Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Sorry to bother you, but we have a situation.”

Jolted awake, Tally leaps up as Raelle’s alarmed voice reaches her. The top of her head hits something sharp, and she winces at the faint gasp that follows the impact.

“Sorry, Rae. I-“ Tally goes still.

Alder is staring back at her, one hand rubbing her chin.

“You’re not Raelle.”

“I’m definitely not.” She agrees, amused.

Tally’s memory snaps into place.

“Oh.” Eyes grown wide, she fails to control a grin, as images of the last few hours filter through the fog of sleep.

They haven’t moved from the cold tiled floor of the Necro tomb. The wall where the Mycelium lays is throwing green-blue light across the room, woven with the bright neons hung over their heads.

Tally’s sense of time is altered by the artificial lighting, as she emerges from an impromptu nap. She has no idea how long they lingered in the room, tucked away from the world.

“Hi.” Tally whispers. The back of Alder’s fingers runs along the curve of her cheek. She shivers.

Alder chuckles, the sore spot under her jaw forgotten. “Hello.”

Tally leans into the gentle touch. “Did I fall asleep?” She asks, finally registering how her legs are thrown over Alder’s, one of her arms draped loosely around her waist.

“Hm.”

Tally drops her head at the noncommittal noise, her temple pressed in the space between Alder’s neck and shoulder.

“Sorry. How long has it been? Must have been boring for you.” She murmurs, fighting off a yawn.

Alder’s arms tighten in reflex, pulling Tally closer. “No, it’s-“

The quiet companionship was exactly what she needed, after months of isolation. The physical contact Tally is so keen on was unexpected, but…

“It’s nice.” She says carefully.

It is, Tally agrees to herself. Inexplicably, Alder’s presence always had a soothing effect on her - probably has to do with the woman’s brand of quiet confidence - even when their relationship was…

Rocky.

But after an eight-month fight to stay afloat in the unpredictable waters of war, it’s nice to feel solid ground under her feet.

“Tally?”

As Raelle’s voice speaks tentatively in her ear, Tally’s eyelids flutter.

Her stomach drops.

Looks like her reprieve is over.

“Rae?” She reaches back through Far Speech. “What’s happening?”

“You need to come back.”

Tally can almost hear Raelle’s apologetic frown.

“Now.” She adds.

Tally sighs, stubbornly silent.

Raelle tries again. “Please?”

“I don’t know where you are, even if I wanted to go.” Tally argues, her relaxed muscles protesting at the idea.

The red-haired woman never realized how deeply exhausted she was - still is - until she had a chance to breathe.

“I’m at the house.” Raelle supplies.

“But I don’t-“ Her voice drops to an almost whine.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency, Tal. I’m sorry.”

The current of sympathy creeping in Raelle’s voice pulls Tally to her feet. She offers a hand to Alder who’s watching with a mix of patience and curiosity.

“Where are we going?” She asks, amiably gripping Tally's hand.

It’s not as if Alder had plans for the day - though getting in touch with Petra Bellweather can’t wait much longer - and the idea of being apart from Tally…

Doesn’t sit well with her.

It makes her stomach turn.

Odd.

“Back home.” Tally punctuates the answer with an impatient roll of her eyes. “There’s an emergency. Someone better be dying.” She mumbles, leading the way out of the room.

Hopefully for good, Tally thinks to herself, as she wrestled with conflicting memories of the Necro tomb.

“Your house is on the other side of the base, right?” Alder asks, interrupting their trail through bland hallways.

The spot where she found Tally wandering a few hours ago was across the training pitch, near the administration building.

“Yes. Petra said it was used to host delegations from other countries, before we moved in.” Tally nods. “Why?”

Alder stops walking as she pictures the layout of Fort Salem in her mind, pulling a surprised Tally with her.

Two sets of stunned eyes snap to their clasped hands.

Tally grins, chewing her bottom lip when she catches the look of intense concentration on Alder’s face.

Alder narrows her eyes, puzzled.

She’s entertained a few relationships throughout her life, mostly out of practicality. Power boosts come easier once there’s a certain level of familiarity between partners.

But she never…

The last person whose hand she held had been her sister, - Alder forcefully shoves away the image of a very young Anacostia hanging onto her belt, whenever she pretended to leave her behind after a tantrum - back when they were children.

Sarah Alder doesn’t hold hands with people, it’s…

Childish.

An inconvenience, really. What if she needs both hands to defend herself?

“Why do you want to know where the house is?” Tally prompts, gentle. She squeezes Alder’s fingers.

Whatever the other woman is thinking about, Tally guesses her deepening frown is a sign she needs a distraction.

Alder’s eyes shoot up, blue irises searching Tally’s face. She seems to find what she’s seeking with a sigh.

“I’m supposed to be dead.” The former General recalls. She smooths her free palm against her thigh, the other one still pressed against Tally’s. “I shouldn’t be walking around the base.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Tally admits, quiet. “But I’m not leaving you here alone.” Voice raising, she uses her powers to reach her sister. “Raelle?

“Where are you? Will you be back soon?”

“There’s no way we can leave the Necro tomb without someone seeing us, not in the middle of the day.” Tally says, hesitant. “I’m sorry, you’re on y-”

“If I could solve the problem on my own, I wouldn’t be talking to you.” Raelle interrupts. “Trust me, there’s nobody outside.”

Tally frowns at the obvious impatience in her voice. “What do you mean?”

“See for yourself.” Raelle offers as only response, dropping the conversation.

Warily, Tally detaches from Alder’s grip to cross the hall. She stops in front of the main door and cracks it open.

A gust of wind almost pulls the door off its hinges.

Eyes grown wide, Tally catches a glimpse of the deserted quad. A cover of dark clouds woven in a thick kind of fog turns buildings into shadows.

Daring, Tally sticks her head out and peers through a curtain of cold rain. The grounds of Fort Salem are completely empty.

Another burst of wind blasts against her. The impact sends Tally stumbling back inside, one hand clinging to the door handle.

It slams shut under her weight, muffling the ominous whistle of the storm.

Tally bends at the knees as she catches her breath, looking over her shoulder to see Alder blinking at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Was that you?”

“I like to think I have better control than…” Alder frowns. “Whatever this is.”

“Eh.” Tally shrugs. She straightens her back, smoothing wild curls of red hair. “You came back to life hours ago. I’d give you a pass, if you lost control.”

“Well, thank you.” Alder shakes her head, giving into the persistent smile fluttering at the corner of her mouth. “But it’s not me.”

“Alright then…” Tally takes a deep breath and tries Far Speech again. “Raelle Collar, I’m not walking in a hurricane before you tell me what’s happening.”

Nothing.

“Rae?” Tally frowns, as silence lingers. “Come on, I know you can hear me, don’t-” She sighs. “If you’re not already dying, I’ll kill you myself.”

Alder’s chuckle draws her attention to the side. “You’ll stop laughing when we’ll have to swim across the quad.”

“Hm.” Sidestepping Tally, Alder opens the door to peer into the storm. She breathes in, struck by the scent of mud and rain.

The energy crackling in the sky, swirling through the wind, and thundering down in bolts of lighting thrums underneath Alder’s skin, like a faint drumbeat that echoes in the distance.

She exhales, disappointed.

The power of storms used to feel so much more… Alive.

There was a time when the chaos of nature called out to her, flew in her veins, coursed through her body.

Where did that connection go?

Frozen, Alder seeks that spark of power within herself. She brushes away scattered drops of rain that hit her skin.

“What are you doing?” Tally wonders, when she grows tired of watching Alder stare at the sky. “I don’t think you can will the storm away.” She teases, stuck somewhere between amusement and genuine curiosity.

Alder perks up when the question cuts through her nostalgic musings.

Maybe…

In two steps, she’s back at Tally’s side. As her hands find purchase on her hips. she walks them backwards until they bump against the nearest wall.

Alder dips her head and pushes their mouths together. She hums when a surprised Tally clutches at her jacket, dragging her closer.

One foot planted between Tally’s legs, she parts her lips to deepen the kiss. The fingers tangled in her clothes move to the back of her neck, a gentle encouragement Alder didn’t need.

She bites down on Tally’s bottom lip, soothing the sting with her tongue, as hands dig into her hair.

When blunt nails hit a sensitive spot behind her ear, Alder’s eyes snap open.

There it is.

The current of energy that used to fuel her powers sparks, like a fire roaring back to life.

Alder moves away from Tally, brushing their lips together one last time. She takes a second to catch her breath.

“That was-“ The younger woman thuds her head against the wall, stunned. “Unexpected. Do you like storms that much?” She teases, confused by the intensity of a kiss exchanged in a public place.

Not that there’s anyone around to see, the Necro Tomb isn’t a popular spot to socialize.

Still.

Tally always pegged Alder as someone private, only willing to show affection behind closed doors.

Not that she spent much time dwelling on a subject that was hardly appropriate, given their respective ranks.

Not at all.

“I want to show you something.” Alder says, meeting the pair of dazed brown eyes blinking at her. “But my head is a bit… Fuzzy. I couldn’t focus.”

Tally’s brows furrow. “Were you after a power boost? You could have warn m-”

“Yes.” Alder settles her racing heartbeat, thumb running over Tally’s pouting lips. Head tilted, she whispers against her ear. “And no. I like kissing you. ”

Tally’s breath hitches with the shiver that runs through her.

“I like it too.” She agrees, flustered.

As a burst of thunder echoes through the wall, Tally touches Alder’s side. “What is it you wanted to show me?” She says, a mutual reminder of their situation.

“Ah, yes.” Alder crosses the hallway. She pauses next to the door, back straight and hands folded behind her.

“Ready?” She asks, with a now firm grip on the handle.

Tally nods, intrigued. Drawn closer, she watches the older woman step on the porch and walk into the storm.

She gasps.

Alder stands in the midst of a downpour, holding her breath. Her shoulders slump in relief when she realizes an old trick she hasn’t called upon since the Second World War hasn’t failed her.

She’s completely dry.

“Wha-” Tally interjects. “How are you doing that?”

Alder’s eyes gleam with a strike of lightning. “See for yourself.” She reaches out, a hint of mischief in her voice.

Puzzled, Tally glances at the offered hand from the shelter of the porch. She grazes the interior of Alder’s palm, fingertips mapping the lines etched in her skin.

The former General inhales sharply, surprised by the tenderness behind the touch.

Tally misses the reaction, focused on the mystery presented to her. There’s a layer of cold between the rain that falls on her own hand and Alder’s, as if an invisible shield was protecting the woman from the storm.

“It’s cold.” Tally states slowly. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m using the wind. There’s plenty of it.” Alder shifts her weight to the heels of her boots.

Tally frowns. She crosschecks the Works she learnt in training with her observations, struggling to find common ground.

“It reminds me of Windshear practice.” She offers, lost in thoughts.

“It’s how I started off, but the rain kept bouncing around, and I’d end up drenched anyway.” Alder shrugs. “Downside of being a blaster. Training involves a lot of weather accidents.”

“I give up.” Tally looks up, her natural curiosity winning over her stubborn streak. “How do you do it?”

“I’m using both Windstrike and Windshear. One keeps the rain off me, the other directs it wherever I want.” Alder looks pointedly to the puddle that grows under her feet.

“That’s-” Tally’s eyes widen. “How?”

“We combine Seeds to create Work. There’s no reason we can’t layer Works together. It’s all a matter of balance.” Alder shrugs. “Windstrike and Windshear are both fairly simple.”

