The car ride passed in a blur of city lights and silence. Sophia sat wedged between Marc and Sam in the back of a sleek black SUV that probably cost more than she'd earn in five years, watching the familiar streets of London slide by through tinted windows.
Alexander drove with the kind of casual competence that suggested he'd done this a thousand times before, navigating through late-night traffic with ease.
Amanda rode shotgun, her fingers occasionally drumming against her thigh in the only sign of tension any of them showed. Jessica, Tally, and Jack had taken a separate vehicle—something about "securing the perimeter" that Sophia didn't have the energy to question.
She felt hollow. Scraped out. Like someone had taken a spoon and removed everything that made her her, leaving only this empty shell that breathed and blinked and existed without actually being present.
The grief came in waves—crashing over her when she least expected it, stealing her breath, making her eyes sting with tears she refused to let fall. Not here. Not in front of them. She'd already broken down once tonight in that cosmic space with the goddess. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of watching her shatter again.
Except they weren't looking for satisfaction, were they? Every time she glanced sideways at Marc, she caught him watching her with an expression so tender it physically hurt. Sam's hand rested on the seat between them, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin but not touching, giving her the space she'd demanded.
These people—her Guardians, her mate Alexander—they weren't gloating or triumphant or pleased that their secrets were finally out. They looked worried. Careful. Like she was a wild animal that might bolt at any moment.
Fair enough. She felt like a wild animal. Caged, desperate, searching for an exit that didn't exist.
The city gradually gave way to suburbs, then to countryside she hadn't realized was accessible within an hour's drive of central London. They turned onto a private road, then another, the path winding through ancient trees that pressed close on either sides. And then—
Sophia gasped.
It felt like driving through a waterfall. One moment the air was normal, the next it rippled and shimmered and pressed against her skin with a sensation she'd never experienced before.
Tingles raced up her arms, across her scalp, down her spine. It wasn't painful, exactly, but it wasn't comfortable either. It felt like being scanned, evaluated, tasted by something vast and aware and utterly inhuman.
"Wards," Alexander said from the front seat, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. "The first layer. They're keyed to recognize us and anyone we bring with us. The sensation will fade in a moment."
He was right. The strange pressure eased as they continued down the road, though Sophia could still feel... something. A presence. Like the air itself was watching, waiting, ready to react if she proved to be a threat.
Her newly awakened senses picked up patterns in the energy—complex geometric shapes layered over each other, woven through with symbols that glowed faintly at the edges of her vision. Magic. Actual, visible, undeniable magic protecting this place.
It should have terrified her. Maybe it did. But underneath the fear was something else—a hungry curiosity, a desperate need to understand how this worked, what the symbols meant, whether she could learn to create something like this herself.
Her mother had lived in / created an entire pocket dimension. Surely Sophia could manage a few protective wards.
Assuming she didn't accidentally level the house first.
They passed through two more layers—each one different, each one pressing against her in new ways. The second felt cool and assessing, like being examined by a particularly intelligent doctor. The third felt old, ancient beyond measure, and it studied her with an intensity that made her want to curl into a ball and hide.
This ward knew what she was. Knew what she carried inside her. And it was deciding whether to let her pass or incinerate her where she sat.
Then it was done, and the SUV rolled to a stop in front of a house that made Sophia's jaw drop.
"Safe house?" she managed. "You said safe house. This is a mansion."
"It's secure," Alexander said mildly, which wasn't a denial.
The building sprawled across what had to be several acres, all stone and timber and architectural elements that shouldn't have worked together but somehow did. Victorian bay windows sat beside modernist glass panels.
A tower that belonged in a medieval castle rose from one wing while another section looked like it had been transported wholesale from a Japanese temple. It should have been a disaster. Instead it was... beautiful. Strange and impossible and beautiful.