An emergency meeting was called at the base.
The Egg Tree loomed over them, battered but alive—its bark knitting itself back together in slow, glowing seams, leaves unfurling where scorch marks had been. It creaked softly, healing as if refusing to die no matter what the city threw at it.
Inside, they gathered in the Cookie Room.
The massive cookie-shaped table dominated the space, chipped and cracked. Every Knight took a seat around it, armour scuffed, faces drawn tight with exhaustion and fury.
Celeste didn’t sit.
Ray grabbed her by the collar and dragged her to her chair.
“Sit,” Ray said flatly.
Celeste tried. She really did. But her chest felt too tight, breath coming in short, broken pulls. Bonbon’s name kept clawing at her throat, her thoughts spiralling faster and faster.
“I—I can’t—” Celeste gasped, half-rising. “I need to—Bonbon—”
Ray pushed her hand down. Firm. Polite. Final.
“Sit,” she repeated.
Celeste shook, breath stuttering, fingers digging into the edge of the table as she tried to stand again.
Ray pushed her arm down a second time.
Harder.
“Ray, please,” Celeste whispered, eyes bright with panic. “I can’t breathe—I have to go—”
She started to rise a third time.
Ray didn’t touch her.
Instead, she reached down, slipped off her heavy combat shoe, and threw it.
The shoe slammed past Celeste’s head and hit the wall behind her with a brutal crack—lodging into the stone deep enough to leave fractures spidering outward.
The room went dead silent.
Ray leaned forward slowly, eyes locked on Celeste.
“Next time,” she said calmly, “I won’t miss.”
Celeste froze.
Her breathing hitched once—then slowed. Shallow, controlled, terrified.
Then she did exactly what she was told.
Her hands shook as she reached into her coat and pulled out Bonbon’s doll—the little thing worn soft from being loved too hard. Celeste clutched it to her chest like a lifeline, shoulders curling inward as if she could make herself smaller, quieter, contained.
Ray slid back into her seat without another word.
The meeting continued.
But everyone at the table knew—
Nothing about this was normal anymore.
Hughes stood at the front of the room, crook resting against the table. He waited until the noise settled—until everyone was there.
“Our Egg Tree is intact,” he said finally. “That’s the good news.”
No one smiled.
“The camp outside,” he continued, voice heavier, “is not doing well.”
Pitch leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Most folks are trying to rebuild. Clearing debris. Patching shelters.” He exhaled. “But there’s talk. Some are thinking about leaving.”
Hughes nodded slowly. “I hope they don’t.”
He paused.
His eyes lingered on Celeste just a second too long.
“But I wouldn’t blame them.”
Mezzo, sitting near the back, tried to very quietly open a crisp packet. The crinkle barely made a sound.
Ray’s head snapped around. “Don’t.”
Mezzo froze, sighed, and slowly put the packet away like it was a crime scene.
Bracer folded his arms, jaw tight. “Without Sugar coating it,” he said, voice rough, “I’m glad you found Lumina and Skye.”
Celeste looked up.
“But,” Bracer continued, “you let the team down.”
Her grip on the doll tightened.
“You left,” he said. “For something that wasn’t the priority.”
“I—” Celeste started. “I’m sorry, but—”
“People died, Celeste,” Ray cut in immediately.
The room went quiet.
“People were taken,” Ray continued, voice rising. “Bracer nearly got crippled holding the line. Carys can’t fight to save her life and still stood there anyway. And we almost lost the radio tower.”
Celeste swallowed hard. “Gideon attacked—Skye and Lumina—he was—”
Ray cut her off again.
“First, you’re a pushover who can’t make decisions,” Ray snapped. “You hesitate. You try to please everyone. You freeze.”
Celeste flinched.
“And then,” Ray went on, pacing a step, “when you do make a decision, you either don’t tell anyone, or you pick the most self-centred option and call it instinct.”
Her gaze locked onto Celeste.
“Come on, girl. Can’t you pick the right one for once? It’s not that hard.”
The words hit like blows.
Celeste’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Pitch cleared his throat, lifting one shoulder. “To be fair, Ray… you did try to run off a few times yourself.”
Ray’s head snapped toward him.
“So did you,” she shot back.
Pitch blinked. “…That’s true.”
The tension didn’t ease.
It just settled—heavy and suffocating.
Ray turned back to Celeste.
“Why,” she pressed more quietly now, “can’t you just do what’s most important?”
Celeste opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Tried again. “He was a Council member, he—”
“Irrelevant,” Ray snapped.
The word landed like a door slamming shut.
Celeste’s mouth closed.
She didn’t try again.
She stared down at Bonbon’s doll instead, thumbs rubbing the worn fabric, ears flat, shoulders caving inward as the meeting went on around her.
Ray leaned forward, palms flat on the table.
“And let me make this crystal clear,” she said, voice low and shaking with contained fury. “The Council is looking for an excuse. One wrong move and they won’t just shut us down—they’ll kill us. Or turn us into batteries.”
Celeste’s shoulders tensed.
“I don’t know why I have to remind you of this,” Ray went on, harsher now, “but if you die, we all lose our powers. Hell—if you so much as faint, it starts happening. If you rip your rune out? You don’t die clean. You turn into a walking bomb.”
Her eyes burned.
“And we’re stuck together, Celeste. All of us. Whether we like it or not.”
Silence pressed in.