Tally blinks at her, slack-jawed. “Simple. How did you even get that idea?”

“I’m not sure.” Alder’s voice grows distant, as she remembers long-buried memories. “My mother taught us the Seeds. One day I wondered what would happen, if I used more than one at a time.”

Alder scratches the back of her neck. “I almost blew up my family’s barn. I had to practice in the forest after that, but I never stopped wondering. I learnt over time, which Seeds are compatible, which aren’t.”

The explanation triggers a flow of follow-up questions in Tally’s brain, as she ponders the true extent of witches’ powers.

The sting of rain that snaps against her face brings her back to more practical matters. She hugs the side of the building, pushing her hair away from her eyes.

“How can you talk to me, while holding two different Works?”

Alder freezes.

What she shared so far is the foundations of off-canon workings, which Nicte should have already covered while training with Tally. It’s common knowledge amongst the higher ups in the military.

Tally’s question broaches a more personal aspect of her powers, a skill she mastered through time and decades of practice.

A skill that became second nature to her.

One she never revealed to anyone.

Toes curled in her boots, Alder wrestles with the instinct to shut down the conversation. She inspects their corner of the base, concerned.

Nothing.

They’re alone, besides a few trees bent under the strength of the wind and the shadows of dark buildings.

With a sharp intake of breath, Alder lowers her voice. “What’s a Seed? How would you describe it?”

Tally perks up, happy to fall back on more familiar topics. “It’s a series of sounds that are tied to the Mother. We use them to create Works, to change the environment around us.”

“Yes. A Seed is a sound.” Alder nods. “That’s all. It’s a noise made by your vocal chords.”

“Yeah.” Tally blinks, confused. “I don’t understand where you’re g-”

“What’s a word, Craven?”

Tally snickers, stunned. “What?”

“Answer the question.” Alder demands, relaxing in the discussion.

The flash of amusement that crosses her features eases the tension in Tally’s shoulders.

The short time she spent as a Biddy was filled with that same look, - it brightened her days, back when the image of Raelle and Abigail’s loss was burnt behind her eyelids - a bittersweet memory Tally spent months dwelling upon.

She loved the silent challenge. The glimpse of playfulness she caught whenever Alder cast it her way sunk warmly in her chest.

It felt real, like a bridge between the gap that should have existed between a cadet and the General.

The softened version of Alder is what prompted Tally to dig into Nicte’s past, into the true story behind the Spree.

How could a woman who goaded Tally into multiple games of chess - despite their predictable outcomes - be the same cold-blooded person she saw, in her visions of the Spree leader?

“Tally?”

“Sorry!” She snaps out of her head, shaking off the cobwebs of her own past.

“A word is a-” Tally stutters, unsettled. “A sound we use to communicate with others.”

Alder nods at the tentative answer. “Yes. It’s a noise made by your vocal chords.”

“Like a Seed.” Tally agrees thoughtlessly, before the pieces of the puzzle click together. “Like a Seed…” She repeats, eyes wide. “You’re using your words to-”

“Hide my Work.” Alder grins. “Yes.”

“How?” Tally presses, reeling under the implications. “Where did you learn that? Can I do it? Can you show me?”

Alder raises her hands, surprised by the quick fire of questions. “Have you never wondered-”

Shifting her jaw, she pauses to gather her thoughts. Tally’s interrogation isn’t unexpected, but she isn’t sure how to answer her.

Explaining herself has never been one of Alder’s strengths.

“I used to be called the most powerful witch alive. I’ve always felt the Mother’s gift strongly, as far as I can remember. Her powers are natural, a part of me.”

Alder sighs. She meets Tally’s curious gaze squarely, motioning to the grounds of Fort Salem. “But I’m not special. I’m nothing more than any other witch here. I’m a Blaster. I can do Weather Work.”

“Being powerful is all about self-control.” She continues in earnest. “The more you know about your own abilities, the stronger you are. If you’re lucky, you’ll face enemies who don’t care about that knowledge.”

Tally ponders the words. There’s a weight in Alder’s voice, something important - almost urgent - that quiets her own response.

“You haven’t told anyone, right?” Tally whispers, a sound barely above the background noise of the storm. “You learnt how to hide Seeds behind words, and you kept it secret.”

“I did.” Alder shuffles in place, dragging the tip of her boots in the mud. “Until now.”

“Until me.” Tally adds with a gentle smile, as blue eyes raise to meet her own. “Why?”

“Because I want to show you.”

Her smile widens. “Are you serious?”

“I’m always serious, Tally Craven.” Alder struggles to school her features in a neutral expression, distracted by Tally’s dimples.

How unfair.

“Don’t try that with me. I’ve been in your head, remember?” She leans against the doorway, arms crossed. “I even heard you make a joke, once.”

“Stick around, I’m due for another one soon.”

Tally softens. “I wouldn’t miss it.” As silence lingers, she turns wistful. “Why me?”

“I trust you.” Alder responds, instantly.

“You what? Why?”

She blinks, startled by the question. “The only person I would trust with a way to use hidden Work is someone I know will always try to make the right choices. Someone who won’t be selfish.”

“Someone like you.” Alder falls serious, closing the gap between them. “And we’re at war. I need to know you can protect yourself.”

Alder gulps, uneasy.

The Camarilla hold a personal grudge against her, a vicious and personal sort of hatred that’s built upon a century-long war.

If there’s a chance for Tally to be caught in the crosshairs, she has to trust the Priv- Captain’s abilities.

“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you, Craven. I’ll teach you, but the process is hard, and it takes time. You’ll have to relearn Works you’re already familiar with.”

Tally doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m ready.”

A growl of thunder booms in the distance, as the sky glows lightning-white.

Tally frowns at the noise. “Is there a way you can teach me how to avoid rain in the next five minutes?”

“None.”

“I should start carrying an umbrella. I spend my days around emotional recruits who don’t understand how their powers work.” Tally scoffs. “Blasters keep messing with the weather.”

“Lucky for you, I know a blaster who might be able to help.” Alder offers, head cocked. “Take my hand?”

The words feel foreign in her mouth, but she decided earlier that an amendment was needed to her own rules.

Sarah Alder still won’t hold anyone’s hand.

She will however hold Tally’s hand.

Every rule needs an exception.

Thoughtlessly, Tally moves away from the narrow shelter provided by the roof and steps under the dark clouds.

As she braces herself for the stinging impact of the wind, Alder draws her into a hug.

Tally breathes in.

Nothing.

Cold rain doesn’t freeze her skin. The wind doesn’t roar in her ears.

There’s only a jarring sensation of control, as Tally stands in the middle of a raging storm in Alder’s steady embrace.

The eye of a storm.

“That’s ni-”

“Shh.” Alder shakes her head, eyes tightly shut.

Shielding herself from inclement weather is easy, - even if the storm racing through the grounds demands her full attention - but she never tried extending the protection to another person.

The sensation is foreign, like sharing a blanket that’s too small. Frowning, Alder taps into her power, stretches her abilities.

The challenge feels good.

“How’s that?” Alder whispers, once she’s confident the shield that engulfs both of them is stable.

“So cool.” Tally responds in the same tone, grinning. “Do we have to walk home like that?”

“No.” Alder steps away, a hand lingering around Tally’s. “Didn’t Collar say someone was dying?”

“They better be.” She grumbles, as she leads the way across the yard.

Tally raises her free palm up towards the sky. From the corner of her eyes, she watches droplets of water slide away from her untouched skin.

She grins.

So cool.

Water splashes under Tally’s boots as she runs through the four steps of a dark red balcony. When she swipes her thumb against the door handle to form a sigil, it slips from under her palm.

Startled, Tally blinks at the towel that’s shoved in her face.

“Shh.” Raelle instructs, her eyes locked on something inside the house. “Take that, you don’t have time to get changed.”

When Tally doesn’t react, Raelle’s gaze shifts to her sister.

She gawks at her. “How did you- It’s raining!”

“Don’t be so loud.” Scylla appears in the interior doorway, rubbing excess water from her dark hair. “They’ll hear us. I refuse to get involved in whatever argument they’re having.”

“Who’s arguing?” Tally asks, gently pushing her way inside.

Raelle ignores her. “I was quiet, until I realized Tally is waterproof now.”

“What?” Scylla follows her gaze, frowning. “It’s raining. Why are you clothes dry?”

“Thank you.” Raelle’s dumbfounded gaze turns smug. “That’s what I was trying to ask.”

“I don’t know if you heard, Collar…” Alder chimes in, tired of standing outside while the other women crowd the entrance.

She slips between Tally and the nearest wall to toe off her muddy boots. “But we’re witches.”

“Sure.” Scylla agrees, unfazed. “We’re witches. I still can’t keep the rain off me.”

“Wait, is it your idea? How does it work?” Raelle pushes.

Dark blue eyes flicker from Raelle to Scylla. Alder clears her throat, pleased by their quiet confusion. “I’m afraid it’s classified. I’d have to kill you, if you knew.”

Tally snorts with a dulled sort of amusement. Part of her still worries about what made Raelle ask for help.

“Knock it off.” She says, cutting the curious interaction short to grab her sister’s wrist. “It doesn’t matter how it works. Why did y-“

“Easy to say when you know how to be immune to rain.”

Tally hitches an eyebrow, unimpressed by her complaint.

Raelle’s eyes widen when she doesn’t receive the denial she expected. “I was joking! Do you really know how to do it?”

“Yes. But I’m not answering any more questions until you explain what’s happening.”

Tally hears Alder’s breath stutter behind her. She looks up, catching a nervous flicker in her gaze.

“You’ll be so mad, Rae.” Tally continues. “It involves stuff we learnt in basic. We could have been doing it all along.”

Tally nods when Alder’s lips twitch in the ghost of a smile.

Raelle is her sister, one of very few people she would trust with her life.

Tally has trusted Raelle with her life, many times.

But Alder’s secrets aren’t hers to share, at least not anything more serious than how to use a Windshear and Windstrike at the same time.

Tally tunes back into Raelle’s grumbling response. “So what’s the emergency? Why are we here?”

Raelle sighs. “I said I’m not handing over my only bargaining chip. If I tell you what’s going on, will you show me how to be waterproof?”

“Of course not. I can’t even do it yet.” Tally rejects the terms. “I might let you bribe an explanation out of me.”

“That works.” Raelle rubs her hands together. “Scylla will make breakfast tomorrow.”

The dark-haired woman snaps back to the conversation, surprised. “I’ll what? Why am I being dragged into this?”

“Because my dad showed you how to make pancakes, not me.” Raelle justifies. “And because you’re tired of dealing with Abigail’s tantrums too. We could be immune to them.”

“That’s true.” Tally perks up. “I want pancakes every morning for a week.”

Raelle narrows her eyes. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I’m not. I have very valuable intel.” Tally shrugs.

Raelle glares at the ceiling, before turning a pleading gaze to her wife. “Please? I’ll help you.”

“Fine.” Scylla gives up, sighing as she remembers her earlier conversation with Tally. “Looks like I’ll be staying around for a while.”

Maybe the week would give her a chance to see how she likes life on base, while free from the confines of a training schedule.

“Oh.” Raelle’s playful pout grows into a genuine smile, at the prospect of spending more time with her wife. “We should claim one of the guest rooms.”

Sheepish, Scylla throws one arm around her shoulders and drags her closer. “We can talk about it.” She says, with a peck on her cheek.

