Page 29

29

JACKSON

S tone Haven burns behind us.

The smoke hangs low as we move through the ruins, our boots crunching over glass and scorched runes. What wasn’t destroyed by fire was ripped apart by magic meant to kill loudly. This wasn’t a surgical hit—it was fury. Chaos. A message written in blood.

I glance over at Seraphine.

She’s got ash on her cheek, blood dried at her temple, and her braid’s half-undone, wild from the fight. But she moves like something dangerous is coiled inside her ribcage, just waiting for another excuse to be let out.

Her fingers are still twitching from magic she hasn’t released yet.

I’ve never wanted someone this much in the middle of a fucking crime scene.

“Retaliation?” I ask, nodding toward the bodies being loaded onto stretchers. “Or distraction?”

She watches a medic draw a blanket over a kid who can’t be more than ten before answering.

When she finally speaks, her voice is low. Distant. “Could be both. Gideon’s Torch doesn’t play with clean lines. They lash out. They send messages. But this—this wasn’t just a hit. It was... something else.”

“Trying to draw you out?”

“Or trying to draw something out. Maybe me. Maybe the bond. Maybe fear.”

I run a hand through my hair, the exhaustion starting to crash into me like waves. “So what now? We wait until they torch another sanctuary?”

“No,” she says. “We stop waiting.”

We’re back at her place before the adrenaline wears off. She kicks her boots off by the door and strips off her coat without a word, leaving it in a heap on the floor. Her hands shake when she reaches for the sink, filling a glass halfway and downing it like whiskey.

I set my gun on the counter and lean against the doorway.

“You okay?”

“No.”

Fair.

She sets the glass down, eyes locked on it like it might crack open with answers.

“I need to tell you something,” she says.

I straighten.

Her voice is too careful. Too quiet.

I nod. “Okay.”

She turns to me slowly. And I see it then—what’s been behind her armor since the day I met her.

Shame.

She sits down on the edge of the couch, hands clenched in her lap.

“I already told you parts of it,” she begins. “My mother was a primordial witch. One of the last. My father was elven royalty from a line that no longer exists. He gave up his title, his power, to protect her. To protect me.”

I sit across from her, waiting.

“When the Veil fell, the world lost its mind. Supernaturals came out of hiding. Power surged. The Council was formed, and PEACE followed. But my family? We were a threat no one wanted to name.”

She looks up at me.

“There’s something else. Something I haven’t said.”

I nod once, letting her have the space to say it her way.

“My mother wasn’t just any primordial. She was part of a bloodline that was tied directly to Tharos. Bound by a ritual older than memory—she held part of its lock. So did my father. Together, they were anchors keeping that... thing contained.”

She laughs, hollow and dark. “And then they had me.”

“What does that make you?” I ask, softly.

She meets my eyes.

“It makes me the ultimate option.”

Silence stretches.

“I wasn’t supposed to survive. The magic in me is old. Wild. Even she couldn’t tame it fully. That’s why we were hiding. Why they burned our house down. They thought killing me would keep the seal intact.”

“And they failed,” I say.

She nods. “They killed her. My father died protecting the veil. And I... ran. Hid. Buried the truth so deep I forgot how much of it I was still carrying.” Her voice breaks. “I’ve done terrible things, Jackson. Before the bond. Before PEACE. I’ve killed. Lied. Let people believe I was something else because I couldn’t face what I really am. I told myself it was for my own safety, but I think it was more guilt than protection.”

She looks at me like she expects me to walk out. Like this is the part where I flinch. But I don’t.

I move to sit beside her. Slow. Deliberate. And take her hand in mine.

“You think I haven’t seen darkness?” I say. “Sera... the first time I killed someone, I was sixteen. He was trying to kill my little sister. I shot him in the neck. I didn’t think. I just did. And when the other actually did kill her… you should have seen what I was picturing to do to him when I found him.”

Her hand tightens around mine.

“We’re all monsters to someone,” I murmur. “But you... you chose to live. You chose to fight. You’re choosing me. That’s all I see.”

She doesn’t cry.

She never cries.

But she leans her head into my shoulder like it’s the only place she can still breathe.

And I whisper, “I’m not leaving. So stop trying to scare me away. We all have monsters and we can fight them together.”