Chapter 207: 207 Training days

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207: Training days 207: Training days Dawn broke over Eldergrove with the kind of crystalline clarity that made everything feel both more real and more surreal.

Mishka had barely slept, spending the night alternating between Siren choir rehearsals and reviewing rescue operation plans until the two missions blurred together in her exhausted mind.

Now, standing in the community center’s main hall that had been hastily converted into a training facility, she watched Emma Henderson prepare for what might be the most dangerous thing any sixteen-year-old had ever attempted.

“Again,” Sasha Volkov said, her Resonant specialist’s voice carrying the patience of someone who understood that repetition was the only path to survival.

“This time, try to amplify three different signatures simultaneously without letting them bleed into each other.”

Emma stood in the center of a circle formed by Mrs.

Pemberton, Dr.

Harrison, and one of the visiting werewolf pack leaders.

Her dark curls were pulled back, her young face already showing the strain of six hours of intensive training.

Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cool morning air, and her hands trembled with magical exhaustion.

“I don’t know if I can,” Emma admitted, her voice cracking.

“It’s like trying to listen to three different songs at once and remember all the lyrics.

My brain isn’t wired for this.”

“Your brain is wired for exactly this,” Sasha corrected gently but firmly.

“You’re a Resonant.

Multi-frequency amplification is literally your supernatural nature.

But Emma, you’ve been trying to control it with logic and discipline.

That’s not how Resonants work.

You need to feel it.”

“Feel what?” Emma asked, frustration making her voice sharp.

“Feel how I’m about to burn out my abilities and let everyone down?

Because that’s what I’m feeling right now.”

Mishka stepped forward, letting her Siren voice carry harmonics of understanding and support.

“Emma, look at me.

What did you feel when you first discovered your abilities?

When your math homework turned into butterflies?

Emma’s eyes filled with tears.

“I felt overwhelmed.

Scared.

Like everything was too much and I couldn’t make it stop.”

“And that’s still how you’re approaching this,” Mishka said.

“You’re trying to stop the amplification, control it, contain it.

But what if you did the opposite?

What if you let yourself feel everything and trusted that your abilities would naturally sort it into harmony?”

“That sounds like a great way to explode everyone’s minds,” Emma replied, but there was desperate hope in her voice.

“Or,” Mrs.

Pemberton interjected, her rose-tending magic making the air around her shimmer with gentle power, “it’s how Resonants have survived for centuries.

Dear, you’re treating your abilities like a dam holding back water.

But you’re not a dam—you’re a prism.

You don’t hold back light, you redirect it into spectrum.”

The metaphor seemed to click something in Emma’s mind.

She closed her eyes, took a shuddering breath, and instead of bracing against the three supernatural signatures surrounding her, she opened herself to them completely.

The effect was immediate and terrifying.

Every supernatural being in the community center suddenly felt their abilities surge—not uncontrollably, but amplified beyond anything they’d experienced.

Mrs.

Pemberton’s gentle rose magic became a wave of growth that covered the walls in flowering vines.

Dr.

Harrison’s shapeshifter nature rippled across his skin in patterns that suggested a dozen different animal forms simultaneously.

The werewolf pack leader began an involuntary transformation that was somehow both wolf and human and something entirely other.

And through it all, Emma stood at the center, her Resonant abilities not just amplifying but harmonizing—taking three different supernatural signatures and weaving them into something that was greater than the sum of its parts.

Then the feedback hit.

Emma screamed, her voice carrying harmonics that shattered every window in the community center.

Blood ran from her nose, and her eyes rolled back as her young mind tried to process the overwhelming flood of supernatural energy.

“Break the connection!” Sasha shouted, and Mrs.

Pemberton immediately began a dampening spell while Dr.

Harrison and the werewolf forced their own transformations to stop.

But Emma was still amplifying, her Resonant nature locked in a feedback loop that was rapidly spiraling beyond anyone’s ability to contain.

The walls of the community center began to crack, and outside, residents screamed as the wave of amplified energy hit every supernatural being in Eldergrove simultaneously.

Mishka did the only thing she could think of—she began to sing.

Not the binding song, not a protective harmony, but a lullaby.