“If everyone is in agreement about how much food my secrets are worth…” Alder speaks up, shifting her jaw to fight off a smile. “Maybe you can tell us what’s happening.”

“Sorry.” Tally grimaces. “What if I share the food? Is that better?”

“I suppose.” Alder relents under Tally’s earnest gaze. She lightens her voice. “Better be the best pancakes I’ve ever had, Ramshorn.”

“How hard can that be?” Raelle questions, frowning. “You don’t even eat.”

“I do now.” Alder shrugs. “I believe I need to sleep too.”

“What about the Biddies? Do you need new ones?” Scylla prompts, wary.

Her mixed feelings for Alder are hard to sort through.

Her interrogation at her hands is impossible to forget, so is the fate of her parents. On the other hand, the same woman spent her death trying to save the world - save Raelle - from near certain doom.

One thing Scylla knows for certain is that the crowd of bright-eyed recruits who used to throw away their life to bear the burden of time for General Alder turned her stomach.

How can one witch be worth so many sacrifices?

“No.” Alder says, terse. “No more Biddies.”

“Won’t that be a problem?” Raelle frowns, uncertain. “I’m not sure how old you are exactly, but nobody can live that long without help. Do we have to worry about your age suddenly catching up with you?”

“No. The Mother said-” Alder shakes her head. “It’s complicated.”

“What did she say?” Scylla presses. “Did she do something to you? Are you immortal?”

“That’s enough.” Tally speaks up, pinching the bridge of her nose.

The avalanche of questions threatening to bury Alder is fraying her own patience. “We can talk about everything later. Where’s the emergency I’m supposed to help with?”

A burst of thunder punctuates the words, shaking through thick brick walls.

Raelle winces. “Good timing.”

On her tiptoes, she moves to the opposite side of the entrance and sticks her head in the main living space. Bribes of a harsh conversation reach her.

“Abigail is back from her trip. It didn’t go well.” Raelle whispers over her shoulder, a thumb pointed to the door that muffles an ongoing argument. “As you can hear.”

“The storm is hers.” Scylla adds, tilting her head towards a window battered by rain. “She’s been blowing up at Petra for about an hour now.”

“Eh.” Alder smirks, despite the clear warning in Tally’s eyes. “Listening to people rant comes with being in charge. I don’t miss it.”

The quip earns her an elbow to the ribs. Alder frowns, one hand rubbing her side. “What’s that for?”

“You’re not helping.” Tally offers, exasperated. “Where’s Adil?”

“In the office with them.” Raelle supplies. “But I haven’t heard his voice in a while, I think he gave up. Then the storm got worse, and I decided your skills were needed.”

“Fine.” Tally sighs.

Abigail’s self-control has improved, since the day she met a rash Cadet Bellweather in training. Adil’s grounding presence helps, as does Petra Bellweather’s own temper.

There’s a line Abigail knows not to cross with the General.

But whenever her sister’s control slips far enough for a storm to rage, it’s Tally’s mix of tough love and compassion that’s needed. It’s a delicate balance - one forged over years spent standing with Abigail in emotional situations - that nobody else seems to strike.

“I’ll go.”

Alder follows in Tally’s steps, leaving Raelle and Scylla alone. Bright blue eyes take in the decor with keen interest.

The entrance leads into a wide kitchen filled with cooking equipment. Surrounded by spotless metal, Alder trails a finger on the nearest surface.

The gleam of the oven is a little too shiny, she doubts the kitchen gets used much.

Alder peers through the multiple piles of papers - maps, handwritten notes, open notebooks - stranded on the counter. Distracted, she almost walks into a broad couch that splits the kitchen from the living room.

A coffee table faces that couch, along with a wide screen hung on the wall and a shelf filled with books.

Tally walks behind her, up to a door that faces a staircase. Alder crosses the room, faint voices registering in her mind.

“He practically called us stupid.” The clipped tone of Abigail Bellweather complains. “In the middle of his official addr-”

A deeper voice cuts into the rant. “He called you stupid. He said I was a foolish civilian.”

“That’s worse, Adil.” Abigail argues, bristling at the interruption. “He wouldn’t let us see their plans. For all we know, he’s about to build a base in the middle of nowhere.”

“And what exactly…” Petra Bellweather trails off with a tired sigh. “Do you expect me to do about it?”

“I don’t know!” Abigail snaps. “Don’t let someone disrespect your officers like that, what kind of message does it s-”

“How about I worry about how my army looks, Abigail?” Petra interjects dryly.

“It’s our problem too. We had to walk away from thousands of recruits because their General threw us out.” She recalls, teeth clenched.

“You said she was in Italy?”

The question whispered in her ear almost sends Tally toppling to the floor. “Don’t do that.” She says in the same tone.

“I’m being stealthy.” She explains, blinking. “Ramshorn is right. I refuse to be involved.”

Tally looks to the side to find Alder staring at her, a pleased spark dancing in her eyes. She chuckles despite her best efforts. “Yes, they were in Italy. Why?”

“If I had to guess, Abigail dealt with Rossi. He wasn’t a General when I was…” Alder shrugs. “But he had ambitions. He didn’t take it well, when he was skipped over for a few promotions. Turned bitter. I heard he was one of the officers complaining about the lack of advancement for men in the army.”

Tally grimaces.

“Agreed. I did speak with him a few times, but...” Alder frowns, remembering the unpleasant man. “He never lived up to the rumors about his character. A shame. I was looking forward to debating his ideas.”

“Sure, you were.” Tally snickers, picturing the icy blue glare that was occasionally flashed in her direction. She remembers her throat running dry, words suddenly glued to the roof of her mouth.

“I’m guessing he isn’t the only person who held back when faced with General Alder.”

“You never held back.”

Tally freezes, brought back to a particular confrontation in the middle of a stormy night. An exchange of harsh words, one that sped up the slow erosion of her trust in the former General.

“I didn’t.” She frowns, her voice distant. “Look where it got us. I should have listened to you.”

Alder blinks, surprised. Listen to her? When did Tally stopped l-

Ah.

Alder sighs, softened by the inner conflict darkening Tally’s bright eyes.

The memories that are troubling the younger woman are ones she’d rather bury in a corner of her mind.

Alder wants to forget everything about Nicte’s interrupted execution. The sound of Tally's Scourge cutting through the air, the scent of blood dribbling down her cheek, the shameful instinct of self-preservation that took her over, until Collar’s voice brought her back.

The trust that shattered somewhere deep in her chest, turning to dust and leaving a poignant ache in its trail.

Heartbreak.

Alder couldn’t tell back then, swept away by a storm of grief. She lost everything that day. Her legacy, her best friends.

Her life.

Tally.

Alder glances at her and sighs. As much as she wants to live in denial of the day she died, she knows Tally still blames herself. She won’t watch her suffer alone, despite the dread that swirls in her stomach.

Or at least not for much longer.

The middle of a house full of Tally’s friends isn’t the best place for that conversation.

Alder frowns when Tally rubs her palms in her eyes, wiping away tears before they have a chance to fall.

That won’t do either.

She shifts her jaw, racking her brain for the right thing to say.

Maybe…

“I liked it.” Alder whispers, as she tucks a strand of loose red hair behind Tally’s ear.

“You what?” She asks, wide-eyed.

There’s no way Alder enjoyed her disregard for protocol, how she willfully ignored every boundary between privates and commanding officer, demanded answers to questions she had no right to ask.

Tally knows exactly what she did. She used information she never should have been privy to, and turned it into the match that set Alder’s legacy on fire.

What’s there to like?

“You were the first recruit to challenge me in a really long time. Even Anacostia used to be scared, not that it lasted very long.” Alder’s smile grows bittersweet. ”You weren’t.”

“I was terrified.” Tally admits under her breath. “Until you brought us to the Tarim. I forgot everything about who you were that day. I only knew I had to help, to do the right thing.”

“When I was a Biddie…” Tally sniffles. She keeps her voice low, aware of the background noise that’s Abigail’s ongoing rant.

“I got a glimpse of what’s going on in your head. When I saw Nicte, learnt more about the Spree… It didn’t make sense. Still doesn’t.” Tally sighs, trapped in the jumbled events of her past. “We should talk ab-“

“Yes.” Alder interrupts faintly. “There are things I want to tell you about that mess, but…”

Tally follows her gaze to the closed door of the office, tuning back into Abigail’s raised voice.

“At least call him!” She says, stubborn.

The silence that answers her demand stretches across the strained room.

“Fine.” Petra gives in.

A muffled thump later, boots walk across the floor. “Move.”

“Wha-”

“Move.” Petra repeats, interrupting her daughter’s question. “You want me to call Rossi, then I’m using your computer.”

Alder frowns. The clipped instructions fit with her last image of Petra Bellweather, but her decision…

Clashes with the General’s usual patience, her political savvy.

Alder draws Tally against her side. “How is she doing?”

“Better than I expected. I think Abigail enjoys th-“

“No.” Alder lowers her voice. “How’s Petra? She sounds different.”

“Different how?”

“Bellweathers are raised through military politics. The High Atlantics are all very-“ She grimaces. “Competitive. Besting other matrilines is important, even for children.”

Tally nods, reminded of Abigail’s childhood rivalry with Libba Swythe.

“The Petra Bellweather I used to know would never reach out to Rossi today.”

The younger woman blinks. “Why not?”

Alder has to pause to remind herself Tally doesn’t have decades of experience in diplomacy. She reigns in a hint of impatience.

“Think about the situation from his perspective. Rossi isn’t stupid, he knows who Abigail is. Yet, he chose to disrespect the General’s daughter. A Bellweather. Why?”

Tally blows out a loud breath. “I don’t know. Is he mad at Petra?”

“Hm.” Alder tilts her head, impressed by the guess. “Possibly. He wants something from her. Abigail’s visit was a great opportunity to grab her attention.”

“Why not call her directly?” Tally rolls her eyes. “He sounds like a child throwing a tantrum. Aren’t Generals supposed to show leadership?”

Alder has to muffle a burst of laughter against Tally’s nearby shoulder. “You should see the Council’s meetings, they always turn into screaming matches. The Fosterlings were easier to wrangle into order.”

She grows wistful. “I won’t miss that. People like Rossi don’t deserve Petra’s time.”

“I don’t know.” Tally is torn between Alder’s rational explanation and the hurt in Abigail’s voice. “Don’t you think Abs had a point? What about the message Petra is sending, if she ignores his behavior?”

“She has two choices, neither are great.” Alder admits. “She can act like nothing happened and show Rossi how little he matters. If she calls him, she’ll be stuck listening to his list of complaints. I know what I would do.”

“You’d let it go.” Tally concludes from Alder’s careless shrug. “You would let someone embarrass one of your officers publicly and do nothing about it.”

She raises a dubious eyebrow. “Do you expect I’ll believe that, General?”

Tally’s grasp on the inner workings of the army might be tenuous, but she has personal insight on Alder’s protective streak.

“That's not what I meant.” The dark-haired woman softens with a squeeze on Tally’s shoulder. “I said I wouldn’t call. There are more efficient ways to show him who’s in charge. Nothing needs to be done today, earning respect is all about timing.

Tally’s teasing reply is buried under the raised voice of Petra Bellweather.

“I understand you were expecting a personal visit from me.” She says, exasperated. “Plans change, Rossi. It gives you no right t-”

“Plans changed.” A foreign voice repeats, colored with a Southern twang. “It’s always the same with you. Americans. You expect the world to bend to your plans.”

