There is a spy in the Forum.
And while war ignites at Anderson's warehouse, the rot was already here. Among us.
Hidden in trust. Breathing our air.
This chapter is not loud.
It cuts.
It reveals what happens when old allies become the architects of new ruin.
Before the flames can cleanse, someone must first light the match.
And someone else must bleed for it.
Let the reckoning begin.
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Silence gripped the conference room, suffocating the once-lively atmosphere of the meeting. The easy camaraderie over brunch had long since faded, replaced by a thick, unspoken tension. Even the Judicars, who usually stood like statues along the wall, had shifted forward, their silence now sharpened by expectation.
Lady Elsa leaned in, her gaze sweeping the room, not just at us, but at them.
"I know who is behind this."
Her words didn't drop like a bomb; they detonated.
A Judicar stepped out of the shadows, his black coat slicing through the lamplight as he moved with the grace of someone who had danced with death far too often. Knives gleamed at his belt, each one shaped differently, none of them ceremonial. I knew him well. Bleed. Not his real name, but nobody remembered that anymore. Not after the rivers he carved into enemies' bodies with nothing but speed, shadow, and steel.
He tilted his head, his voice sharp and low. "Time is bleeding, Lady Elsa. Speak before it drains out."
I suppressed a smirk. Bleed never spoke more than necessary. And when he did, it was usually moments before someone's spine met the floor.
Jamey, who had been slouching in his chair, straightened. Alec narrowed his eyes. Seth's fingers twitched against the table, and I leaned in, waiting for the next words to fall.
"You've known all this time?" Samantha's voice was brittle with disbelief.
"No. Not all this time," Elsa said. "But I've had my suspicions. And recent events have confirmed them."
She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. "His name is Anderson Grey."
For a breath, no one moved.
I glanced toward the Judicars. Bleed didn't blink, but the line of his jaw tightened, just slightly. Even stone can fracture when ghosts speak.
"Who the hell is that?" Jamey asked, arms crossed.
"He was my partner," Lady Elsa replied. "Decades ago. A brilliant mind. A man who believed dark magic was meant to be extinguished. Until he decided it could be controlled."
Alec let out a soft curse.
I watched her fingers curl around the edge of the table. "And you think he's behind everything?"
"I don't think," she said. "I know."
Bleed stepped closer, eyes flicking to each of us, assessing, weighing, sharpening. "Grey's return means more than vengeance. He was embedded deep. If he is moving, it is because he has been allowed to move."
Seth leaned back in his chair, arms folded. "Alright. Say he is our guy. How do we find him?"
"He never acted without a contingency," Elsa said. "If he's active, it means his foundation is already set. A network. A system. And this means we're late."
Samuel finally spoke. "Then we follow the magic. The rot always leaves a trail."
"The black market," Campbell added. "Someone there will have answers."
Bleed's knives glinted as he shifted his weight. "Then cut the rot at the root."
I looked at Seth. "Guess that means we're backup while these two channel their inner outlaws."
He smirked. "Let's just hope they come back with their morals intact."
"Unlikely," I muttered.
The room stirred with momentum, strategies forming, a war map in the making. But even as plans took shape, one truth rang louder than the rest.
This wasn't just another mission.
It was a reckoning.
And Bleed, the Judicar with shadows in his wake and blood on his name, looked more ready for it than anyone.
The room goes quiet again when Lady Elsa breaks it, "He believed we'd never win any wars by fighting clean," she continued. "That we had to understand corruption to master it. I thought I'd pulled him back. I was wrong."
I folded my arms. "And now you think he's leading this movement?"
"I do. But it's more than that," she said, eyes sharp. "Anderson was never reckless. If he's emerged again, it means he's built something beneath us. To better understand the situation, we need to understand the man. With his networks, followers, possibly whole cells, he must feel that now is the time to act. This makes it dangerous for us and will allow black magic to spread like wildfire."
Seth leaned back slowly. "Then what's his endgame?"
Lady Elsa's gaze swept to me. Then Seth. Then lingered.
"That's what troubles me," she murmured. "He's not just reviving forbidden practices. He's been feeding the idea that Max is the threat."
Gasps stirred.
My mouth parted, but no words came.
It's, surprisingly, Eric that speaks first, "How? How do you even know Anderson's after Max? And what does he know about her?"
His voice slices through the tension, sharp but laced with something raw, fear disguised as frustration.
She ponders that one, eyes narrowing. Then she looks up swiftly at Eric. "Knowing him... he must have planted spies in the Obsidian Forum. Dropped just enough misinformation into the right ears," Lady Elsa continued. "Whispers that the Living Scripture is too powerful. Too unpredictable. A divine weapon that could fall into the wrong hands... or already has."
A low whistle from Alec. "That explains the shift in the Judicars' behavior. They think Max is a walking apocalypse."
"No," Seth said, voice hardening like stone. "They don't just think it. They're being led to believe it."
Lady Elsa's gaze flickers, something sharper sliding behind her composure. "Correct. And I can confirm it." Her fingers drummed once against the table. "Because one of his spies... wasn't as invisible as they believed."