Something simple and human and so mundane that it cut through the supernatural chaos like a blade.

Her Siren voice carried the melody of a song her mother had sung to her as a child, back when the world was simple and magic was just fairy tales.

Emma’s Resonant abilities latched onto the lullaby like a drowning person grabbing a lifeline.

The amplification began to fade, the feedback loop breaking as Emma’s consciousness focused on something small and manageable instead of the overwhelming flood of power.

When Emma finally collapsed, Riley caught her, their own recent trauma with The Collector making them perhaps the only person who truly understood what the teenage Resonant had just experienced.

“Is she—” Patricia Henderson’s voice came from the doorway, where she and Thomas had been watching with the helpless terror of parents watching their child court disaster.

“She’s alive,” Sasha confirmed, checking Emma’s vitals with experienced hands.

“But she pushed too far, too fast.

Her mind needs time to recover.”

“We don’t have time,” Emma whispered, her eyes fluttering open.

“The gala is tonight.

If I can’t amplify the Siren choir, the whole plan falls apart.”

“The plan can adapt,” Thomas said firmly, entering to kneel beside his daughter.

“You are not expendable, Emma.

I don’t care what supernatural crisis we’re facing—you’re my daughter first.”

“Dad, I’m the only Resonant in Toronto,” Emma replied, trying to sit up and failing.

“Without me, Mishka’s voice can’t reach far enough to counter The Collector’s device.

Everyone here dies or gets enslaved, and it’s because I wasn’t strong enough—”

“Stop,” Mishka interrupted, her voice carrying harmonics that made Emma fall silent.

“This isn’t about strength.

This is about a sixteen-year-old being asked to do something that should be impossible.

Emma, I’m not letting you destroy yourself for this.

We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way,” Naomi said from her position near the door, where she’d been observing the training with the grim knowledge of someone who’d seen The Collector’s weapon firsthand.

“The device he’s built requires at least six Sirens working in perfect synchronization.

We have seven.

But without amplification, our range is limited to maybe a few hundred yards.

His device, amplified by Marcus Blackthorne’s Resonant abilities, can reach a hundred miles.

We’re not even in the same category of power.”

“Then we get Marcus back before tonight,” Bruce said, having arrived with Julian and a security team.

“The rescue operation moves up.

We hit The Collector’s facility now, during daylight, before he can prepare defenses for the gala.”

“That’s suicide,” Julian objected.

“We’ve planned for a nighttime operation with the gala as distraction.

Changing everything now—”

“Is better than watching a teenager burn out her mind trying to be our weapon,” Bruce interrupted, his protective instincts making his voice rough with barely contained transformation.

“Mishka, you know I’m right.”

And she did know.

But she also knew what moving the rescue operation would cost them.

“If we go now, The Collector will know we’ve abandoned the gala plan.

He’ll move the prisoners, possibly kill them to prevent rescue.

And tonight, when he attacks Eldergrove anyway, we’ll be depleted and disorganized.”

“So we’re back to sacrificing Emma,” Thomas said bitterly.

“Asking a child to be a weapon because the adults can’t figure out a better plan.”

The accusation stung because it was true.

They were asking Emma to do something that had destroyed adult Resonants in the past.

The fact that she was willing didn’t make it ethical.

It just made it desperate.

Duncan entered the training hall, his laptop under his arm and his expression grim.

“We have a bigger problem.

The leaked intelligence about the gala?

Someone’s been analyzing our security protocols in real-time.

I’ve been monitoring supernatural forums, and there’s detailed speculation about our defensive positions, ward placements, even which residents have which abilities.”

“The infiltrators,” Director Chen said, having arrived with more Covenant specialists.

“We identified five, but clearly there are more.

Possibly many more.”

“Or,” Gillian suggested from her communications station, “one very well-placed infiltrator with access to everything.

Someone who’s been here long enough to know the community’s routines.

Someone we trust.”

The implication sent ice through Mishka’s veins.

They’d been so focused on screening new arrivals that they hadn’t considered the possibility that The Collector had embedded someone in Eldergrove months or even years ago.

Someone who’d been reporting all along, gathering intelligence, waiting for exactly this moment.

“We need to identify them,” Mrs.