“I don’t expect anything.” Petra argues, stressing the words. “You asked us to oversee the construction of your base. It’s a partnership.”

“Yes. We work together. I still refuse to share sensitive information with a child and some civilian who follows her everywhere like a lost puppy.”

Tally bites into her bottom lip, picturing Abigail’s seething reaction. To her surprise, it’s the eldest Bellweather who snaps back.

“Watch your words.” Petra warns, the tight control she has on her emotions wavering.

“She is a child.” Rossi repeats, unfazed. “I wasn’t insulting her. She might be your daughter, but she has nowhere near the level of experience I expect from someone who’s overseeing our project. We’re building a military base, not a kindergarten.”

“But I don’t know why I’m surprised.” He continues, barely pausing to breathe between sentences. “It’s the same as the last time we worked with you. We were promised a visit from your General. It never happened. Only politicians came to our ceremony. Do you treat all your partners this way, or do you have something against my country?“

Tally misses Petra’s pacifying answer, distracted by a hand that grabs her elbow.

“It’s not true.” Alder murmurs. “I went to the inauguration of their first army base, a few years back. We travelled all the way to Italy in the world’s smallest plane. The Biddies spent the entire flight plotting my demise.”

Tally laughs, picturing the group of elderly women crammed together in the back of a plane, lamenting their old bones and sore knees. “I would have complained too.”

“Don’t take their side.” Alder argues, playful. “We were stuck with Rossi and his daughter for days, I don’t know how he forgot abo-”

“That’s it.” She blinks, a self-satisfied spark flashing across her face. “His daughter.”

“What about her?”

“She has to be about Abigail’s age by now, and as far as I know…“Alder’s smirk has a sharp edge. “She’s Rossi’s right-hand.”

Tally’s eyes widen. “But he just said Abigail was too young to…”

“Oversee the construction of a military base, yes.” Alder finishes the thought. “Which might be of interest to Petra.”

Tally nods in agreement.

As silence lingers, she tips her head to meet Alder’s gaze. The pointed look that stares back at her makes her frown. “Why are y-” Tally blinks. “You want me to go tell her. Why?”

Alder shrugs. “I assume Petra would rather announce my return in a more…” She rubs her fingertips together. “Impactful situation than taunting one of her rude subordinates.”

Tally’s frown deepens at the wording.

Alder isn’t a weapon to be wielded against their enemies, or a means of striking fear in the heart of the Camarilla.

Not on Tally’s watch.

“How am I supposed to know about Rossi or about his daughter? I’ve never met either of them.”

Alder stares at her for a second. When she moves, her lips touch the shell of Tally’s ear. “Must I think of every detail of the plan, Craven?”

Tally shivers, energy thrumming under her skin. She pushes away the electric sensation and steels herself to meet the implicit challenge.

For a split-second, she’s transported back to another conversation, one where she was torn between her concern for Raelle - for the fate of the world - and the magnetic pull drawing her to Alder.

You’re going to learn to see in the past.

Tally fought through a near paralyzing fear of failure that day, and she succeeded. She used her Sight to catch a glimpse of the past.

Since the first war, she has grown in both skills and confidence. A sensitive discussion between Petra Bellweather and a prickly General is nothing she can’t handle.

Tally is ready.

Teeth sunk into her bottom lip, she holds Alder’s seeking gaze, unimpressed. “Of course you don’t. I thought you might have an idea already, is all.”

She shrugs, one hand hovering near the office’s door. “You used to be much more thorough with your plans. I’ll handle it, you stay here.”

“That’s not what I m-”

Caught somewhere between pride and shock, Alder watches Tally head into the room.

Tally faces Abigail, Adil and Petra with a tight smile. Features smoothed in a neutral expression, she reaches for a nearby stack of papers and grabs the closest pen. Before addressing the General, she jots down a few words.

“I have a message for you, ma’am. It’s urgent.”

“Of course.” Petra motions her closer, uncertain. “What is it?”

Circling the desk, Tally pauses at her left shoulder and hands the note over.

The confused question at the tip of Petra’s tongue is quietened by the sentence that’s staring back at her.

Rossi’s daughter is his right-hand. Same age as us.

Oh.

Good news, for a change.

Petra clears her throat, fighting to keep a sudden burst of smugness off her face. “I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Captain.”

“What is it?” Rossi’s unpleasant voice breaks through the short-lived silence. “More last minute plans, I’m assuming.”

“It’s nothing that matters to you.” Petra dismisses the question. “Let’s discuss your concerns. If you remember the terms of our agreement, I said I would send you training officers from my army under certain conditions.”

There’s a touch of steel in her words, as she continues.“We will need full access to the construction plans of your new base. I will send a new team to meet you and I’m expecting them to return with a clear picture of your intentions.”

“Will you be part of that team?” Rossi asks, arms crossed.

“No. I trust Captain Bellweather’s judgement. She will bring any worthy issues to my attention.”

“I won’t accep-”

“I also expect her trip to go smoothly.” Petra speaks over the scowling man. “However, I won’t require that you personally deal with my team. Perhaps your daughter could lead the meeting.”

She pauses, fingers steepled in front of her. “That’s assuming she has the necessary level of military clearance, of course.”

Rossi falters, mouth wide open. The click of his jaw fills the narrow space of the office, drawing the smallest smirk on Tally’s lips.

“Am I correct?” Petra repeats, unrelenting. “I know you don’t like children handling sensitive information, but I think we both agree that exceptions can be made. It’s for the good of our countries, General Rossi.”

“Fine.” He mumbles, eyes trailed down as he rustles aimlessly through a notebook in front of him. “I’ll have my staff handle the details. Good day, General.”

The screen goes dark before Petra has a chance to reply. She looks at her own satisfied - if a bit tired - reflection and leans back to meet Tally’s eyes.

“Well done, Craven. I didn’t expect dealing with him would be so easy. How did y-”

“Is that it?” Abigail bristles, as she starts pacing to the side. “He throws out one of your officers, hangs up on you when you call to address it, and now you’re… Giving up?”

Petra regards her daughter with a mix of exasperation and impatience. “Do you want me to fight him, Abigail? Would that make you happy?”

“I’m not asking for-” She throws her hands in the air. “Nobody respects you anymore. Don’t you care?”

The statement sucks the air out of the room.

Petra stands, palms planted on the desk and back painfully straight. “What did you just say to me?”

Abigail’s throat bobs, as she swallows. “General Rossi was disrespectful, you sh-”

“No.” Petra moves. Her hands are folded behind her back as she prowls closer to the disgruntled officer. “That’s not what you said, Captain Bellweather.”

Reflexes honed by time kick in, and Abigail stands at attention. “I said nobody respects you anymore, ma’am.”

“Don’t project your own feelings on others.”

Abigail gasps, scrambling. “Of course I resp-”

“Quiet.”

The order stops Abigail’s shaky denial in its tracks, while the younger woman seems to shrink on herself.

“Do you know whose respect I’m losing, daughter?” Petra lowers her voice, her nails dug into her own wrists.

“Fools’. People who think I should be able to fix an impossible situation with a snap of my fingers, that I can end the new war by politely asking Camarilla to stop hunting our sisters.”

“But I can’t.” She snaps, ignoring the three pairs of wide eyes glued to her.

As someone who has always prided herself on her composure under pressure, Petra knows her reaction is out of proportions.

But after months of wrestling with the Camarilla, with former civilians who treat the army as enemies and with a Bellweather unit that was thrusted into a position they were entirely unprepared for, she realizes a reality check is overdue.

Abigail might not be properly part of the army anymore, but she works on base with her sisters. She won’t allow her to stir up trouble.

“The world was supposed to be healed.” Petra glares.

The younger Bellweather nods silently, overwhelmed.

“But it’s not. It’s more broken than ever, and there’s no way to fix it. I’m not losing anyone’s respect. People - our sisters - are scared. They’re desperate for peace, for answers I can’t give them.”

“Even I’m desperate for peace, after spending my whole life preparing for war.” Petra’s eyes turn distant. “I’m tired of planning battles, of making impossible choices, tired of losing people. I’m responsible for every life lost.”

Abigail sighs, her anger fading away. “That’s not true, moth-”

“Of course it’s true.” She bites back. “I’m in charge. I make the final calls.”

Petra’s voice hardens. “You can’t possibly understand, can you? Rossi was right. You’re children, all of you. Children, who have no idea wh-”

“Enough.”

If Petra’s outburst froze the occupants of the room, the quiet order growled from the doorway cuts through the tension, like a scourge snapping through the air.

Adil reacts first. He springs to his feet and warily stands next to Abigail, who’s struggling to pick up her jaw.

Tally cocks her head, intrigued. The woman standing in the doorway matches her memory of General Alder, down to the wordless leadership, dark blue uniform and unreadable features. The sight is jarring, after spending so much time around a softer version of the same woman.

Alder steps inside the room. “I’m sure Abigail won’t disrespect you again, right?”

“You’re dead.” Abigail whispers, stunned.

“Not anymore.” Alder quips, forcing herself still as the dark-haired woman pokes her shoulder.

“What do you mean, not anymore? You can’t- How are you- What?”

“Are you really here?” Adil interjects through Abigail’s jumbled questions. “It could be a trap. Did the Camarilla send you?”

“Why would they? They hate me.” Alder hesitates, thrown. “Do you think a trap would willingly reveal themselves as-” She sighs. “Petra, you need to double down on recognition trai-”

Alder’s observation sticks to the back of her throat.

Petra is standing in front of her, a closed fist held tight under her chin.

Alder takes a step back. “What-”

“You’re back.” Petra whispers, struggling under the weight of bottled-up tension, as it drifts to the surface of her mind. Slowly, she opens her hand around the colorful insignia that’s usually pinned to her uniform.

Petra shoves the piece of cold metal at Alder. “Take it. Please.”

The hypnotic gleam of the badge nestled in her palm draws a sharp blue gaze down.

“But I-”

Goddess, it’s so tempting.

Alder takes a deep breath to steady herself.

The position of General isn’t only the achievement of her lifetime, it’s so much more.

It’s the comfort of a reality she knows.

It’s familiar, grounding, after the many twists of a day that left her rattled.

Since learning about the new war, Alder feels as if every certitude she had is slipping through her fingers.

While she might not understand this foreign world or the most recent version of the Camarilla, she does know how to take command. She could protect her sisters from cruelty, from a kind of hatred she’s deeply familiar with.

One she knows how to fight.

“I think ‘can’t’ is the word you’re looking for.”

The statement snaps Alder out of her head. Her attention shifts to Tally who’s staring at her, arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised in clear warning.

Don’t you dare.

Alder sucks a breath through her teeth, bracing herself for her temper to flare up.

Silent seconds tick by.

Nothing.

The fierce desire for independence, for freedom that has guided most of her decisions stays quiet.

How odd.

Sarah Alder doesn’t take orders from anyone, and yet… Tally’s emotional glare lingers in her mind.

Alder’s desire to serve - to help - has always been her sole priority. With the strength of her powers, she knew she had a duty to protect her sisters early on. It’s the foundation of her entire life.

But…

Her eyes flicker from Tally’s tense shoulders to the shadows under her eyes. Alder remembers the ragged woman who called out her name earlier, the profound loneliness she could sense stemming from her.

