When Rebecca and Nathaniel stepped back into the dining hall, the faint green glow of the emerald on her finger caught every eye. The hum of conversation died, forks stilled, and whispers rolled through the families like a wave.
The bond is sealed.
Rebecca has chosen.
The Weatherman line and Edgeworth line are one.
Some bowed their heads in acceptance . Others watched with unease.
Carolina Edgeworth rose, her glass lifted high. "It is done. The Matriarch and the Keeper are bound. Weatherman and Edgeworth are joined again."
The Callaghans exchanged tense looks. One muttered too loudly, "Joined or made too strong?" Another scoffed, "A balance of power broken is no balance at all."
Taylor Boyd's voice cut across the room. "Careful. Without their bond, the Hollow would already be through these walls. You'd rather envy their strength than share in it?"
Silence followed, uneasy and thick. Rebecca's hand trembled in Nathaniel's, but he laced his fingers tighter with hers, steadying her.
The families might not all welcome it, but none could deny what had happened. The bond was alive, powerful and it would change everything.
The meal carried on, though the air seemed fragile, strung taut like a wire about to snap. Platters of roasted chicken and roast passed down the table, baskets of bread set between clusters of watchful hands. Glasses clinked softly, but every sound felt too loud, as if the whole hall knew what loomed with nightfall.
Rebecca sat close to Nathaniel, his presence grounding her. She caught herself tracing the edge of the emerald, listening to her children's faint hum, while her eyes swept the hall. The families mingled cautiously Callaghans passing dishes to Whitlocks with stiff nods, the Mercers bent over ledgers, Millie chattering low with Star Berkshire.
Nathaniel leaned to her ear. "They are restless," he said softly. "But restless is better than fractured."
Across the table, Deanna rose, her chair scraping softly. She crossed to Thomas Weatherman, her uncle, her steps hesitant. For a long moment, she only stood there, the hush of the room swelling as eyes turned to them.
"Uncle Tommy," Deanna said at last, her voice shaking. "I've carried anger for so long. For the choices made by this very circle, for the silence, for the losses. But my mother showed me tonight she never stopped loving this family. And I can't, either."
Thomas stood slowly, his broad frame towering, but his eyes shone. He reached for her hand, then pulled her into a firm embrace. Deanna broke into sobs against his shoulder, and Thomas's voice rumbled low, audible even in the quiet. "Forgive me, child. I should have held you closer, not pushed you further away."
A hush fell over the hall, then something warmer stirred. Callaghans softened in their seats; the Whitlocks exchanged uneasy but thoughtful glances. Taylor Boyd lifted his glass silently in acknowledgment, his face unreadable but steadied.
Rebecca felt the bond hum brighter, almost as though the act of forgiveness itself stitched tighter threads between them all. Nathaniel's hand found hers under the table, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "This is how we stand," he whispered. "Not just with power but with love."
For a fleeting moment, the storm outside seemed to pause. The Hollow might be pressing closer, but here, in the hall of the Edgeworths, the Circle remembered what it meant to be family.
The dining hall stilled as Deanna wept into Thomas's shoulder, her grief finally given voice. For a heartbeat, no one moved the Circle of Nine, so long splintered by grudges and blame, watched a wound begin to stitch close.
Thomas's voice carried low but steady. "We cannot change the past. But we can choose now to be more than the Hollow wants us to be."
Deanna lifted her head, her face streaked with tears but shining with resolve. "Then let's choose love. Let's choose family."
Something shifted in the air. The tension that had sat like a stone on the table seemed to ease. Margaret Alden leaned on her cane, nodding softly. "Wise words from the young. We are stronger when we forgive."
Elias Whitlock, ever sharp-tongued, shifted uncomfortably, then muttered just loud enough to be heard, "Perhaps we've wasted too many years fighting shadows inside instead of the one waiting outside." His brother glanced at him in surprise but didn't contradict him.
Patrick Callaghan set down his goblet with a sigh. "We lost too many at the river to keep fighting among ourselves. If the Matriarch and the Keeper can stand together, perhaps we can, too."
Millie, never one to miss a moment, raised her glass high. "Then let this table remember: grudges feed the Hollow, but forgiveness starves it."
One by one, others lifted their glasses. Some solemn, some reluctant, but the act carried through the hall like a tide. Rebecca sat stunned, hand pressed to her belly as her children stirred, their voices humming faintly through the emerald.
"They feel it," she whispered to Nathaniel. "They know."
Nathaniel's eyes softened, his hand closing over hers. "Then tonight, love itself becomes our strongest weapon."
The hall warmed with conversation again not joyous, but steadier, stronger. For the first time, Rebecca felt the Circle not as fractured families but as something closer to whole.
The hall had grown warmer, voices rising as the families mingled again, but Rebecca's gaze snagged on Greyson. He sat near the far end, hands folded neatly over the table, eyes fixed on her as though weighing every word unspoken.
