The van pulled into the underground garage at three in the morning.

The lights were low, the way they always were at this hour, casting long shadows across the concrete. The driver killed the engine and sat in silence, waiting. He didn’t ask how it went. He didn’t need to. He could feel it in the air.

Lucian got out first. His jacket was torn, hanging loose over his shoulders. The pendant was gone. He could still feel the weight of it in his hand, the warmth of the light, the moment it slipped from his grip. That feeling would stay with him for a long time.

Cora followed. Her jaw was tight, her hands still clenched. She hadn’t spoken since the swim back. Neither had Margie. She walked behind Cora, her crossbow slung over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on Lucian’s back.

Drusilla walked ahead of them all, her footsteps silent on the concrete. She didn’t look back. Didn’t offer comfort. She disappeared into the corridor without a word, her white hair vanishing around the corner.

Alistair was waiting by the elevator.

He didn’t ask if they succeeded. He didn’t ask what went wrong. He just looked at their faces, one by one, and nodded.

"Briefing room. Now."

---

The briefing room was cold.

The table was bare. The chairs scraped against the floor as they sat down. Lucian at one end, Cora beside him, Margie across from them. Alistair stood at the head, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.

Lucian spoke first.

He described the underwater cave. The narrow passage. The Atlantean ruins with their carvings of sea creatures and Old Blood symbols. The traps—the pressure water, the crushing currents, the guardian constructs. The central chamber, where the pendant floated in a column of light.

He described the witch. Morgana. The way she stepped through a portal and took the pendant from his jacket.

He didn’t make excuses. Didn’t blame the team. Didn’t blame himself, though the words sat heavy on his tongue.

Alistair listened without interrupting.

When Lucian finished, the room was silent for a long moment.

Then Alistair spoke.

"He has what he wanted. Now we wait for his next move."

Cora slammed her hand on the table.

"We had it. We were right there."

"Close doesn’t count." Alistair’s voice was flat. "You know that."

Cora’s jaw tightened. "We could have stopped her."

"How?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

Alistair looked at each of them. "The witch was prepared. She had a portal. You couldn’t have stopped her without dying." His eyes settled on Cora. "The mission was to retrieve the pendant. Not to die for it."

Cora looked away.

Alistair’s voice softened, just a fraction. "You survived. That matters."

---

Cora blamed herself.

She should have seen the ambush coming. Should have sensed the demons before they broke through the wall. Should have been faster, sharper, better.

Margie blamed herself too. She should have moved quicker. Should have fired her crossbow before the witch raised her hand. Should have been more than just support.

Lucian said nothing.

He sat at the table, his torn jacket hanging off his shoulders, his hands flat on the wood. He thought about the pendant. The warmth of it in his palm. The way Morgana had smiled as she stepped backward into the dark.

Alistair cut through the silence.

"Valentine has two of the three artifacts now. The blood moon is weeks away. The coalition is armed and waiting." He paused. "The Ashen Guard is stretched thin."

He didn’t say they were losing.

He didn’t have to.

---

The next morning, the team was in the training yard before dawn.

Lucian ran drills with his blades until his arms shook. He moved through the forms—cut, parry, thrust, recover—over and over, his breath fogging in the cold air. His torn jacket lay on the bench. He didn’t need it.

Cora practiced phasing through moving obstacles, pushing her limits. The pendulum weights swung at different speeds, different angles. She slipped through them, reappeared, slipped through again. Her timing was off. She kept trying.

Mason stood in the corner, his gauntlets glowing. He was working on heat shields—walls of thermal energy that could block magic, not just fire. The shields held for a few seconds, then collapsed. He rebuilt them. Held them longer.

Sera sat on a crate, her eyes closed, her life sense stretched thin. She could feel everyone in the Keep now—the guards on the walls, the cooks in the kitchen, the senior hunters in their quarters. She pushed further. The strain gave her a headache. She kept pushing.

Derek stood apart from the others, his new staff in his hand, his ghosts spread wide. He sent Dr. Blackwood to the far end of the yard, then to the roof, then to the armory. The ghost returned each time, faster than before. Derek’s head throbbed. He kept going.

They trained until the sun was high.

Then they trained some more.

---

Late that night, Lucian sat on the dorm roof.

The stars were out, cold and distant. The city hummed below. He thought about the pendant. The Atlantean ruin. The witch’s smile. The white space in his mind, where the voice had said not yet.

He didn’t have answers.

But he knew one thing: he wouldn’t fail again.

The door creaked behind him.

Cora walked over and sat down beside him. She didn’t say anything. She just sat there, her arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes on the stars.

They watched the sky in silence.

The war was coming.

But for now, they were still here.

---

The next day, Alistair called them together.

The briefing room was warmer this time. The sun was up, streaming through the windows. The team looked tired but focused.

Alistair stood at the head of the table.

"The Council is divided. Some want to strike first. Others want to wait." He paused. "I have a different idea."

He looked at each of them.

"I want Ashen Dawn to be ready for anything. Valentine will make his move at the blood moon. We need to be there when he does."

Cora leaned forward. "Where?"

"I don’t know yet." Alistair’s voice was steady. "But I’m already planning."

---

After the briefing, the team walked to the training yard.

They stood in a loose circle, weapons in hand. Cora spoke first.

"We’re not going to let him win."

Mason nodded. Sera agreed. Derek’s ghosts swirled around him, ready.

Lucian said nothing.

He just looked at them. His team. His family.

That was enough.

They trained until the sun set, their shadows stretching long across the yard.

The war was coming.

But they would be ready.