In short, the Silence Protocol worked for a small minority of Psy—it suppressed their violent and/or mentally unstable tendencies. However, that suppression came at a cost: a decrease in psychic power. Scarab posited that it was possible to modify Silence to ameliorate or fully annul that unintended effect.

Every individual enrolled in the project was either a very young child at the dawn of Silence, or was born in Silence—and thus considered part of the first wave of Silent “natives.” Each subject was also physically and mentally fit, the best of the best.

At first, Scarab was a brilliant success, with the test subjects remaining Silent, but with full access to their—previously suppressed—abilities. However, that stability didn’t last. Many of the subjects struck out violently at those around them, while others began to suffer from hallucinations, fugues, memory loss, screaming nightmares, and more. In the end, the entire set of subjects became a threat to those around them.

A number self-terminated when they realized Scarab could not be rolled back. Once open, their minds could not be returned to their stable pre-Scarab state. The destabilization continued for all—though we reiterate that there are gaps in the data, so it’s possible that not all destabilized to the same extent.

We have no data on the long-term prognosis of Scarab subjects as the Psy Council of the time made the decision to terminate all living Scarab subjects in 2004.

The fall of Silence has brought with it a return of this “awakening” of suppressed power. For ease of reference, we have termed it Scarab Syndrome. At the time of the writing of this briefing paper, only one Scarab subject* has been definitively identified (to be referred to as Patient Zero). Patient Zero has been stabilized by an empath (Empath R) with very specific abilities. The Empathic Collective is searching for other such Es, but so far, Empath R is the only one with this particular skill set.

Patient Zero is also unusual in another way that means his results cannot be directly correlated to those of others [information redacted for patient privacy]. At this stage, with no other available data, our goal is to identify those with Scarab Syndrome early, so that Empath R can work with them to foster such control as is possible.

This paper will be updated as further information becomes available.

*Update 1: Scarab Syndrome diagnoses to date = 8. Empath R able to assist only five of the eight. No data available to explain the reason for the discrepancy.

Update 2: Do not approach or attempt to get through to likely Scarab Syndrome sufferers. In the grip of the Syndrome, they are not amenable to logic and may treat everyone around them, including allies, as a threat.

Chapter 26

It is . . . a slow seduction. A promise of power so vast that it is a song of sirens.

—Patient Zero to Dr. Maia Ndiaye, PsyMed SF Echo

SELENKA PUT DOWN the organizer. It wasn’t much, but it lined up with everything Ethan had said—and with the broken shards she could feel within him, the uncontrolled surges that were waves along the mating bond. A massive energy was pushing and shoving inside Ethan.

“What is it?” Quiet music at her back.

When she turned on her side to look at him, she found those pale eyes clear of sleep under mussed hair, his stubble a day away from turning into a beard, and his skin aglow with health.

He was beautiful.

She passed over the organizer because he deserved to know. But he handed it back after a quick scan. “I’ve seen it. Aden gave me a copy after it became clear I was exhibiting signs of the Syndrome.”

Selenka’s respect for Aden Kai rose another notch—even though Ethan had distanced himself from the squad, his alpha had continued to look out for him. “How did it become clear?”

“Psychic breaches when I lowered my shields after I first escaped Ming’s control,” he said, and if the eyes were the windows to the soul, Ethan’s were wide open to her.

It still took Selenka’s breath away, the intensity of his commitment.

“Those around me in the squad felt a psychic disturbance, and so did I—it made waves even in the cold fogbound place in which I existed then. I also did a test.”

“That’s when you heard the howls and screams.”

“Yes. I described the symptoms to Aden; as he’s maintained his medic credentials, we went through an exhaustive psychic testing routine and Scarab Syndrome is the only thing that fits.”

He began to list those tests and the results.

Selenka’s breath got tighter and tighter in her chest with each word he spoke because he was right: it all fit with what she’d just read about the Syndrome, especially the stretching inside his mind and the seductive sense that he could be a great power with access to so much more if he only let go.

“Selenka.” Ethan cupped her cheek in that oddly tender way he had. “I’m sorry. If I could’ve stopped the mating—” He broke off. “No, that would be a lie. I wouldn’t have stopped it even if I’d had warning, even if I saw this future. Being with you, it’s the best thing I’ve ever had, the best I’ve ever been.”