She remembers the magnetic pull of a kiss that left her craving for more, the humbling trust she felt when Tally sagged against her, drifting off to sleep.

Alder hesitates.

Doesn't she have a duty to Tally?

The prospect of committing to a single person after centuries of giving everything she has to witchkind is dizzying, almost selfish.

It’s the deepening frown on Tally’s face that pries Alder’s response from her clamped jaw.

“I can’t.”

Petra inhales sharply, torn between guilt, relief and bone-deep fatigue. Carefully threading the badge back where it belongs on her uniform, she pulls herself together. “Why not?”

“Many reasons.” Alder sighs, her heart racing. “Starting with the Mother making me a Steward.”

“A fourth Steward.” Petra ponders the statement. “That’s-” She interrupts herself, eyes growing wide. “Great.”

Her voice raises, as new possibilities spin through her head. “I can send you to Santiago. You could h-”

“No.” Tally cuts into the conversation, stern. “Absolutely not.”

Alder blinks. “What’s in Santiago?”

Tally grinds her teeth together. “A death trap.”

“That’s a gross exaggera-”

“Would you send me?” Tally challenges the General, impatient. “Or Abigail?”

“Of course not, it's too dangerous. But someone with more combat experience could find a-”

“The army has dozens of officers with combat experience. You haven’t sent any of them.”

Petra’s short-lived relief falters, leaving her with a wave of frustration that threatens to boil over. “I don’t want to lose anyone else. My other officers can’t come back from the dead, Craven.”

“That’s not a skill anyone can learn, it’s a gift.” Tally snaps back. “You can’t throw someone into a warzone on the off-chance that they’ll walk away from death again. It’s careless.”

“Do I need to remind you who’s in charge, Capt-”

“Collar.” Alder calls out, cutting through the useless back-and-forth.

A blonde head peeks through the doorway a few seconds later.

“Can you clear the room?” She motions to Abigail and Adil, a pointed gaze lingering on Tally.

“No problem.” Raelle steps inside, gives a shove to Abigail and wraps a casual arm around Tally’s tense shoulders. “Come on. Don’t tell me you want to stick around and listen to generals complain about us.”

Tally refuses to budge until she catches a pair of blue eyes almost pleading with her. She swallows through a swirl of anger that simmers in her chest.

Fists clenched, she wriggles out of Raelle’s grip and leaves the room to charge up the stairs.

As Adil follows in her wake, Abigail and Raelle filter out of the room. They close the door behind them.

Petra stares at the floor, a sudden emptiness aching in her chest. She walks back to the leather chair and slumps into it. “They don't get it.” She whispers, dejected.

“No, they don’t.” Alder agrees. She perches on the edge of the desk, facing away from the General. “They never will. Nobody understands, Petra.”

When silence swells between the four walls of the office, Alder looks over her shoulder. She finds Petra’s head lowered, the woman’s fingers rubbing circles against her temples.

“What’s happening in Santiago?”

Petra gives a humorless smile, eyelids fluttering. “The Camarilla planned to infiltrate the Chilean government. We had reliable intel that the candidate who was about to win the election was on their side. I sent troops at the border with Argentina. I thought if we could stir up enough trouble, they might delay the vote.”

She sighs. “It worked.”

“What went wrong?”

“The Camarilla were waiting for us in Argentina. It was a trap.” Petra’s fingers clench into fists. “I acted too quickly and sent a full coven without a backup plan to bring them home. Flights are under surveillance in both countries.”

Unseen, Alder winces. “Where are they? Do you have communication?”

“Nothing reliable.” Petra snarls. “They’re hiding in the mountains, surrounded by the Camarilla.”

Alder shifts her jaw, mentally reviewing the situation. Her thoughts stutter on Petra’s earlier reaction. ”Why did you want to send me there? There’s nothing I can do.”

“I don’t know.” She throws her head back, frustrated. “You recovered from death. Maybe you can snap your fingers and teleport everyone back home.”

Alder stays quiet, unimpressed.

“I’ll have questions about your undeath.” Petra warns, ignoring the streak of jealousy nagging at the back of her head.

Goddess, if only they could bring back a fraction of the soldiers they lose every day…

“Later.” Petra sighs again. “I’m tired.”

“Tired.” Alder echoes dryly. “I couldn’t tell, after you picked a fight with two of the Mother’s stewards. Almost thought Raelle was next.”

Petra doesn’t comment on the obvious disapproval behind Alder’s words. “Craven was right. There’s no use sending anyone to Santiago until we have a plan, you included. I was…” She trails off, disheartened.

Alder softens in understanding. “You were throwing everything at a wall to see what sticks. You have soldiers stranded in hostile territory and bringing them home keeps you up at night. Except there's nothing you can do. You think the trap is your fault, that you should have seen it coming.”

Petra swallows heavily, shaken. “Yes. Are you sure you don’t want your job back?”

Alder laughs this time, the weight of the decision already lifted from her shoulders. “You don’t mean it, Bellweather, not after all the years you spent pestering me to be in charge. You should be happy.”

“I was- I am.” Petra loosens her shoulders, sinking deeper in her chair.

“You made that job look straightforward.” She admits, uncomfortable. “I thought I knew exactly what to do. Fight the Camarilla, manage the army, take care of my soldiers. The first war wasn’t so bad, nothing I couldn’t handle. But now…”

“We can’t win. The Camarilla are everywhere.” Lost in thoughts, Petra’s gaze drifts to a nearby window. “Even here. We improved the vetting process for new recruits and abolished the draft, but keeping the base safe is an impossible task. There’s no way to tell our enemies apart from our sisters anymore.”

Alder chews on the inside of her cheek, hit by a sudden pang of guilt. She clears her throat, uneasy. “What do they want?”

“From what I can tell, what they’ve always wanted. Blood. They claim they’re after people who had powers before the First song, but it’s a lie. They’re after anyone who opposes their cause. The President of Ghana made a speech last week at the UN, about acceptance and kindness. He was murdered the next day.”

Alder’s stomach drops.

The Camarilla might have been her oldest enemies, but she never feared them. She understood their goals, could recognize their tactics and predict their future plans.

What Petra described…

“I don’t understand. What do they want to achieve? It’s not as if they can purge the Earth from witches anymore.”

“Nobody really knows.” Petra shrugs, pensive.

“They might be power-hungry.” She offers, after a few seconds of silence, recalling knowledge she accumulated through her time as Head of Intelligence. “They always had to hide before. The general public wouldn’t support their witch hunt, it was too violent. But now…”

Petra grimaces. “Millions of people were turned into witches against their will. The Camarilla can justify their hatred, say that violence is a necessary evil to protect the world from us. They don’t have to be an underground organization anymore, they can operate in plain view without facing any consequences.”

Alder nods, speechless. Even in her nightmares, she never imagined the Camarilla could grow as powerful, be recognized as a legitimate armed force.

“How am I supposed to fight that?”

“You meet them on the same terrain.” Alder whispers, more to herself than to a suddenly interested Petra.

“What?”

Alder follows the unexpected thread of her own thoughts, reminded of her power struggle with Wade. “If we can’t win the war, let’s fight the battle of public opinion. By showing the world we’re not the monsters they’ve been told we are, we might be able to expose the Camarilla’s lies.”

Petra considers the suggestion, surprised. “I’m running out of ideas, and we haven’t tried that one yet. It might work, but…” She trails off, nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Are you not looking forward to a public relations operation?” Alder quips, with a wry smile. “Maybe they’ll put your face on a poster.”

Petra scowls, her discomfort growing.

Their first attempt at countering the Camarilla’s influence, back when they were putting together what they claimed to be trials, turned messy. The marketing campaign was a nightmare, between last-minute interviews and contrived press conferences.

The prospect of another PR campaign - one on a much larger scale - sets Petra’s teeth on edge.

“Goddess knows there are more than enough posters of me.” Alder says, crossing her arms. “Good thing I didn’t take you up on that offer.”

“Don’t try that on me, I know you almost said yes.” Petra calls out, unfazed. “Before Craven spoke up, I thought you w-” As her brain catches up with her mouth, she cocks her head. “What happened there?”

Alder freezes.

Even the early years of her relationship with Petra Bellweather - before the woman’s obsession with power overshadowed their friendship - never involved discussing their feelings.

“What happened when?”

“You and Craven. She barely reacted when you walked into the room.” Petra recalls, intrigued. “Did she know you were back already?”

“Yes.” Alder’s voice is clipped. “She helped me return, told me about what I missed over the last eight months.”

“How helpful.” Petra’s lips purse in a faint smile when she notices the white-knuckled grip Alder has on the desk. “Is she going to help you with future decisions about your career as well?”

“Bellweather.” Alder growls, throwing her head back to glare at the ceiling. “If there’s something you want to know, ask.”

Petra laughs at the defensive set of her friend’s shoulders. “I don’t need an answer, I like making you uncomfortable.”

Alder turns her head sharply, piercing blue eyes scowling at the General.

“I’m joking, calm down. You stopped being scary years ago.” Petra sobers up. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Are you?” Alder wonders, genuine.

“Yes. Decisions are much harder to take, when there’s no one left to confer with.” Petra insists, wistful. “But there’s more than my loneliness.”

As her words fade, images of the last months flash through Petra’s mind.

Hours spent with the Mother’s new stewards, as they scrambled together to prepare for a world that was growing increasingly more reliant on three women barely out of their teenage years.

The process was…

Interesting.

Petra didn’t take long to realize the Bellweather unit was overwhelmed. She noticed Abigail’s confusion, Raelle’s fear and Tally’s guilt. The listening ear she tried to lend didn’t help much, as the group’s mood darkened a little more with each passing day.

Petra drew comfort from Adil and Scylla’s quiet support, knowing Abigail and Raelle could both find relief from the crushing weight of expectations.

Tally couldn’t.

She withdrew on herself, in a way Petra could never quite understand.

“Tally needs help.” She confesses with a sigh. “I’m worried. She puts the fate of the world on her shoulders, but never allows anyone to help her carry the weight. Maybe…”

Petra raises her eyes from the floor to find Alder regarding her in earnest. “I believe she will let you. For reasons I can’t possibly fathom, Tally trusts you.” She smiles, wary. “The Mother has put so much on her, on all of them.”

“I’ll help them.” Alder vows faintly.

She shifts her jaw, uncertain of how much immediate support she can bring to the Bellweather unit, in the midst of her own turmoil. “You know Abigail didn’t mean it, right? She’s overwhelmed. They all are.”

Petra inhales sharply. “I know. They’ve been exhausted for months. Abigail was dealing with jetlag, and Rossi can make the most patient of us snap.”

Hands folded on her stomach, Petra tips her chair back. “I spent an hour ignoring Abigail’s calls earlier. I knew any conversation would be useless. When the storm started, I realized I had to come and defuse the situation.”

Alder tilts her head, smirking. “I didn’t know you let your daughter summon you, Bellweather.”

“Says the woman who let Tally Craven order her around.” Petra counters, amused. “She’s the most easy-going person I know. Only you could bring it out of her.”

Alder crosses her arms, determined to ignore her friend’s teasing.

“I was surprised, you know.” Petra’s voice turns insightful. “I never thought I’d see a day when you’d allow someone to make a decision for you.”

“I didn’t- It wasn’t like that.” Alder pauses and pushes off the desk, settling on the edge of a couch that faces Petra.

“It’s your offer.” She glares at the floor. “I didn’t know what to do. I always know what to do.”