“So if you keep being reckless,” Ray finished, jaw tight, “I swear to gods old and new—I am not going down with you.”
Celeste still didn’t move.
Didn’t look up.
Bonbon’s doll was crushed tight against her chest.
“That’s enough.”
Hughes’ voice cut through the room like a blade.
Ray turned on him, still wound tight, ready to snap—but Hughes held her gaze. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“I understand why she ran,” he said, measured, tired. “She thought her sister was in danger. Anyone here would have felt that pull.”
Celeste didn’t react.
Didn’t look up.
“But,” Hughes continued, “as commander, the base comes first. The civilians come first. If this place falls, everyone falls with it.”
Celeste stared at the doll in her hands, thumb tracing a frayed seam. The room sounded far away, like voices through water.
Bracer picked up where Hughes left off. “If we lose the base,” he said bluntly, “we lose the Knights. We lose Council protection. We lose what little legitimacy we have left.” He glanced at Celeste, not unkindly. “I understand wanting to save your sister. Truly. But you have to see the bigger picture.”
No response.
Mezzo leaned forward, frustration cutting through his usual humour. “You’re missing something,” he said. “Gideon was there. He attacked Lumina and Skye. This wasn’t Celeste running off on a whim.”
That got movement.
Lumina nodded quickly. “He was—he knew us. He—”
Skye swallowed and nodded too. Arcade and Topsy both spoke at once, backing them up, voices overlapping as they tried to explain what Gideon had done, how targeted it had been.
Ray rounded on Lumina and Skye instead.
“And what were you two doing wandering off in the first place?” she snapped. “You were told to stay put. You let the adults handle it.”
Lumina shrank back. Skye’s ears flattened.
Ray’s finger swung next—accusatory. “And you,” she said to Mezzo. “And you,” to Arcade. “You should have talked her out of it.”
Arcade stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly across the floor.
“You punched me,” he said, voice shaking with anger, “for trying to save my cousin. Don’t you dare tell me that was wrong.”
Ray spun on him. “That’s not the same thing and you know it—”
“It is when it’s your family!” Arcade shot back.
Their voices rose, sharp and overlapping, the argument spiralling as old fear and fresh wounds collided.
Mezzo started to say something—then stopped.
He looked at Celeste.
She hadn’t moved.
She wasn’t watching Ray.
Wasn’t watching Arcade.
Wasn’t watching any of them.
She was just sitting there, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on Bonbon’s doll like it was the only solid thing left in the room.
Mezzo’s stomach dropped.
“…Celeste?” he said quietly.
She didn’t answer.
The shouting continued around her—but Celeste was already gone somewhere else, curled inward, silent, carrying the weight of every choice alone while the room argued over her like she wasn’t even there anymore.
Pitch rubbed a hand over his face and spoke before the argument could spiral any further.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said flatly. “We have kidnapped civilians, a deadline tomorrow, and no margin for error. So—what do we do?”
No one answered at first.
Mezzo looked at Celeste.
Nothing.
She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked. Still staring at the doll like it might dissolve if she let go.
Ray exhaled sharply. “How many were taken?”
Hughes glanced down at his notes, then back up, jaw tight. “Enough that the base can’t survive another assault. We’re already short on people to grow food, maintain defences, keep morale together.”
Ray nodded once. Decision snapping into place. “Then we hold for a day. We help the Council with the kraken. After that, we see what we can do about the captives.”
Pitch shook his head immediately. “Bad call. They could kill them while we wait.”
“And if we screw up again,” Ray shot back, “we lose what little credibility we have left with the Council.”
Topsy raised a hand halfway. “We could split up—”
Ray rounded on her. “Who asked you?”
Topsy blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t even have powers yet,” Ray snapped.
Topsy’s ears twitched. “I do now. And I’m using them to stop you all from arguing like—”
“No,” Ray cut in. “We prep. We help the Council tomorrow. You got that, Commander?”
She looked directly at Celeste.
No response.
Ray’s jaw tightened. She sighed, reached down, and yanked off her other shoe.
It flew across the room and smacked into Celeste’s drink.
Liquid tipped, spilling straight onto Bonbon’s doll.
That did it.
Celeste stood up abruptly, wordless, and walked out toward the kitchen without looking at anyone.
Mezzo was on his feet instantly.
“What is your problem?” he shouted after Ray. “She just watched a toddler get shoved into a pod and carried off by zombies, and you’re like—oh no, better not make the Council cross, let’s throw a shoe and hope that fixes it!”
The room went dead quiet.
Ray breathed in.
Once.
Twice.
When she spoke again, her voice was calm—too calm.
“I am trying,” she said, slow and deliberate, “really trying, to be part of a team led by an emotionally fragile, sheltered kitten—”
Mezzo flinched.
“—while navigating a sadistic power structure that wouldn’t hesitate to flog us for being late,” Ray continued. “I am trying not to get us all killed.”
She looked around the room, eyes sharp, exhausted.
“So forgive me,” she finished evenly, “if I prioritize survival over feelings.”
In the kitchen, water ran.
Celeste scrubbed the doll’s dress with shaking hands, eyes unfocused, the sound of raised voices muffled behind the wall.
She didn’t hear the rest.
All she could see was pink gum sealing shut.
Small paws disappearing.
And the moment she hadn’t run—
—or maybe the moment she had.