Eric straightens. "You caught one?"
Her smile is razor-thin. "At the Forum. Sloppy. Young. Overconfident. They thought they were feeding the shadows. They never realized someone was feeding them false light in return."
Seth's silver breath stirred, lacing the air like tension given form. "What did they say?"
Lady Elsa's eyes darkened. "Here's the deeper truth... Anderson isn't after Max."
That stunned the room.
"What?" I breathed.
"I believe..." her voice dropped like a stone into water, "Seth is the real target."
Alec stiffened. Jamey sucked in a sharp breath. Even Eric paled.
"Anderson doesn't just want power," Lady Elsa continued, quiet but unrelenting. "He wants control over the rewriting of divine law. Over the very fabric of creation itself. You," she nodded at me, "are the Living Scripture. But Seth... he is the sacred tether. The balancer. The anchor that ensures divine order stays... orderly."
Seth didn't speak. He didn't need to. His silence was thunder.
"Without Seth," Lady Elsa pressed on, "Max's power would become unstable. Unanchored. Vulnerable to corruption... or misuse." Her gaze swept the room. "Anderson knows this, if we figured it out, so has he. That's why he's making you the decoy," her eyes pinned me, sharp as daggers. "While everyone points fingers at you... He'll strike at Seth."
Gabriel stepped forward now, cutting through the tension with one hand raised. His voice was low, deliberate.
"No one discusses this outside this room. Not with allies. Not with mentors. Not even in sacred communion."
His gaze swept across us all. "Anderson has planted spies inside the Obsidian Forum. He feeds them poison, then watches who bleeds. Every word spoken from this moment forward must be guarded like your last breath."
A beat of silence.
Then his eyes cut to me. Then to Seth.
"And let's not mistake this. I don't care how powerful you are. Sacred or not..." his tone sharpened, "... you're still flesh. Still blood. Still human. Don't start believing you're untouchable. That's how people die."
Then he locked eyes with Seth. "And if he is truly after you, then he already knows more than he should."
Seth rises from his seat and strides over to the window, hands in pockets. "We do," he said. "But not just by hunting Anderson. We need to expose the lie. Let him chase a ghost, while we pull apart everything he's built."
The room was silent, then, slowly, heads began to nod.
Plans began to form. Assignments given. Jamey cracked his knuckles. Campbell and Samuel tightened their packs. Everyone was moving. Preparing.
But I sat there, watching Seth.
And Seth... was watching me.
Later, after the room cleared and strategy turned into movement, Seth slid behind me, arms wrapping around my waist, breath warm against my neck.
"I can finally have some alone time with my wife," he murmured.
I turned, pinching his cheek. "What wife?"
He grinned. "The one who's mine. After Anderson is dealt with, I'm done waiting."
The house had gone quiet again, too quiet.
The laughter, the gathering, the mission had all faded, like a tide pulling back. Only the undercurrent remained. I sat at the edge of our bed, the golden inscriptions of my Living Scripture dimmed to a low pulse beneath my skin. Not gone, just... contemplative.
Seth stood near the window, bare-chested, the moonlight spilling silver across his skin. His sacred breath hovered like mist around him, faintly shimmering with divine intent, but no movement. No ripple. Just stillness.
I hated that stillness.
"You're too quiet," I said softly.
He didn't turn, but his voice came, low and sure. "I'm thinking."
"About Anderson or the plan?"
A pause.
"About you," he corrected. "And what would it mean if he tried to use me to get to you?"
That did it. I rose, crossing the floor in three steady steps, and placed my hands against his back. His skin was warm, the tension beneath it coiled tight.
"You don't get to do this alone," I murmured, pressing my cheek between his shoulder blades. "You think I'm the only one worth protecting in this equation?"
His sacred breath reacted, slow spirals wrapping around my arms like threads drawn to gold. My golden inscriptions rose to meet them, like lovers reaching for reunion.
"I've lived with danger my entire life, Max. I know what it means to stand before you. I would do it a thousand times."
"I know that," I whispered. "But would you let me do it for you?"
He turned at that, slowly, deliberately, until we stood chest to chest, his silver gaze sinking into mine like it always did. But this time, there was something else there. Worry. Fear. Love so deep it bordered on panic.
"I can't lose you," I said, voice cracking. "I already lost myself once. I'm not doing it again."
His hands cupped my face, and when he kissed me, it wasn't careful. It wasn't sweet.
It was desperate.
My arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel every heartbeat, every inhale, every proof that he was still mine. His sacred breath surged, brushing across my skin in soft tendrils, weaving between the golden markings that lit up in response. Where our skin touched, our powers responded, not separate forces, but one.
Silver and gold. Mist and flame. Breath and word.
Sacred.
His mouth moved to my jaw, then my neck, each kiss saying what he couldn't. That he was afraid. That he wouldn't show it. That he would still put himself between me and every enemy, even if it meant dying.
And I hated that.
I pushed him back gently, searching his eyes. "You're not my shield, Seth."
"No?"