“Well, that’s…” A wide-eyed Petra scrambles, unprepared for the confession.

“Did Craven realize that you were…” She makes a vague hand motion towards Alder, bewildered. “Uncertain?”

“I don’t think so.” Alder shakes her head, a distant smile twitching at the corner of her lips. “I can’t tell what she was thinking, but I would guess her reaction had more to do with how my last stint as General ended.”

“It didn’t.” Petra corrects, gently. “Your demotion never went through.”

Blue eyes snap to her face. “What?”

“You were dead.” Petra recalls. “You died protecting the base, protecting our home. There was no use putting what happened with Batan on records.”

“So, I’m still…”

“A General. Given your position as Steward, I’m assuming we can agree on retired General, yes?”

Alder nods, pensive.

“I have your ribbons in my office. Drop by, and I’ll make everything official.” Petra tilts her head, gauging Alder’s ruffled uniform. “You don’t look right without them.”

Alder blinks, stunned. “You kept my ribbons.”

“Yes. Is it really surprising?” Petra sighs. “I’ve never hated you, you know.”

“Maybe you should have.” Alder suggests, her thoughts dwelling on her last year in command.

“No. I wanted to climb up the ranks, you were in the way. It was never personal.”

Alder hums. She gauges Petra’s blank face, pushing back against conflicting emotions. “You made it all the way to the top.”

“Yes.” The smile that punctuates the answer is somber. “I never imagined how lonely it would be.”

“You were right earlier.” Alder says,, gentle. “Nobody will understand what you’re going through. You can come to me, but I don’t know where… What I’ll do next.”

Petra chuckles. “Craven might have a few ideas. You should ask her.”

She ignores Alder’s groan. “I’m not sure what’s going on between you and her - please don’t try to explain, this conversation is awkward enough - but it’s not a bad thing. I’ve been behind your desk for a year, and I feel like everyone hates me.”

“You led the army on your own for decades. Doing anything else will be an adjustment.” Petra sighs. “Tally, Raelle and Abigail are learning what it means to be representatives of the Mother, to have the responsibility of carrying her Song. You might help each other.”

Petra snaps her fingers. “Speaking of, I’m sending the full team to Italy tomorrow. You should go with them.”

Alder takes the other woman’s neutral features in. “You’re asking because you want to mess with Rossi.”

“Absolutely.” Petra grins. “I’m expecting a full report on his reaction, when he sees someone who’s supposed to be dead walk into his office.”

“I’ll go.” Alder rolls her eyes, amused. “How do you want to handle that?”

“Your return?” Petra clarifies. She watches her friend nod. “Let people talk. The Camarilla are scared of you. I want them to wonder if rumors are true, to be afraid of what’s coming.”

Alder concedes the point with a silent tilt of her head.

“Good.” Petra stands, hands at the small of her back. “I’ll be deploying Craven to Metsovo after Italy. You might want to stick with her.”

Alder goes still. “Metsovo?”

“Yes. It’s a small village, on the Northern side of Greece. Might have heard of it.”

“Petra…” Alder sighs in warning.

“There have been reports of unrest. Don’t complain, I’m being throughout.” She responds, raising a calming hand.

“Reports from who?” The dark-haired woman challenges, unimpressed. “The trees?”

“Anonymous reports.” Petra doubles down, holding Alder’s glare easily.

She relents. “Tally is going to hate it.”

“Maybe.” Petra’s gaze slips to the window. “But she needs it. Take a week.”

“Fine.” Alder grumbles, determined to ignore the hint of relief that lightens her mood.

Why would she need a week of vacation, after eight months spent in a lethargic state?

Alder’s stubbornness fades, as she remembers Tally’s exhaustion. She scratches her chin and hops to her feet to leave the room.

“Fine.” She whispers again, thoughtful.

Alder eases the door shut behind her, suddenly exhausted by the series of emotional talks that filled her day.

She sighs, longing for a time when she could box her feelings in a distant corner of her brain, somewhere dark and cold where they wouldn’t cloud her mind.

Goddess, life was much easier back then.

Leant against the door, Alder startles when a faint noise draws her attention to the side.

She finds Abigail and Raelle staring at her from the nearby couch, feet resting on the coffee table.

“Yes?” She sighs, dreading a second round of interrogation.

“Rae says the Mother brought you back.” Abigail hesitates. “Is it true? Are you alive?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“What happened? I didn’t know the Mother could do that.”

“She can’t.” Alder swallows through the hint of a headache that stings the back of neck. “I had special circumstances.”

“Which one?” Scylla crosses the living space to settle against her wife, her head on Raelle’s shoulder.

Alder frowns when the picture brings back the vivid memory of Tally’s head on her own shoulder.

She wishes she was here.

Frustrating questions are easier to dodge with Tally at her side.

“I’m not up for another mad quest dictated by a pushy mushroom, no matter your circumstances.” Scylla quips, unfazed by Abigail’s answering glare.

“There is no plan.” Alder responds. “It’s not why she brought me back.”

“Why then?” Abigail doesn’t relent. “The Mother always has a purpose. It can’t be from the goodness of her heart.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Very helpful.” Raelle rolls her eyes. “It’s hard to have a conversation with you, you know.”

Alder stifles her first instinct - snapping back wouldn’t be very productive - and runs a calming hand through her hair.

“I know.” She says, when the lingering silence turns awkward.

Feet scoffing against the hardwood floor, Alder checks her surroundings for the nearest exits.

Tally would forgive her, if she ran out of the door.

Probably.

“I don’t care why you’re here.” Adil stops her escape plan in its tracks when he speaks up from the kitchen.

He continues, frowning at an empty pantry. “But I’d like to know if you’ll disappear again.”

Alder hesitates.

She has no intention of leaving the base in the near future. But there’s a thoughtful undertone in Adil’s voice, something wary that makes her think further.

Where exactly is she going?

The next step seems blurry, now that she isn’t bound by duty.

Alder’s head spins with the possibilities.

Overwhelmed, she settles on a reasonably vague response. “I’d like to stay.”’

Adil nods, glancing at her as he joins the others on the couch. “Fine with me. This is our main living space. There’s a training center in the basement.”

“First floor is where the bedrooms are.” Abigails picks up the explanation . “I’m at the end of the hallway with Adil. Rae likes to move through the guest rooms whenever she’s here. Tally is in the attic.”

“Up those stairs.” Raelle clarifies, pointing to the stairway facing Alder. “You can’t miss it.”

As she builds the layout of the house in her head, Alder grips the railing.

“Thanks.” She mumbles, leaving before she can be targeted by another flurry of probing questions.

Abigail waits until light footsteps fade in the background.

“Quick check. We’re all in agreement that she isn’t allowed to leave, right?”

“Fuck no.” Raelle agrees. She points to the office. “That’s the first time Tally argued about anything in eight months, and Alder hasn’t been back for a full day yet.”

“I know.” Abigail said with a pained sigh. “Tally hasn’t been so… Herself since the end of the war.”

Raelle scratches her chin. “I think maybe they’re closer than we realized.”

Abigail’s jaw slacks. “Sorry, what? How close are we talking about?”

“I’m not sure. You should have seen them earlier, it was… Weird, in a sweet way.”

Raelle continues, frowning at her own words. “Alder took forever to recognize me. I’m not sure she even knew where she was. But she remembered Tally.”

“Is that why you dragged me out of the Necro tomb?” Scylla asks, intrigued. “You could have told me you wanted to leave them alone.”

“I didn’t want to interfere with anything. Tally has been through enough.” Raelle fidgets with the edge of her sleeve.

Painful months spent pulling together the pieces of her suddenly withdrawn sister linger in her mind.

“You’re right.” Abigail decides, arms crossed. “If Alder tries to leave, we’ll have to drag her back here.”

Adil blinks, confused. “You plan to do that… How?”

“I’ll figure out something. I don’t care how powerful Alder is, I refuse to watch Tal go through whatever the last eight months were again.”

“We’ll just have to work together.” Raelle chimes in, nodding. “I’m sure we can knock her unconscious and carry her back.”

Scylla scuffs. “If we have to fight the Camarilla and Alder, I’m resigning.”

“You’re not even part of the army.” Abigail protests.

“l’ll still find a way to resign.” Scylla insists. “The woman is immune to your storms, Bellweather. I’m not going up against her.”

“She’s what?”

“It’s a long story.” Raelle dismisses the question. “What was that anyway? Did you hate Italy that much?”

“I loved Italy, I can’t stand their military.” Abigail scowls, before she launches herself into a vivid retelling of her trip.

Alder takes her time climbing the stairs, her thoughts spinning back to the Mother’s words.

I’d expect you to feel untethered for a while.

Despite the warning, Alder frowns at her own struggles. She’s more than untethered, she feels like she’s drowning, unable to tell which way is up or which decision is right.

The last thing she wanted was to hurt Tally, and yet…

Alder sighs.

When the stairs lead her to a ladder, she pulls herself through a trap door left ajar.

The open space greeting her is surprising, with its high ceiling and wooden beams. Tally’s bed is on the opposite side, pushed against a wall.

Alder takes a few steps deeper into the room, until a flash of copper catches her attention.

Breathless, she walks up to a table and trails her fingertips on the sharp side of a box.

“Is tha-“

“It’s yours, yes.” Tally supplies, emerging from a door Alder hadn’t noticed.

She’s wearing a red and blue button up, dark jeans and a towel draped over her shoulders.

“Petra cleared out your office while we were on the run.” Tally explains, once she’s sitting on the bed.

She uses the towel to dry her hair. “I found the boxes in storage one day. I think she kept most of your stuff.”

“But why do you ha-“

“I asked, she said yes.” Tally says, her eyes glued to the floor. “It’s not as if civilian music is very popular on base.”

Alder scrambles for a reply. Her gaze flickers between the record player and Tally, who launches the towel in a distant corner of the room, throws herself on the mattress and digs her palms in her eyes.

“It reminded me of you.” The younger woman admits, laying on her back. “Which you probably think is sentimental and stupid.”

Alder sighs, determined to chase away Tally's frustration.

Not that she has any idea how to reach the objective, but it’s her own indecision that triggered a change in Tally’s behavior.

She has to fix it.

“I don’t think that.” Alder starts, walking closer. When Tally doesn’t react, she perches on the side of the bed.

“Fine.” She shrugs, stuck in a wave of bitter disappointment that leaves her no energy to fight.

Why should Alder’s opinion matter? The woman has been back for less than a day, and she’s already planning her first deployment.

That’s assuming she didn’t go back on her initial decision to turn down Petra’s offer.

There’s a war. What did you expect?

Tally swallows through the intrusive thought.

She never let herself believe Alder would choose her over the army, but she did cling to the reassurance that her position as General wouldn’t be hanging over their heads anymore.

Not that Tally minds being outranked.

But the trust that binds them is shaky. It won’t sustain constant clashes between Alder’s dubious sense of ethics and Tally’s unwavering morals. If those arguments turn as messy as the last time they…

Tally shuts down the line of thinking harshly, as her heart hammers in her chest.

Not today.

“When are you leaving? Did Petra talk you into the Macedonian trip? Nobody wants to meet with their ambassador.”

Alder frowns at the unexpected question. “I’m not leaving.”

“Yet.” Tally says. “You almost took your job back. There’s no way you’ll watch other people fight a war.”

“A war I caused.”

Tally shrugs. “You think everything is your fault.”

