When a knock sounded on the door to her makeshift cell, Frieda looked up from the book she sat reading. In the last few days, she hadn't had many visitors and enjoyed the chance to relax and not have a million concerns about which to worry.
Her cell occupied a separate floor from where they had kept Abigail, and Frieda had no doubt that she had a larger room and more luxuries. And yet, the walls pressed in tighter. They hadn't bothered to reinforce the window and had posted only one guard at the door.
Should that offend her or not? Abigail had two guards. Frieda liked to think of herself as dangerous, under the right circumstances. Or, at least, conniving. Before making any decisions, she planned things out carefully so that everything went smoothly. She didn't like surprises.
Surprises like what had happened a few days ago.
Everything had spiraled out of control since she'd first let Abigail escape. Dominick had brought her before the Council to explain what had happened, and she'd told them, in the most uncertain terms as she could, that she'd freed Abigail because this was not how they were supposed to operate.
Naturally, they'd been furious. Immediately, Aram had demanded a trial for Frieda for letting a sentenced woman go free, and all of his cronies had jumped on board. Some had supported Frieda, of course, but even they were reluctant to stand by her with an open admission of guilt.
The thing was, Frieda was sick of all of the manipulation and lies. Done putting up with it. The time had come to take a stand. The Council had become fragmented and corrupted in the last several years, divided against itself, and Frieda had grown tired of fighting shadow battles against her fellow members. Everything happening with Abigail had simply shone a light on how deep the corruption went, and shown her that she needed to take a stand.
Frieda set her book down and walked to the door. Jun Lee stood there. Not the Augmented Reality avatar of Jun Lee she'd grown used to seeing over the years, but the man himself.
He looked even more vibrant in person, though he carried a decorated hickory cane.
"Frieda," he said, leaning on the cane and smiling. "It's good to see the real you."
"You as well," she said. "It's been what, twenty years?"
"Longer," he said. "The last time I saw you in person, you were a little girl."
Frieda laughed. "I haven't been a little girl in a really long time."
"Nor I a young man," he said. "And yet, here we are."
"Here you surely are," she said. "Pulled some strings to come visit me while I'm locked up?"
She expected him to perhaps chuckle, or at least smile. Instead, he sobered up, and his expression became grim.
"I'm only the first to arrive."
"What do you mean?"
"The Council is gathering. All of us."
"Everyone?" Frieda asked. "That hasn't happened in …"
She shook her head. She didn't even know how long ago something like that had happened. Even hundreds of years ago, the Council was reluctant to bring everyone to the same location at the same time because of security.
"Not in my lifetime," Jun said, just above a murmur.
"Should I feel flattered?"
"The Council has stripped you of your command of the Hunters. They plan to start the trial as soon as everyone arrives because of the security risks. Some have called for your removal from the Council."
"They couldn't do that." Frieda shook her head. "The Valdris name is one of the seven founding bloodlines. My forefathers helped seal the barriers centuries ago. That history isn't something they can simply vote away."
Jun's expression flickered—something between respect and concern. "Exactly why many of them don't trust you," he said. "The founding families have always been ... different. The sealing ceremony changed your ancestors—left something in the blood that persists through the generations. Some call it a gift. Others call it a corruption." He hesitated, choosing his words with care. "The Council's scholars have documented it extensively. Founding blood carries a resonance with the barriers, an attunement that makes it uniquely potent for ritual purposes. It's why the Ninth Circle has always been so interested in the founding lineages—that blood can be used to open what your ancestors closed."
Frieda's stomach tightened. She'd known, of course. Her grandmother had explained it in terms a child could understand: *Our blood remembers. That is both our duty and our danger.* But hearing Jun say it aloud, in the context of a trial that might end with her execution, gave the words fresh weight.
"Some believe that kind of legacy is precisely why you should be removed," Jun continued. "They feel like you got handed your position and didn't have to earn it. They want you out.
"Also, we've looked into the two dead Hunters. Their deaths have been added to your crimes."
"What?" Frieda asked. "Aram did that."
"The Hunters answer to you," Jun said. "Aram is making a case that you acted unilaterally in sending them and are withholding things from the Council. It's a compelling case."
"But I didn't do it," she said. "He's the one who betrayed us."
"I know," Jun said. "We have no real evidence that you had anything to do with it, but unfortunately, there isn't evidence against him, either."
Frieda sighed, rubbing her brow. She'd landed in the precise position Abigail had, though with higher stakes.
"Still, this needed to happen in person?"
"Any decision on this level must be made by all of us in person. We can't take the risk of anyone outside hacking into our systems and being able to watch the events that take place. It's too personal and important. We will remove all technology from the meetings."
"It's risky," Frieda said.
Jun nodded. "Incredibly. I voted against it, even for something so important as this, but I lost, and so the trial will take place soon. Aram feels confident that we will all be protected."
"Mercenaries?"
"Many got hired just this morning, drawn from the Council's operational fund—the same accounts that finance safe houses and extraction teams across Europe. More are being sought in the coming weeks. They erected an electric fence and have regular patrols, and supply helicopters run twice daily from Lausanne. We should be safe."
"It's still an ignorant decision," Frieda said.
"Yes," Jun said.