Selenka closed her hand over the solid strength of his wrist, hating that her mate’s life had been barren and cold and ugly. “We’re just getting started.” Picking up his hand, she pressed a kiss to his palm.

Ethan shifted until he was braced on one forearm looking down at her, his hair tumbling onto his forehead. He was the one who initiated the kiss. It began slow and stayed slow, an intensely private exploration of touch and intimacy from a man used to training to be the best. She was breathless by the time they parted, and so was he. And he had a tiny pinprick hemorrhage in the white of his eye.

Claws slicing out on a wave of protective rage, Selenka wrapped both arms around him. He came down partially on top of her, a heavy weight of heat and muscle. They stayed that way as the lights of the den rose from dawn into day beyond the door of the bedroom.

The two of them had just risen and readied themselves for the day—with Ethan swapping out his sweatpants for a pair of jeans he found in the box—when Selenka received a message on her phone that made her heart bloom like a child’s. “My grandparents are back. They’ve been roaming in the most remote parts of our territory.”

Ethan examined her face with the trademark intensity she was coming to expect from him. “They know I exist?”

“If I know my dedushka, he already has your entire background.” She patted Ethan on the cheek, wondering if beneath that controlled exterior lay nerves; he had no need for them. Her grandfather would see him for what he was: a dangerous predator devoted to Selenka.

“He might’ve stepped down in my favor,” she told Ethan, “but he will forever hold the respect of the entire pack. He’s the one I go to for advice, for guidance. He and my babushka took an angry and confused teenager and taught her how to build herself up into a strong woman.”

Ethan sealed his uniform jacket over his white T-shirt. “Was your father the cause of your confusion and anger?”

Scowling into the mirror where she was putting on a dusting of color over her eyelids, Selenka said, “My father is an acknowledged scholar. Because despite what the world thinks, predatory changelings don’t only respect brawn.” Her voice began to turn into a growl despite herself—talking of Kiev Durev did that to her.

Ethan’s response was very Ethan. “I looked up Alia. She’s a renowned scholar of literature.”

Selenka bit out a laugh, then turned to nip him on the chin. He definitely knew how to handle his growly mate. “My father prefers to believe we look down on him because of his tendency and it’s made him bitter.”

“He resents you.”

Again, it struck her, just how good Ethan was at picking up emotional cues. Then again, he’d made it clear his entire childhood had been unusual—he’d probably never been Silent in any way. And a child at the mercy of pitiless adults would’ve learned how to read people in pure self-defense.

Selenka’s hand clenched on the eye shadow brush. She’d rather be holding a hunting knife and driving it into Ming’s black heart, but she had to bring normality to her pack, and that meant many things—including a hint of makeup.

“Why do you wear colors on your skin?” Ethan watched her with open fascination.

His intrigued look served to bring her back to the here and now. “Why not? I’ve liked makeup since I was a teen and Margo and I were doing each other’s faces in our rooms.” She smiled at the memory of their fledgling efforts; thank goodness Alia, older by four years, had taken pity on them. “As for my father—for some reason, he thought he’d be alpha following my grandfather even though that’s not how it works in a changeling pack.” They weren’t a monarchy, with rules of inheritance; they were wolves.

“Your dominance eclipsed his.”

“Yes. He has a rather large chip on his shoulder because of that.” Jaw rigid, she put down the mascara wand. “I just hope he hasn’t allowed his bitterness to push him into becoming a traitor.” Any involvement in Emanuel’s death and it wouldn’t be a matter of forgiveness between a father and daughter; it’d be a matter of pack and punishment.

Ethan cupped the back of her neck, squeezed. “Is your grandmother a dominant, too?”

There he went again, reading her emotional state and handling her. Selenka growled but didn’t pull away. A mate was allowed those privileges, allowed to comfort and calm and handle.

“No, my babushka Lada is a shy submissive who was a source of constant hugs and affection during my childhood.” The reminder made her spine soften, her lips curve. “You’ll like her, Ethan, though she might take time to trust you near her.” Selenka frowned. “I have the weirdest urge to take that back. My wolf thinks my reticent grandmother will be just fine with my deadly Arrow mate.”

“We have you in common—that is a bond.”

“Hmm.” Not sold on that, she shifted on her heel to stroke her hand down the front of his black uniform jacket.