Alder refuses to acknowledge the accusation. “I won’t watch other people fight, but I’m not leaving either. I thought we-“

“We what?” Tally interrupts, impatient. “Does my opinion matter to you now? Because it clearly didn’t, when you almost jumped at the chance to run the entire American army again.”

Alder sighs. Boots planted on the floor, she rests her elbows on her thighs, head hung.

“Of course I considered it. That job is all I’ve known since the Accords. It’s comforting, and familiar, and I know I’m good at it.” She whispers. “I’m a great General.”

“I know.” Tally glares at the ceiling, deflated. “It’s fine. I’m sure Petra will hear you out. Tell her you changed your m-“

“What? No.” Alder interrupts, confused.

“Why not?” Tally presses, a bittersweet ache in her chest. “You’re right, you’re great at your job. The army can use all the help it can get.”

“But it’s not what I-“ Alder pinches the bridge of her nose, ignoring the sting of the words. “You’ll have to be patient with me, Tally.”

The unexpected request snaps her out of her dark mood. “What?”

“I don’t know how to…” She trails off, frustrated. “I’m not used to explaining myself.”

Tally hums, nervous fingers running through her hair. “Try.” She says, voice softened. “I’ll listen.”

“Being a General isn’t a job. It’s who I am. It’s how I protect my sisters. The last time I failed to do that…”

The words stick to the roof of her mouth, slowed by flashbacks of her first covent’s fate. “Terrible things happened. People died.”

Tally ponders the explanation in silence, shaking off the last remains of impatience. “I know protecting others is important to you. But you know it’s not all that you are, right?”

Alder keeps quiet. She smooths trembling hands against wrinkled dark pants, until Tally tugs at the bottom of her shirt. Glancing over her shoulder, she finds her laying on her side, head propped on her elbow and a stern look in her eyes.

“Sarah Alder, you’re more than a weapon. You’re more than a shield to protect your sisters.” Tally says, punctuating her statement with a pull on Alder’s uniform.

She waits until the former General faces her to continue. “You’re a person, with strengths and flaws and emotions, even if you try very hard to ignore them.”

Alder’s eyes grow wide, as her body thoughtlessly drift closer to Tally. She opens her mouth once, twice and clicks her jaw shut, speechless.

“Hey.” Tally calls out once they’re laying side by side, a hand hovering near Alder’s chin, uncertain. “Did I say something y-“

“Say it again.” Alder finds her voice. She grabs Tally’s hand and brings it to her lips. “Please.”

Breath hitching at the tender touch, Tally blinks. What did she say that could cause such a strong resp-

“My name.” Alder clarifies, eyes gleaming.

Tally smiles gently, struck by the simple request. “Sarah.” She tries again, bringing their foreheads together.

Alder’s gasp falls against her lips.

“I can’t remember the last time…” Her voice breaks. “Only the Mother calls me that.”

The murmur sinks into Tally’s heart, like a needle pricking her skin.

Goddess, how deeply must one person burrow their identity, to be so affected by their own name?

“What about me?” Tally’s whispered question brushes Alder’s cheek. “Can I call you Sarah?”

Alder hesitates, clueless. She’s torn between the stiff General she used to be, and the witch who spent so many decades hiding in military shadows.

Both parts of her feel just out of reach, like they’re brushing against the tip of her grabbing fingers.

Alder breathes out. She wonders if she didn’t walk away from the Mycelium a completely different person.

Maybe she’s a blend of her previous persona.

Juggling both identities with Tally’s presence as a safety net doesn’t seem too daunting. She feels safe in the darkened space of her room, warm brown eyes regarding her with such kindness, but outside of that bubble…

She has navigated the world as General for so long, she isn’t sure she knows another way.

Alder sounds like a compromise. A name that’s not weighted down by a title, that provides shelter against anyone who would wield it as a weapon.

But…

Her heart still pounds against her ribs, racing with the echoes of Tally’s soft voice wrapped around her name.

“Sometimes. You could-“ Alder rubs her fingertips together, unsettled. “Only when we’re alone, it would be-“

She huffs, tripping over her words. “I’d like that.”

Tally freezes when she spots the pleading spark that flashes through Alder’s eyes, something light and fragile that flutters out of view when she blinks.

She chews on the inside of her cheek. There’s a silent request hidden in the fleeting gaze, one that pulls Tally's heartstrings taunt.

Be gentle.

Somehow, she doesn’t think many people have been allowed a glimpse of Sarah Alder’s vulnerable side.

Tally has.

She’s surprised by the violence of the protective instinct that burns in her chest, as realization sinks in.

Instead of drawing attention to the weight of the moment, Tally aims for affectionate teasing in her response.

“Of course. You can be the big bad General Alder in front of the others.”

The playfulness falls flat, as the title yanks them back to the beginning of their conversation.

Tally flops on her back, the odd sense of peace sucked out of the room.

Alder mimics her position, hands resting on her own stomach. She glares at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I never meant to hurt you.”

The broad apology falls from her mouth, clunky. Tally’s earlier behavior doesn’t make much sense to her, but she figures stating her intentions can’t hurt.

The obvious awkwardness behind Alder’s words brings Tally out of the stubborn frustration she’s clinging to. She purses her lips, struggling to remember if she ever heard the woman apologize before.

“I know.” Tally says, as much a reminder to herself than a reassurance for Alder. “I know it wasn’t about me. But you-“

She sighs, rubbing her forehead. “You’ve been back for a day, - less than a day - you haven’t even changed your clothes yet.”

Alder looks down at her rumpled uniform, frowning.

“And you want to go running back to the front lines, to command troops who probably know this war better than you. Can’t we-” Tally argues, her voice breaking on the last word.

“Yes.” Alder responds instantly. “Whatever you need, Tally. I’ll do it.”

The vow pierces through the storm of conflicting emotions raging in Tally’s head. Her shoulders slump. “I want us to be together for longer than a few hours. We don’t have to fix the whole world today.”

It won’t be easy. Don’t make it worse by trying to fix everything in one day.

The Mother’s parting advice floods Alder’s mind. She sighs and raises on one elbow.

“You’re right.” Leant over Tally, she hooks a finger under her chin and draws their eyes together. “I wasn’t thinking about you earlier, it was selfish o-“

“I wish.” Tally sniffles, as a glimpse of warmth flashes through her blurry gaze. “It’d be a lot easier to stay mad at you, if you were selfish.”

Alder cocks her head, eyebrows pulled together.

Tally shakes her head at the puzzled look, charmed. “You want to leave to help witchkind. You’re trying to save our people.”

She falls serious, torn between her own needs and what she knows is right.

“How can I hold you back from that?” Tally asks faintly, despite the ache that grows in her heart.

“You’re not.” Alder whispers in earnest. “You’re not holding me back, you couldn’t. I wouldn’t even be here without you.”

“Of course I want to help win this war, just like you do.” She admits when Tally stays silent, letting a doubtful gaze stands as her only response.

“But I want to help you, too. It’s why I walked away from the Mother.” Alder’s eyes turn distant. “Maybe together we can…”

Tally waits, hanging to every word like she’s grabbing a life jacket in the midst of a rowdy ocean.

“Can what?” She prods gently, realizing Alder might be trapped in her own memory.

“Find a new way to fight.” The older woman’s voice is rough. “One that doesn’t involve numbing my emotions with an unreasonable amount of whiskey, or having seven soldiers sacrifice their life to help me shoulder the burden of time.”

Blue eyes drift to the foot of the bed, darkened. “I’m tired too, Tally. Exhausted.”

Despite the swift reassurances piled on the tip of her tongue, Tally forces herself to stay quiet. Alder isn’t done talking - she can sense it - and every sentence feels like a new shade added to the colorful image she has of the former General.

“I’m replaceable.” Alder voices, at a loss. “I should have realized that earlier. I’ve seen so many people come and go throughout my life. I thought I knew it.”

“Death proved me wrong.” She recalls, powering through a sudden tightness in her throat. “Petra is a great leader - don’t tell her I said that - and she doesn’t need me.”

“The army doesn’t need me.” Alder sways under the weight of a humbling realization.

Tally doesn’t miss a beat. “I need you.”

“I know.” Alder softens. “I’ll always have a duty to witchkind, always feel the need to protect my sisters when I can.”

Her hands move to Tally’s cheeks. She smiles when tentative fingers grip her wrists. “But I have a duty to you as well.”

Tally tenses, caught between a bone-deep sense of relief and the uncomfortable prospect of becoming a burden.

“I’m fine.”

The words slip from her lips when the latter wins out. Alder’s self-imposed mission of protecting witchkind is heavy enough, she refuses to add to the weight on her shoulders.

“I promise.” Tally continues. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay, you can-“

Protect the others.

The statement sticks in her throat, trapped by a flash of white-hot panic.

“I know you’re not fine.” Alder leans in, sighing. “I can…” She hesitates. “Feel it.”

The cool touch of Alder’s forehead against her own calms Tally.

“You were right.” The older woman continues. “We have a connection. Nothing like when you were a Biddy, it’s more…”

Alder scrambles to voice an emotion that threatens to burst through her ribs.

That flows through her body quietly, like the wind that whistles through trees.

An emotion that compromises the rational side of her brain.

“I can feel you here.” She admits, tapping two fingers against her own chest. “I don’t know how to expla-“

“It’s okay.” Tally interrupts, gentle. She catches Alder’s trembling hand and brings it to her lips. “I feel it too. You don’t have to explain.”

Alder slides down the bed to rest her head against Tally’s collarbone. She goes still when careful fingers toy with the curls at the back of her neck, smiling.

“You’re right.” Tally whispers, unsettled.

Over the last two years, she became used to ignoring her own well-being. Winning the war was more important, the fight for the greater good was her priority.

What happens if the war has no end in sight?

Tally swallows.

How long can she push herself?

“We’ll find another way to fight.” She murmurs, doubts seeping through her voice.

Maybe Tally is the one being selfish.

Alder hums, unaware. Buried in the soft comfort of Tally’s shirt, she narrows her thoughts to the smell of detergent and soap, a floral scent that reminds her of early mornings.

Fingertips teasing at the edge of her shirt draw Tally out of her head. “It tickles.”

Alder’s touch grows firmer, trailing up her stomach. “Better?”

The question mumbled against her throat makes Tally gasp.

“You smell good.”

“I j- just took a shower.” Tally stutters in reply.

She dips her head and kisses Alder, watching her smile lose its smug edge. “Shut up.”

The older woman hums, a curious hand exploring the smooth skin under Tally's clothes. She pauses when she reaches the thin material of her bra.

“Okay?” Alder whispers against her lips.

Tally’s breath hitches. Her blind enthusiasm falters, faced with a decision.

She wants to say yes - Goddess, does she want to say yes - but her earlier doubts linger in her mind.

Should she?

There’s an indisputable connection between them, but is it right to give into it?

Focused on her breathing, Tally takes a second to recognize the mix of conflicting emotions in her head.

Desire.

Frustration.

Fear.

Fear?

Surprised, Tally notices how tightly her fingers clench the blankets under her back. Her heart pounds against her ribs, as she struggles to pull herself together.

When she looks down, Alder’s hands are back on her cheeks, gently framing her face.

“Tally? Are you with me?”

“Yeah.” Her mouth is dry. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Where did you go?” Alder prompts, soft.

“In my head.” Tally admits. “I’m scared.”

Years of dealing with military politics keep Alder’s features neutral, as her stomach plummets in her chest. She forces her voice to stay steady.