He rose without effort, his presence commanding silence as he walked the length of the table. When he reached her, he rested one weathered hand on her shoulder, then, with quiet reverence, pressed the other against her belly.
Rebecca expected only warmth, perhaps a blessing. Instead, the emerald flared, and a sudden hum filled her chest sharper, brighter.
"Rebecca." The voice was not hers, nor Nathaniel's. It was Greyson, speaking not aloud but inside her mind. His words carried with startling clarity I can feel them my dear.
Her breath caught. "Greyson?"
He gave the faintest nod, his gaze steady on hers. Bianca. Penelope. Gabriel. They are alive with light. They know me.
A ripple of whispers and laughter still filled the hall, yet Rebecca's world narrowed to the current rushing between them. They're speaking to you?
Not words, Greyson replied, his inner voice thick with awe. But love. Pure and steady. They reached for me the moment I touched you. My great-grandchildren already know their blood. They already claim me.
Rebecca's hand trembled over his. The children's hum echoed, bright and joyful, brushing her mind and Greyson's alike. For the first time, she wasn't the only one hearing them.
They're stronger than we imagined, he whispered inwardly, the thought slipping free before he could stop it.
Greyson's eyes softened, wet with unfallen tears. Then let them carry my vow as well: I will stand for them, Rebecca. For you. No matter what storm rises tonight, I will not falter.
The glow dimmed, the hum easing back into her alone, leaving Rebecca shaken. She stared at him, stunned, as the chatter of the meal swept on around them, none the wiser to what had just passed.
Nathaniel glanced at her from across the table, brow furrowing as he felt the spike of her heartbeat through the bond. Rebecca only laid a hand over the emerald, still stunned, and whispered to herself, "They spoke to him."
His hand brushed hers beneath the table. Nathaniel's. His eyes met hers, dark and steady. "I know," he murmured so low only she could hear. "I felt it through you. They opened themselves to him."
Rebecca's chest tightened, the bond between her and Nathaniel flaring with the echo of what had just passed. "Then it's real," she whispered. "They can reach beyond me."
Nathaniel's thumb traced her knuckles, his voice a vow. "Yes. And that makes them stronger than any of us guessed."
The hall was settling into a rhythm of cautious laughter and uneasy peace when the lavender scent swept in. Stronger than before, sharp enough to silence every voice mid-sentence. The candles flickered , shadows stretched thin, and then Tina appeared at the far end of the table her form brighter, sharper, nearly solid.
Her eyes were wide, her voice trembling with urgency. "He's coming. The Hollow stirs harder than it has in centuries. Harry is near."
The families froze, the air crackling as if the very walls had heard her. Rebecca clutched the emerald on her finger. Deanna rose instantly, her face pale. "Mom"
Tina's glow flared, flooding the hall with warmth. "There's no time. I can't stay much longer, but I won't leave you without my gift." She spread her arms, and waves of magic rolled outward. The families gasped as it coursed through them not cold, not hollow, but steady and alive. A current of love, of protection, of forgiveness.
Rebecca staggered as the energy filled her chest, her children's voices chiming in harmony with it. Nathaniel clenched her hand, his jaw tight as the magic surged through him. Even the Whitlocks, usually rigid, bowed their heads under its weight.
The glow intensified until Tina's form shifted no longer flickering light, but flesh and face, as though she had returned fully for one fleeting moment. Deanna let out a sob and rushed forward, collapsing into her mother's arms. This time, Tina caught her. Held her.
"My daughter," Tina whispered, pressing her face to Deanna's hair. "I love you. I have always loved you. Forgive me for leaving you in shadow."
Deanna shook against her. "I never stopped needing you. And I forgive you. I forgive you, Mom."
Others moved closer. Thomas Weatherman laid a trembling hand on Tina's shoulder, his voice raw. "I should have fought harder for you."
She met his gaze, eyes shining. "You carried guilt that wasn't yours, Thomas. Lay it down now."
For a breath, the hall was a sanctuary. Millie touched Tina's hand. Carolina Edgeworth inclined her head in solemn respect. Even Greyson wiped at his eyes, murmuring a blessing under his breath.
Then the glow began to falter. Tina's edges blurred again, light spilling through cracks in her form. She held Deanna tighter, kissed her daughter's temple, and whispered, "Be stronger than me. And remember love is what binds us tighter than the Hollow can break."
She turned her gaze to Rebecca, her voice carrying across the table. "Rebecca lead them. To the cemetery. To the hollowed ground. It is the only place the Circle can stand against him."
Her voice cracked as the light consumed her, scattering like dust on the wind. The lavender faded, leaving silence heavy enough to crush.
Rebecca stood slowly, hand firm on the emerald, Nathaniel steadying her. "You heard her. The Circle must gather at the mausoleum. Before nightfall."
The families rose, one by one, no longer divided by grudge or envy. The fear was there, but so was resolve. The Circle of Nine would go to the hollowed ground.
And this time, they would stand together.