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Jade shrugged, her confidence unwavering. “I think we’ll find what we need, one way or another.”

I nodded, but my thoughts were still tangled with doubt. The last light of the day had faded into darkness, and with it, any hope of simple answers. Tomorrow, we would go to Conall. But even as the plan solidified in my mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing would ever be the same.

Aurora

Isat next to Jade in a seat of fake blue leather, ready to leave New York City for Cork. There was no describing the weight on my chest, and I had hoped having a few hours of solitude in the air would help, but it had been just the opposite. Images of Mac’s betrayal consumed my thoughts, followed by Amara lying in her casket, the lid being closed after Lyra and I had given her a last kiss. I shut my eyes and laid my head on the headrest with a sigh, willing them to stop but failing as we chased our only hope left for finding the Cure—Conall having remained where I knew how to find him.

“What are you thinking?” Jade asked, her voice soft. She handed me a bottle of juice.

I took a sip of the sweet liquid, feeling it roll down my throat, creating a cool path as it hit my belly. I shook my head, more memories flooding back. The last time I was on a plane was with Mac. My question about why the O’Cillian knot was on the plane now seemed ridiculous, the entire argument ludicrous. And I had just accepted the explanations like a love-struck, simpering teenage girl taken by the hottest guy in school. I clenched my jaw, annoyed by my naivety. All at once, it felt like the responsibility of the world weighed on my shoulders.

“Hey, Rory.”

I turned my head without raising it from the seat. Jade’s eyes shone, glistening with tears she struggled to hold back.

“What is it?” I asked, concern lacing my voice as I shot up to sitting, and my hand flew to my pendant. My heart clenched as I felt both the High Priestess and the Heir pendant hanging together. It would take a long time to get used to it being there.

“I’m really sorry,” she whispered, her forehead creased as she struggled to look me in the eye.

I tilted my head. “You might have to be a little more specific than that. What in the world are you sorry for?”

“I didn’t want to be part of the spell to find Mac’s family. When Amara came to my mother and me, I originally told her no.”

My eyes widened. “You told your High Priestess no?”

Jade nodded, a small, guilty smile playing on her lips. “It didn’t go over very well.”

I raised my brows, and a warmth filled my chest at her defense of me. “I can imagine.” The thought of someone defying Amara like that felt almost incomprehensible.

“I didn’t want to betray you, Rory. And I didn’t want to betray Mac because I know how much you love him.”

I nodded, urging her to continue. “So why did you do it, then?”

Jade shrugged. “My mother and I talked, and we realized that if we were there, we had a chance to protect you, to know exactly what was happening, and to help when it was all over.”

My shoulders relaxed, and a smile played on the corner of my lips, our friendship rooting itself again in my heart. I took her hand. “That makes a twisted kind of sense.”

Jade’s eyes searched mine. “So you forgive me?”

I squeezed her hand. “Jade, I already had. I know you didn’t want to be part of this. I know you would never hurt me. Everything happened for a reason. We just need to figure out what it is.”

Jade leaned forward, hugging me close. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you as a friend.”

I pulled back, still holding her hand. “You won’t lose me.”

Jade shifted, curling her legs up and somehow smashing herself into the tiny airplane seat in a way that I couldn’t believe was comfortable. She wrapped her arms around her legs, rested her chin on her knees, and looked at me.

“So... tell me about him.”

I raised an eyebrow. “About Mac?”

“Yeah. Tell me about Cormac O’Cillian. Your Cormac O’Cillian, not the stories we’ve heard.”

I took a deep breath, my cheeks warming as I remembered the whisper of Mac’s lips on mine, his hands tracing familiar paths along my skin. It felt real, but that was the problem. The truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure who Mac was anymore. How much of him was real, and how much was a carefully constructed shield to protect himself—and, maybe, me?

Our conversations played like echoes in my mind, the way he spoke about the weight of family, the depth of his feelings. They stood in stark contrast to the blood-soaked tales of the O’Cillians, merciless vampires who spilled blood without hesitation. Could those two versions of him exist in the sameman? Or was I fooling myself, blinded by how he made me feel? I wanted to believe in the Cormac I thought I knew, but—

A sudden wave of panic gripped me. “What if he staged everything? What if we haven’t heard from him because he ran?” My voice wavered, betraying the fear I’d tried to suppress.