“Scared of what? Can I help?”

Tally frowns, spotting the spark of insecurity that darkens impossibly blue irises. “I’m not scared because of you. I’ve been waiting to do that…” She motions between them, nervous. “Since we met again in the Cession.”

“Oh.” Alder doesn’t linger on the confession, despite the happy flutter in her stomach.

To be fair, she has been drawn to Tally since she barged into her office, demanding answers about dreams that didn’t belong to her.

Which is really not a thought Alder should be dwelling on, not now.

“What’s scaring you?”

“Should we be doing this?” Tally whispers, heart in her throat.

Alder ponders the question, caught off-guard by a wave of issues she has stubbornly ignored so far.

Her rank of - retired - General and the impact it could have on Tally's military career, for once, which bleeds into their age difference.

Alder is almost four centuries old. Despite knowing any relationship she has will involve a significant gap in age, Tally is barely twenty.

She has her entire life ahead of her. Tying herself to a battle-worn witch, one who struggles to sleep more than two consecutive hours without nightmares isn’t wise.

A witch who has more enemies than she can remember, both from the Camarilla and from officers creeping around Fort Salem.

And yet…

Alder’s throat tightens painfully, as she imagines walking away from Tally.

She can’t.

“It’s a terrible idea, for both of us.” Alder offers, blunt. “But I’m drawn to you. I don’t know how to resist that pull. I’m not sure it’s a fight I can win.”

Tally takes in her softened features, shaken.

Could Alder mean her words this time?

Not that she ever outright lied to Tally. No long-term promise ever bound them before, no reassurance that they would share a future together.

Instead, her memories are littered with wordless gestures.

An anchoring touch in the middle of an ice cave.

Shared exasperation over the Bellweather’s antics at debriefings.

A knowing glance whenever the remnants of the Biddy link flared back to life.

They all carried the same meaning to Tally.

I’m with you.

Until the silent understanding Tally believed they had was swept away, first by Nicte’s trial and then by the Mother’s call.

Each time left Tally feeling a little more hollow.

What would be left of her, if Tally gave into the connection that ties her to Alder, only for the woman to die - or disappear - again?

How many more times can she recover from that emptiness?

“Do you mean it?” Tally gives voice to her anxiety. “Will you really stay?”

Alder’s brows furrow. She isn’t going anywhere, she thought she already made it cl-

Oh.

“You don’t trust me.” The realization - though not unexpected - stings stronger than Alder imagined.

“I don’t know.” Tally admits, tentative. “Part of me does. The other part is terrified that you’ll be gone the next time I blink. Maybe I hit my head, and none of this is real. I’ll be alone again.”

Her voice breaks.

“I know that if I did wake up alone, I’d be fine. I’m used to it.”

Tally inhales sharply, thankful for Alder’s quiet patience.

“I’d be fine today. But what happens if I give into what’s between us?” She smiles, eyes shining in earnest. “I wouldn’t be alone anymore. I’d be with you.”

Tally’s grin fades. “What if you still leave in a week, or a month, or however long it’ll take until you’re restless? You carry a bigger piece of me with you, every time you leave me behind. I can’t go through that again.”

“I’m sorry.” Tally murmurs after a few seconds of silence. “I know it doesn’t make sense.”

Alder swallows the response that burns the tip of her tongue. While she can’t imagine walking out of Tally’s life, she has an inkling the problem can’t be solved by repeating her intentions.

“I’ll prove it to you.” She whispers, before her brain has a chance to process her own words.

“What?” Tally frowns, surprised.

“You don’t believe I’ll stay with you.” Alder clarifies. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll show you. You’ll open your eyes one day, and you won’t even consider that I could be anywhere other than at your side.”

The younger woman bites her lip to muffle a faint gasp.

“I’ll earn your trust, Tally Craven.” Alder cups the back of her neck to rest their foreheads together. “One day at a time. I can be patient.”

Tally threads a hand through dark hair and holds her there, as they breathe against each other.

The house is quiet, disturbed only by the distant noise of footsteps and the drizzling rain hitting the skylight over her bed.

When she moves, Tally realizes her fingers are entangled in what remains of Alder’s braids. She tugs gently at a loose strand of hair. “Can I…”

Alder blinks. “Yeah.” She croaks out, when the unsaid question sinks in.

As she shuffles down the bed to grant Tally more space, Alder presses an ear against her chest. Between the steady heartbeat and the gentle touch brushing against her scalp, her thoughts drift away from the stress of the day.

Fragments of memory move in and out of her head, as she soaks in the peaceful moment.

Her last conversation with the Mother.

Raelle’s steady presence.

Tally’s wide eyes, impossibly softer than she remembered them.

Abigail’s storm.

I never thought I’d see the day you’d allow someone else to make a decision for you.

Alder’s brows furrow. Of course the ghost voice of Petra Bellweather would disturb the first peaceful moment she’s had since…

Well, she can’t exactly remember.

Peace wasn’t a common occurrence in her time leading the army.

“What are you thinking about?” Tally asks faintly, blunt fingernails scratching against Alder’s scalp. “I can almost hear you.”

“Petra said something earlier.” She mumbles, sighing. “About how I let you make decisions for me.”

Tally freezes, panicked. Now that Alder is - mostly - free of obligations, the last thing she wants is to pressure her into life choices.

“That’s not what I was trying to do. I thought we had an agreement, so when you considered-”

“I needed you to do it.” Alder interrupts, before Tally can launch herself in a rambling apology. “I had no idea what to do.”

Eyelids fluttering, she narrows her attention to the noise of Tally’s breathing. “I can’t remember the last time I had to make a decision for myself. I was so busy figuring out what the army needed, what witchkind needed, that I- I don’t know what I want.”

Tally’s stomach drops, as she understands the meaning behind Alder’s previous confession.

I don’t think I know how to live, she said.

Of course she doesn’t. Her very existence was dedicated to her duty.

Tally sighs, wondering if Sarah Alder - the witch, not the General - survived the last three hundred years.

Probably not, or at least not as the person she used to be before taking commands.

Before she bound herself to the Salem Accords.

Tally’s frown deepens.

As controversial as the Accords were, as devastating an effect they had on her sisters, she doesn’t think anyone’s life has been drained in the way Alder’s has.

Most of the draftees either served a few years and walked away, or they died. Both paths involve a mess of grief, pain and traumatic memories that could be healed over time.

Alder’s duty was endless, she didn’t have a chance to recover.

To Tally, it seemed like a wound that was never left alone, bleeding open with each new war, each new demand from politicians in charge of the civilian government.

Tally tilts her head down to kiss Alder’s forehead. She lingers against soft skin. “You don’t have to live like that anymore.”

“We’re stewards, all of us.” She continues, eager. “You, me, Raelle and Abigail. We’re a team. A unit. We don’t want - or need - you to make choices for us. We work together.”

Alder considers the words, intrigued.

Tally’s expression softens. She shuffles back to meet dark blue eyes. “We take care of each other. You’re one of us.”

“One of you.” She tests the words.

Despite her efforts to mingle with everyone who lived on the grounds of Fort Salem - she used to spend entire days with the fosterlings - Alder always felt as if she was a step above the fray.

There was an invisible line she couldn’t - wouldn’t - cross. A distance between herself and other witches, one that allowed her the space to make hard calls.

To send women she considered her kin into war, knowing they might be heading to their death even if she stood shoulder to shoulder with them.

Alder had to be the last one standing. The balance of relationships between civilians and witchkind hung on her survival.

She hated it.

But now…

Alder shifts her jaw. Being an equal part of a collective is an unsettling prospect, one she hasn’t considered since the doom of her covent.

She shakes off the intrusive memory before it has a chance to take hold.

“Yeah.” Tally threads lightly in the charged silence. “One of us.”

Alder’s thoughts stutter.

Maybe she can have friends - ones that don’t share her mind - without feeling like an outsider.

Friends.

“It sounds nice.” Alder decides quietly, chin perched near Tally’s shoulder. “I want to be one of you.”

“Good.” Tally blurts out, matching her tone. “But you’re mine first.”

Alder’s eyes snap to hers, wide. Warmth flutters in her stomach, something light and airy that reminds her of that time she raced down the Colorado river on a raft.

She can’t remember a more freeing memory.

Alder swallows, still scrambling for words.

For someone who used to pride herself on her eloquence, she’s left speechless by the unexpected claim.

“Did I break you?” Tally asks, laughing. .

Softened by the flustered reaction, she kisses Alder with the ghost of a smirk on her lips.

When they break apart, she wriggles her way off the bed. “I hope I didn’t break you. It’d be an awkward discussion with the others.”

She laughs at Alder’s frown.

“There you are.” Tally teases, earning herself a playful eyeroll. “Come on, we have to get back downstairs. I can practically feel Abigail’s impatience from here.”

Alder lays on her back, hands folded under her head as she watches Tally with one eye. “Why should I care about Bellweather’s mood?”

Tally smooths her wrinkled shirt. “Because she’s about to start demanding answers and won’t hesitate to barge in here.”

Distracted, she turns her attention to the door. “We’ll have to come up with a way to lock it. Maybe a sigil wou-“

“We?” Alder’s voice lilts questioningly. “You want me to live with you?”

Tally goes still. She looks over her shoulder to find Alder propped up on one elbow, intrigued.

She hesitates, frustrated. If her mouth could check in with her brain before spilling her inner thoughts, Tally would feel much better.

Alder has been back in her life for less than a day, she shouldn’t be making assumptions about sharing a room.

She might need space.

“You don’t have to.” Tally hurries to correct. “We have guest rooms downstairs. I’m sure you still have your own place on base, or Petra could find y-“

“I want to stay.” Alder interrupts, pushing herself off the bed. She faces Tally, a determined look in her eyes.

Alder’s identity might be muddled at the moment, and making choices for herself still seems like a daunting task.

But it’s much easier when it involves the woman who makes her heart beat faster.

“I might not have a lot of certainties for now, but you-“ Alder shakes her head, smiling.

“I feel better when I’m with you. The ground keeps being pulled from under my feet. I learnt there’s a war going on, I returned from death and I became a steward, all in a day. I feel as if the world is spinning around me. It’s dizzying.”

Alder takes a step forward, as she musters a smile. “Until I look at you. You’re so steady, Tally. You’re like an anchor in a storm.”

Tally gasps, blindsided. The words hit a chord deep inside her. She’s never been anything so meaningful before, not for anyone in her life.

She’s Tally Craven.

She was an awkward kid, always eager to help.

She grew up to be a listening ear to her loved ones, a shoulder to cry on.

A sister to Abigail and Raelle.

A safe keeper of the Mother’s song.

And an anchor, for a witch who has spent her entire existence braving storms.

Alone.

The same witch she had been in awe of, until Tally’s misguided decision toppled her legacy and led to her death.

Caught in conflicting emotions, Tally doesn’t realize she’s crossing the room before she’s hugging Alder, arms firmly squeezed around her shoulders and head tucked under her chin.

“I won’t let you drift away.” Tally vows, humming when Alder gently strokes her back. “We’re stuck together, Sarah.”

Tally hears a catch in her breath. The hands on her back still, and fingers clench in her shirt, before Alder goes limp against her.

“I want you to live here.” Tally says faintly. She smiles at the silent reply, a kiss brushed against her hair. “With me.”

“I will.” Alder whispers against her ear, earnest. “I’ll stay.”