They called themselves the Pureblood Fringe.
Lyra learned the name from Helena, who had been tracking extremist groups on both sides since the first gathering. The Fringe wasn't organized—no central leadership, no formal structure. Just pockets of vampires and wolves who refused to accept the new reality.
"They're not the Silent Ones," Helena said over video call. "The Silent Ones were strategic. Patient. These people are reactionary. Emotional. But that makes them dangerous in a different way. They're not trying to maintain a system. They're trying to burn everything down."
Kael leaned into the frame. "Can we find them? Talk to them?"
"Some might listen. Others won't. The ones who attacked the meeting—they're beyond talking. They've already killed."
Lyra thought about the three dead. Two wolves, one vampire. People she'd never met but felt connected to. They had chosen hope, and hope had gotten them killed.
"We need to do something," she said.
"Your fathers are handling the official response. Council enforcers. Pack trackers. They'll find the attackers."
"And then what? Punish them? That doesn't solve the problem. The hatred that created them is still there."
Helena was quiet for a moment. "What do you propose?"
Lyra looked at Kael. "We talk to them. The ones who haven't killed yet. The ones who might still listen. We show them what we've built. Not to convince them—just to prove it's possible."
"That's dangerous."
"Everything we've done has been dangerous."
Helena nodded slowly. "I'll send you names. People on the edge. People who might be reached."
The call ended. Kael took Lyra's hand.
"You want to walk into a room full of people who hate what we are and try to change their minds."
"I want to try. If we don't, who will?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then he squeezed her hand. "Okay. But we do it together."
"Together."