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JACKSON

T he word still hangs between us like it hasn’t finished echoing.

Tharos al’venin.

“He rises by the blood of many.”

I don’t know what chills me more—what the phrase means, or the way Seraphine said it. Like it’s more than prophecy. Like it’s personal.

I cross my arms, jaw tight, the weight of the photos thick in my hand.

“You said this is old magic,” I say. “But how old are we talking? And what exactly do they need to raise this bastard?”

Sera doesn’t answer right away.

She moves slowly, her fingers skimming across a bookshelf and moving some out of the way to expose a pile of old grimoires and scrawled parchment she hasn’t shared with anyone—not even me, but I recognize what they are. Her face is shadowed, drawn. Like saying it aloud might breathe life into the thing she’s spent centuries trying to bury.

“They need blood,” she says finally. “Of specific lines. Ritualized. Symbolic. And power. Magic that predates the Council. Predates structure.”

“Primordial.”

She nods once.

“Which is what you are.”

Another nod.

My stomach knots. “And the language—the words—it’s not just symbolic. It’s... it’s functional, isn’t it? The way spells are. A living script.”

Her lips press tight. “Words that bind. Words that build.”

I drop into the chair behind her desk, rub my hands over my face, heart hammering like a punch to the ribs.

“They didn’t just want me dead,” I say slowly. “Back in that basement, one of them said I was a key. That I was connected to you. And when you brought me here last night, you said something about them wanting to siphon your power?—”

“Don’t,” she cuts in, voice sharp.

I look up at her.

Eyes wide. Palms pressed to the desk like she needs the solid surface to keep herself from splintering.

I keep going anyway. I have to.

“That’s why they took me,” I say. “Because I’m not just your partner. I’m the tether. They needed me to unlock you.”

“Jackson—”

“You are the door,” I breathe. “And I’m the fucking key.”

She curses under her breath—something in a language I don’t understand but sure as hell feel.

The shadows ripple around her feet.

She turns away, shoulders tight. “They weren’t supposed to know. No one was supposed to know. Hell, I didn’t even know about you. How the fuck did they find out what I was, what you could be?--”

“But it’s true.”

Her silence is answer enough.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “So if the wrong person controls you—your power—if they channel it through me?—”

“They could unmake everything.”

I stand up so fast the chair screeches across the floor.

Sera whirls to face me.

Her eyes glow faintly, not from anger—but fear.

Not for herself. For me.

“You weren’t supposed to be part of this,” she says, voice cracking. “You were just supposed to be a cop. A pain in my ass. A thorn I could outmaneuver.”

“And now?”

“Now you’re everything, ” she whispers.

I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know if I want to know what that means.

But I know I need air.

I drive aimlessly for a while. Not sure where I’m going until I realize my hands are steering toward the old market district. Toward a rusted tin awning that’s more charm than structure.

The woman who lives here doesn’t put out signs.

Doesn’t advertise.

Doesn’t need to.

Her name is Tali.

And she’s the only seer I’ve ever trusted not to fill my head with bullshit.

The inside of her shop smells like sage and rain. Crystals line the walls, but they’re dull—functional, not decorative. There are no candles. No beaded curtains. Just the sound of her steady breathing and the wind chimes hanging over a cracked window.

She’s sitting on a floor cushion when I walk in. Gray hair braided back, skin the color of smoke-stained parchment, eyes like frozen honey. Her voice is like ash and honey wine.

“Jackson Cole,” she says without looking up. “You’ve got a storm on your back.”

“You see it?”

“I feel it.”

She finally lifts her head. And flinches.

Which is never a good fucking sign.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ve been marked.”

“No shit.”

“Not the kind of mark you wash off.” She gestures for me to sit. I do.

Tali closes her eyes, rests her hands over mine. The energy shifts instantly—soft and thrumming. Like the pulse of the earth itself listening in. Then her eyes snap open.

“You love her.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You love her. And it’s killing her.”

I laugh, bitter. “That’s dramatic. Even for you.”

“She’s made of power, Jackson. Raw, ancient, hungry power. Power that doesn’t know how to hold back. If you stay close, if you keep being what you are— her key —you will become the blade they use to shatter her.”

I don’t breathe.

Can’t.

Tali squeezes my hand gently.

“She’s already dying inside trying to protect you. And she will burn the world to keep you safe.”

I stare at the floor.

“And if I walk away?” I whisper.

“She breaks differently. But she survives.” She pulls her hands away from mine and leans back. I know that is all she’ll say. All she needs to say.

I nod slowly before I stand.

She doesn’t stop me.

But she says, “Some fates don’t ask for permission. They only ask how far you’re willing to go before you surrender.”

I don’t know how long I sit in my car afterward, staring at the dashboard like it might blink first. Her voice echoes in my head like static.

You love her.

You’ll destroy her.

And I don’t know which one of those is worse.