Pemberton said, her rose magic taking on a sharper edge.

“If there’s a long-term infiltrator, we can use truth spells, compulsion charms—”

“Which will alert them that we’re searching,” Mrs.

Callahan interrupted, entering with Clara’s real journal clutched to her chest.

“And if they’re skilled enough to have hidden this long, magical interrogation will just make them disappear or activate whatever contingency The Collector has planned.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Director Chen asked.

Mrs.

Callahan opened the journal to a page marked with dried flowers.

“Clara documented a technique called ‘resonance mapping.’ It’s designed to identify beings whose supernatural signature doesn’t match their stated nature.

She used it in the early days of Eldergrove to screen residents.

It requires a powerful Siren and a Resonant working together to create a harmonic scan that reveals…

discordancies.”

Everyone looked at Mishka and Emma.

“No,” Patricia said immediately.

“Absolutely not.

My daughter just had a catastrophic feedback episode.

You’re not asking her to do more magic today.”

But Emma was already struggling to sit up, her young face set with determination that terrified her parents.

“Mom, if there’s a spy feeding information to The Collector, they’ll sabotage everything tonight.

We have to find them.”

“Emma, you’re exhausted,” Mishka said gently.

“Your abilities need rest.”

“My abilities need purpose,” Emma countered.

“Please, Mishka.

Let me do this.

It’s smaller than amplifying the whole choir, right?

Just a scan?”

Sasha was consulting the journal, her expert eyes scanning Clara’s notes.

“It’s less demanding than full amplification, but it’s more precise.

Emma would need to distinguish genuine supernatural signatures from disguised ones.

It requires focus she might not have right now.”

“I can do it,” Emma insisted.

“Show me how.”

Against every instinct, against Patricia’s protests and Thomas’s barely contained fury, they prepared for the resonance mapping.

Because the truth was that Emma was right—they needed to identify the infiltrator before tonight, and this was their only option.

Mishka and Emma stood in the center of the community center while every Eldergrove resident filed through, one at a time.

It was exhausting work—Emma amplifying Mishka’s Siren voice just enough to create a harmonic scan while Mishka listened for the discordant notes that would indicate a disguised supernatural nature.

They’d scanned forty residents when Emma suddenly grabbed Mishka’s arm, her amplification spiking with alarm.

“That one,” Emma whispered, pointing to a middle-aged woman who’d introduced herself weeks ago as a human art teacher with an interest in supernatural culture.

“Her signature is…

wrong.

Like she’s wearing someone else’s supernatural identity over her own.”

The woman—Mrs.

Fletcher—smiled pleasantly.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem?”

“You’re not human,” Mishka said, her Siren voice carrying harmonics that made lying difficult.

“And you’re not a witch like you claimed when we scanned you last week.

What are you?”

Mrs.

Fletcher’s pleasant expression never wavered, but something shifted in her eyes—a calculation being rapidly revised.

“I’m whatever The Collector paid me to be.

And you’ve just made a critical mistake, Miss Morrison.”

She pulled something from her pocket—a small device that began emitting a high-pitched frequency that made every Siren in the building scream with pain.

Mishka felt her voice shatter, her Siren abilities recoiling from the targeted sonic attack.

Emma tried to amplify a counter-frequency, but her exhausted abilities couldn’t muster the power.

She collapsed, blood running from both nostrils.

Through the pain, Mishka saw Mrs.

Fletcher speaking rapidly into a communications device: “Target confirmed exhausted.

Resonant compromised.

Proceed with early extraction.”

Bruce transformed fully, lunging for the woman, but she triggered something else—a small explosive that filled the community center with smoke and chaos.

By the time Julian’s security team reached her position, Mrs.

Fletcher was gone, escaped through a window that had been conveniently left unsecured.

“Lock down the community!” Julian shouted.

“No one in or out!”

But it was too late.

Through the smoke and confusion, Mishka heard the sounds that made her blood run cold—vehicles at Eldergrove’s gates, moving with the precision of a military operation.

Not attacking, but extracting.

The other infiltrators were making their escape, taking intelligence with them.

And somewhere in the chaos, Mishka heard a sound that stopped her heart: Patricia Henderson screaming her daughter’s name.