Chapter 149

Chapter 149
ADAM

I don’t trust it.

The word sits heavy in my chest as the compound shifts into motion around us—boots on stone, weapons checked and rechecked, magic humming under Rosalie’s breath as the witches gather near the eastern gate. Everyone moves with purpose, with urgency, but urgency has teeth. It bites at judgment. It makes people run straight into traps because standing still feels unbearable.

And this smells like a trap.

I stand over the map spread across the war table, fingers braced against the edges, eyes tracing the ravine where the prisoners said Alaric took the children. An old monastery. Remote. Wardable. Symbolic enough to make my skin crawl. Alaric loves symbolism. He loves the theater of it—the implication that what he’s doing is ordained, inevitable.

“Adam,” Austin says behind me, voice tight. “We’re wasting time.”

I don’t look up. “We’re buying it.”

Aria is already geared up, dark hair braided back, eyes bright with that dangerous, terrifying clarity I’ve come to recognize as her war face. She hasn’t sat still since the interrogation ended. She hasn’t slept. She hasn’t eaten. Every part of her is pointed in one direction: Matteo and Leon.

I understand that. Gods, I feel it in my bones.

But understanding doesn’t mean agreeing.

“You heard them,” she says, stepping closer. “They’re there. Every second we wait is another second Alaric has with them.”

“And every second we rush in blind is another second we hand him control,” I reply, finally meeting her gaze. “He wants us panicked. He wants us charging straight into whatever he’s prepared.”

Her jaw tightens. “So what—you want to sit here and draw diagrams while my children are held hostage?”

The words hit harder than any blow.

Austin inhales sharply, tension flaring through the bond, but I hold up a hand. This is between Aria and me now. It has to be.

“That’s not fair,” I say, forcing my voice to stay level. “And you know it.”

She laughs—short, sharp, humorless. “Do I? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re hesitating.”

The accusation lands exactly where it hurts.

I step closer, lowering my voice. “I am not hesitating. I am thinking. There’s a difference.”

“You’re afraid,” she fires back. “And you’re letting it slow you down.”

I feel something inside me crack—not break, but fracture enough to let truth bleed through.

“Yes,” I say. “I am afraid.”

Her eyes flicker, just for a second.

“I am afraid because I know Alaric,” I continue, words coming faster now. “I know how he operates. He doesn’t take children unless he’s already planned ten moves ahead. If we storm in, we don’t just risk ourselves—we risk Matteo and Leon being moved, hidden, or killed the moment he senses us coming.”

That stops her.

Not completely. But enough.

Austin steps in then, placing himself slightly between us, grounding without choosing sides. “Adam’s not saying we wait,” he says. “He’s saying we don’t charge in screaming.”

Aria turns on him. “You want to slow down too?”

“No,” Austin says firmly. “I want to win.”

Silence stretches between the three of us, thick and electric.

I soften my tone, just a fraction. “Aria. Look at me.”

She does, reluctantly.

“My commitment to you and our children is not in question,” I say. “I would burn the world down to get them back. But if I do that without a plan, I might burn them with it.”

Her shoulders tremble—not with weakness, but with the effort of holding herself together.

“What if he hurts them while we plan?” she whispers.

The question guts me.

“He won’t,” Rosalie says quietly from across the room. All eyes turn to her. Her face is pale, but her gaze is steady. “Not yet. Alaric doesn’t take what he doesn’t intend to use. The twins are leverage. Symbols. He needs them alive.”

I seize on that. “Exactly. He’s expecting us to come. That means we can control how.”

Aria exhales slowly, fingers curling into fists at her sides. I can feel the war in her—instinct screaming go, reason clawing for purchase.

“Then say it,” she says. “Say the plan.”

I straighten, mind snapping into clarity now that I have their attention.

“We move fast—but not loud,” I begin. “Fares takes point with a small delta unit to scout the perimeter of the monastery. No engagement unless compromised. Rosalie and the witches mask our approach and start dismantling external wards quietly.”

Rosalie nods once, already calculating.

“Austin,” I continue, “you and Aria stay back initially. I know you hate that. I don’t care. You’re our strike team—but only once we confirm the twins’ location.”

Aria bristles. “You want me waiting while my children are inside?”

“I want you alive when you reach them,” I snap, then rein myself in. “You’re strongest when it counts. Not when Alaric expects you.”

Austin studies me, then nods slowly. “He’s right. I don’t like it—but he’s right.”

Aria closes her eyes for a long moment.

When she opens them, the fire is still there—but it’s tempered now. Sharpened.

“Fine,” she says. “But the second we know where they are, I’m going in. You won’t stop me.”

I don’t argue. “I wouldn’t dare.”

The tension eases—not gone, but redirected.

Orders ripple outward. Weapons are secured. Vehicles loaded. The witches form a tight cluster, murmuring in low, layered voices that make the air vibrate. Fares gives clipped instructions to his deltas, professionalism ironclad.

As we move toward the transport, Aria falls into step beside me.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, not looking at me. “I shouldn’t have said you weren’t committed.”

I shake my head. “You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be afraid.”

She finally meets my gaze. “So are you.”

“Yes,” I agree. “But we don’t let it drive.”

She nods once.

The gates open. The night beyond is dark, waiting.

As we set off toward the ravine, toward the monastery, toward whatever Alaric has prepared for us, unease coils tight in my chest.

We are walking into something carefully constructed.

But this time, we are not unprepared.

And whatever waits for us there—trap or not—we will face it together.