"Stand down, son," Garrett commanded, approaching cautiously in his own wolf form. "Don't make this worse than it already is."
"You'll have to kill me," Althander snarled. "Because I will tear apart anyone who tries to take her."
Behind them, Jasmine made a wet, rattling sound. Althander's head whipped around in time to see her body convulse once, twice, then go still. The light left her eyes. The shallow breathing stopped. She was gone.
Something inside Althander shattered. He threw back his head and howled—pure anguish made sound, grief that transcended species or language. It echoed across the island, across the supernatural barriers, out into the void where this pocket dimension met the wider world.
And in that moment of distraction, the Council struck.
Four shifters hit him simultaneously from different angles. He fought—gods, he fought—but he was outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and half-mad with grief. They bore him to the ground, held him there even as he thrashed and snarled and begged.
Garrett stood over him, fully human again, and there were tears on his father's face. "I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry. But this is bigger than us. Bigger than family."
One of the mages picked up the infant, still wrapped in suppression magic, still unable to cry or use her power. She stared up at the stranger with those silver eyes, and even bound and helpless, there was something in her gaze that made the mage's hands shake.
"What do we do with her?" the mage asked, looking to Garrett.
"We can't kill her," another Council member said quickly. "Whatever else she is, she's pack. Althander's daughter. That makes her protected by our laws."
"Our laws don't account for abominations," someone else argued.
"She's not an abomination." This from the silver-haired woman who'd spoken before. She approached the mage holding the infant, stared down into those ancient silver eyes. "She's unprecedented, yes. Dangerous, absolutely. But she's also a child. And unless our laws have stopped meaning anything, children are not executed for the crime of being born."
"Then what?" Garrett's voice was ragged. "We can't keep her here. Can't let Althander raise her. The moment these suppression spells wear off, she'll be just as dangerous. More so, as she grows and learns to control what she can do."
The oldest mage—a woman who'd remained silent until now—stepped forward. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts, but her voice was clear and certain. "There is another option. A world without magic. Where her power will be suppressed naturally by the environment itself, where she'll grow up as human, where she can't hurt anyone or draw attention to what she is."
"Earth," someone whispered.
"The abandoned world," the old mage confirmed. "Magically dead. Our kind left it centuries ago when the ley lines collapsed. Nothing supernatural can survive there long-term—the absence of ambient magic drains power until even the strongest become ordinary. She'll be safe there. Contained. And if she's raised by humans, never knowing what she is, she'll never learn to access her abilities."
Althander's wolf form gave way abruptly, leaving him human and naked and broken on the ground. "No. Please. Not Earth. That's a death sentence. She'll be alone. Powerless. Among people who won't understand—"
"She'll be alive," Garrett cut him off. "Which is more than she deserves by some Council members' reckoning. This is mercy, son. The only mercy we can afford to give."
"And when the suppression fades? When Earth's dampening effect wears off as she gets older?" another shifter asked. "What happens when she reaches maturity and her power returns in a world with no one to teach her control?"
"Then she'll be their problem," the old mage said coldly. "And if she destroys that world in her ignorance, at least ours will be safe."
They worked quickly after that, before anyone could raise more objections. The mages opened a portal—a tear between dimensions that shimmered with sickly light. Through it, Sophia could glimpse another world. A hospital room. Machines that beeped and hummed. Sterile white walls. A bassinet waiting empty beside a sleeping woman who'd just lost her own child to stillbirth.
"No!" Althander lunged for his daughter, but the other shifters held him fast. "Please, Father, don't do this. Let me go with her. Let me protect her, at least. I'll give up everything—the pack, my bloodline, my place in the clan. Just don't send her alone!"
Garrett's face was stone. "You made your choice when you lay with that human. When you created this child. Now live with the consequences."
The mage carrying the infant approached the portal. The baby's eyes—those impossibly aware silver eyes—fixed on Althander. She didn't understand what was happening. Couldn't comprehend separation or loss or exile. But she knew her father's scent, knew the safety of his presence. And she knew, with the limited understanding of an infant, that he was being taken from her.