"You're my equal," I said, voice trembling. "My storm. My peace. My everything. And if Anderson wants to go through you to get to me..." My hands slid to his chest, pressing hard enough that my fingertips glowed with power. "... then I'll burn his empire to the ground before he even breathes in your direction."
Seth's lips parted like he might speak, but nothing came. Instead, he let me lead him back to the bed, where the sacred lights around us flickered and began to dance.
There was no rush.
No desperation.
Only a vow sealed not in words, but in warmth, in touch, in breath.
Later, we lay together in silence, the world forgotten. His forehead rested against mine, our breaths shared like sacred whispers between souls that had long since merged. The silver mist of his sacred breath curled around us, dancing with the golden glow of my inscriptions, creating a veil that shimmered like starlight.
Not armor. Not defense.
A blessing.
"I've got you," he whispered, his voice barely there.
I nodded, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "And I've got you."
The mist thickened around us, golden and silver lights twining like twin prayers rising from the altar of something holy.
And as we pulled each other closer, the room dimmed, swallowed by that sacred veil.
Nothing outside that space mattered.
Not Anderson.
Not the threat.
Not the war, still waiting to be fought.
Just us.
Together.
Fade to black.
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Three days passed. We received no calls. No visitors. Just us, and slow mornings, quiet evenings, tangled limbs, and whispered prayers neither of us ever thought we'd say out loud.
Then the phone rang.
I answered before the second buzz.
"Samuel?"
Static. Then breathe. Then...
"Max... Max..."
I sat up, the warmth in the room gone.
"You're cutting out... Speak... Now."
"Anderson... knows... plan..."
A loud crash. The phone slipped. I hit the loudspeaker. Seth turned his head sharply, already listening.
Screams erupted. Gunfire cracked. Stone splintered.
A wave of divine power blasted through the line, sharp enough to raise the hairs on my arms. My Scripture flared beneath my skin, burning to respond.
Campbell. I felt him. Fighting. Bleeding.
"GET BACK!" Samuel's voice came through, frantic. "CAMPBELL!"
A sound followed. Wet. Gurgling. The unmistakable choke of someone trying to breathe through blood.
The line crackled. Breath. Static. Then...
"Max... Max..."
Ice sank into my gut. My hands tightened.
"You're cutting out, your voice is scrambled. What's happening?"
"Anderson... knows... the plan..." Samuel's voice fractured, swallowed by a deafening crash. Wood splintered. Metal groaned.
I slammed the phone to speaker. Seth's head snapped up, his sacred breath already unraveling around him in thick, silver tendrils.
Then Samuel's scream. Sharp. Desperate. A scramble of feet. The unmistakable crack of gunfire, close, too close. Bullets shredding stone. Metal shrieking under assault.
"Get back," Samuel's voice ragged, cracking under pressure. "Campbell, move."
A brutal crash echoed through the line. Something or someone was thrown against steel. The groan of pipes. Boots slammed against concrete. The breathless snarl of men fighting for their lives.
I shot to my feet. My Living Scripture surged awake, igniting like wildfire beneath my skin. Golden inscriptions rippled across my arms, over my neck, down my legs, flaring brighter with every breath.
Then it came.
A sound no one should ever have to hear.
Wet. Gurgling. The drowning gasp of someone choking on blood. Campbell.
"Stay with me." Samuel's voice shattered into a raw scream. "You hear me? Stay with me."
Gunfire. Closer. Explosions of noise pound through the speaker. My hands trembled, not from fear but from the power swelling beneath my skin, boiling, furious.
"Max... please..." Samuel sobbed. "He is still breathing... I cannot... hold them... alone..."
A crash. A scream. Cut clean mid-syllable. Then...
Silence.
Dead.
No thought. No hesitation.
The air around me fractured as the Living Scripture surged in full.
Gold burst from my skin, from my spine, from my lips, from my very breath. Inscriptions ignited across every inch of me, down my arms, across my collarbones, flooding my legs, wrapped around my feet, weaving through my hair, illuminating my eyes like molten scripture given life. Even my mouth glowed, every decree etched into my lips, ready to be spoken, ready to strike.
My eyes locked onto the fabric of reality. The decree left me before I realized my lips had moved.
"Open. Now."
Reality tore apart in a violent fracture. The air screamed as the veil split, edges rimmed in gold fire and trembling script.
Behind me, Seth's sacred breath exploded outward. His entire frame was drowned in silver mist, light pouring from every inch of him. His skin shimmered like living metal, breath winding around his limbs, his shoulders, his hands like divine sentinels. Alive. Watching and ready.
This was not just breath. This was not just mist.
It was a force. It was his lineage. His vow. His bond.
To me. To this family. To us.
He did not ask.
He did not speak.
He followed.
And the portal sealed shut behind us with a thunder that shook the bones of the earth.
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There is no mercy now.
The veil has parted. The decree was spoken. The Sacred Breath has answered.
What stands beyond that portal is not rescue. It is not salvation.
It is judgment. Divine. Absolute. Unrelenting.
The world still believes the Living Scripture is restrained.
They're wrong.
They are about to witness what happens when Max stops holding back.