"I guess our goal isn't to hide anymore," Frieda said. "Aram is turning this place into a fortress."
For centuries, the Council had survived through anonymity. They maintained contacts in law enforcement and intelligence agencies across the world—people who understood, or at least accepted, that certain events defied conventional explanation. When supernatural incidents spilled into public view, the Council's network intervened. A demon attack in a crowded square became a gas leak in the police report. Unexplained deaths were reclassified as gang violence or industrial accidents. The founding families had spent generations building those connections, ensuring that the most troubling evidence disappeared from official records before anyone looked too closely.
All of that careful architecture depended on the Council remaining invisible. Turning a mountain hotel into a military compound was the antithesis of everything they stood for.
"Indeed," Jun said. "Impractical and quite expensive. With operating costs this high, however, it won't be long before the trial commences. Everyone is preparing their travel plans now, and we will vote within a month."
"How will they vote?"
"Things will work out in your favor," Jun said. "People have had time to think about it, and sentencing Abigail to death was a poor decision. Aram will seek to have you stripped of your command, but not from the Council. It'll be an easy feat, considering all the evidence against you."
"You hope," Frieda said.
Jun stood in silence for a long moment. "Yes," he said. "I hope. Execution for treason is on the table."
Frieda sighed. "What else did you find out about Jim and Michael? Do we know who killed them or why?"
"No," Jun said. "No one has taken responsibility. We have people looking into it, but it isn't encouraging. A Hunter's life is a risky life. We ask much of them."
Frieda shook her head. "Not in this case. They went somewhere without approval and weren't even on assignment. I don't know who sent them, but they didn't act under my orders."
Jun scratched his chin. "You're certain that Aram sent them?"
"As certain as I can be," Frieda said. "This past year, he's acted erratically. If he has betrayed us, we need to find out why. A lot of things have gone on that the Council hasn't received notification about. Something strange is going on, and we need to get a handle on it before it gets out of hand."
Jun hesitated, his fingers tightening on the head of his cane. "There is something else. I wasn't sure whether to mention it, given your current situation, but you deserve to know."
Frieda straightened. "What?"
"Jim and Michael weren't the only casualties. In the last six weeks, we've lost two more operatives. Kessler, in Vienna. And a woman named Parikh, outside of Prague. Both experienced Hunters. Both found dead in locations they had no documented reason to visit."
A chill crept through Frieda's chest. "Four Hunters. Four, in six weeks?"
"The manner of death is what troubles me most," Jun said, his voice dropping. "In each case, the kills were fast—brutally efficient. Our forensics team says a single individual did the work, someone with strength and speed far beyond human norms. Kessler was armed with a blessed blade and body armor. It didn't matter."
"Demonic?"
"That was our first assumption. But demons operating freely on the surface always leave traces—sulfur residue, disrupted wards, fluctuations in the local spiritual energy. There was nothing. Just the bodies." He paused. "Our contacts in the Viennese police managed to suppress the investigation into Kessler, but it drew media attention—a man found dead with injuries the medical examiner called 'inconsistent with any known weapon.' We had to pull strings to keep the autopsy sealed."
Frieda paced to the window and stared out at the snow-covered grounds. Armed guards trudged past in pairs, breath fogging the air.
"A witness near the Prague site described a young woman," Jun continued. "Early twenties, dark hair. She was seen leaving the area on foot, moving quickly and calmly, as though she had merely taken a walk. The witness said something about her unsettled him, but he couldn't articulate what."
"A young woman," Frieda murmured. The words sat wrong in her mouth. Hunters didn't fall to young women. Not four of them. Not like this.
"We don't have an identification. No known threat profile matches what we're seeing." Jun met her gaze, and for the first time, she read genuine unease in his eyes. "Whoever she is, she knows how to find our people. She's hunting them specifically, and she's very, very good at it."
"Or very, very not human," Frieda said.
Jun didn't disagree.
"As soon as the trial is sorted out, I will assist you in investigating this issue," he said.
"Thank you, Jun."
"We'll sort this out, Frieda," Jun said. "I shall return to discuss things with you in preparation for the trial."
Jun stood and gave her a hug, and then headed out into the hall. Alone once more. Frieda sat in the silence of her room, trying to figure out her best move.
From in here, investigating Aram would be impossible. Limited communication with her assistant, and Martha could only do so much while Frieda remained locked up.
No. Patience. Let things run their course. Aram would strip her of her command, handing him control of the Hunters. But once they set her free—and they would set her free—she'd find every piece of evidence needed to bring him down.
It had gone past the time that they should begin reorganizing the Council and remove some of the most egregious blemishes. Frieda sat on the bed and picked up her book, hoping to distract herself. The helplessness scraped against every instinct she had.
Had Abigail gotten away? Had she found the house? Though a difficult decision for Frieda, Abigail should learn the truth about Arthur and herself now. Tough times drew near for the young woman, and Frieda didn't envy her position. If the girl carried what Frieda suspected—if the ritual at Raven's Peak had left more than scars—then Abigail would need allies who understood what ran through her veins. The founding families had centuries of experience managing power that strained against human limits. Frieda had hoped to guide her through it personally, but from behind bars, that task would fall to whoever Abigail found at the end of that Ohio address.
She prayed it would be enough.
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