But the first sign of another interrogation or trap, and I'll command you both to walk into traffic."

It's an empty threat—I have no idea if I could actually make someone do something that drastically against their self-preservation—but it has the desired effect. Both Marcus and Sera nod solemnly.

"Fair enough," Marcus says. "No tricks. Just sanctuary and information. That's our offer."

I follow them through the door at the end of the corridor, my reluctance obvious in every step. This "Refuge" could be exactly what I need—a neutral space to gather my thoughts, to understand what's happening to me. Or it could be another trap, another group trying to use me for their own ends.

One thing that's becoming clearer with every new revelation, every new person I meet, is that there's so much more going on than anyone is willing to tell. Everyone has their secrets, their hidden agendas. Winters, Maddox, my parents, even these supposed neutrals—they're all playing some game where the rules keep changing.

My mind drifts back to the journal entries—my mother writing about prophecies and politics, about a child who would change everything. Is that really me? Or just another story people tell themselves to make sense of a senseless world?

I don't feel like the daughter of supernatural royalty. I don't feel like someone destined to bring balance or end wars. I just feel lost, overwhelmed, and increasingly paranoid about who I can trust.

But I do have this voice now, this ability. And if nothing else, it might keep me alive long enough to figure out the truth.

As we approach another door, I silently touch the crescent mark on my lower back, wondering what other surprises my heritage has in store for me—and whether they'll be powers that protect or secrets that destroy.