Page 24 of Echoes From the Void (Shadow Locke Shifters #3)

Chapter 23

Leo

The shadows in the kitchen writhe with unnatural energy as I flip pancakes, trying to ignore how my sisters’ untrained power pulses against my own. Liliana perches on the counter, her fingers trailing darkness without realizing it. Mom’s warnings echo in my head: uncontrolled shadow essence attracts corruption.

“Your shadows are doing that thing again,” Luna remarks without looking up from her custody papers, which are now outlined in shadow essence. The darkness bleeds into the text like ink in water. “The protective swirling.”

I force my shadows to settle, but they refuse, responding to the mounting pressure of five awakening shadow gifts. The air feels thick, heavy with potential and warning. Through my pack bonds, I sense Matteo and Frankie stirring, responding to my unease.

“Anyone else dreaming about Dad?” Lucia’s voice breaks the tension. Her sketchbook bleeds shadows onto the floor, forming twisted patterns that make my stomach turn. The same patterns I’d seen in Valerie’s corrupted shifters. The same ones that had consumed our father.

Lena’s psychology textbook snaps shut, shadows curling from its pages. “You’re seeing him too?” Her clinical tone can’t hide the tremor in her voice. “I thought it was stress from finals.”

“It’s not stress.” Lyra’s sheet music floats, trailing familiar shadow patterns that twist my heart. Mom used to do that—make shadows dance to music. Said it helped control the wilder aspects of our family gift. But these shadows... they move wrong. Like corrupted notes in a familiar song.

I reach into shadow space—one of Mom’s first lessons—and pull out chocolate chips, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. “Fresh from the void. Anyone want some?”

The bag feels cold, colder than usual. The void pulls at my essence, hungry in a way it never was before. I yank my hand back quickly, but not before catching glimpses of writhing shapes in the darkness. Not before feeling that sickening familiar presence.

“Your control’s different,” Lena observes, ever the analyst even as her own shadows betray her anxiety. “More... anchored. Is it the pack bond?”

“Among other things.” I don’t mention how Matteo’s shadows dance with mine, how Frankie’s darkness feels like home, how Bishop’s ancient power steadies us all. How Dorian’s immortal essence shows us possibilities we never knew existed. “The pack helps stabilize shadow essence.”

Five knowing looks answer my half-truth. They’ve seen more than I’ve admitted. Felt more than I’ve explained.

Luna’s legal papers rustle with shadow energy. “You’re hiding something.” It’s not a question. “About Dad. About what’s really happening at Shadow Locke.”

The pancake in my pan burns, smoking slightly as my shadows react to the accusation. To the memory of Dad’s essence twisting, corrupting, becoming something else. To the echo of Mom’s voice: “Promise me, Leo. Promise you’ll be ready when they need you.”

“It’s not that simple,” I start, but Liliana’s small voice cuts through my excuses.

“His shadows were wrong.” Her fingers paint darkness on the counter, recreating patterns I’ve tried to forget. “When he came to find us. They didn’t feel like Dad anymore.”

“They weren’t his shadows anymore.” The admission tastes like ash in my mouth. Through our family bond—older and darker than even pack magic—I feel their collective fear. “Not really.”

Lucia’s charcoal moves across paper with urgent purpose, each stroke leaving actual shadow marks like Mom’s used to. But where Mom’s shadows danced with life, these trail corruption—showing the progression none of us wanted to acknowledge. “I keep drawing him like this. Every night it gets worse.”

Her sketch bleeds darkness: Dad’s figure twisted by void-shadows, essence corrupted by something that makes my stomach turn. It’s the same wrongness I’d felt at Shadow Locke, watching Valerie’s experiments twist shadow essence into weapons.

“It’s spreading, isn’t it?” Luna’s lawyer voice cracks slightly. Her custody papers now float in a corona of shadow energy—protective sigils appearing unconsciously in the margins. “The corruption. That’s why Mom trained you so hard. Why she?—”

A discordant note splits the air. Lyra’s sheet music explodes into a tornado of shadow-notes, each one burning with unnatural light. Her eyes roll back, showing only darkness, and the prophecy tears from her throat in our mother’s voice:

“Blood calls to blood through shadow’s veil,

Where light once walked, now darkness trails.

Five must stand where one light failed,

When father’s corruption tips the scales.”

“Lyra!” I reach for her with shadows and arms both, but Luna’s faster. Her legal prowess translates to sharp control as she catches our sister with bands of darkness.

“This is bad,” Lena whispers, her psychology training warring with sisterly panic. “Mom’s prophecies never came with physical manifestations like this.”

My shadows roil with protective fury, reaching for both pack and family bonds. Through them, I feel Matteo and Frankie’s immediate response, their essence reaching back to steady mine. Even Bishop and Dorian’s ancient power stirs, recognizing the threat.

“Nobody panic,” I manage, though my own shadows betray my fear, writhing against the walls. “This is?—”

“If you say ‘fine,’ I’m hitting you with my textbook,” Lena threatens, her shadows punctuating each word. “Mom’s prophecies were warnings, Leo. And this one came through Lyra with enough force to knock her out.”

Liliana’s small hand finds mine, her untrained shadows seeking protection. “Is this because of what happened with Dad? When he came to the house?”

The memory hits hard: Dad’s shadows moving wrong, reaching for my sisters with hungry darkness. The void energy pouring off him in waves that made Mom’s protective sigils crack. The look in his eyes—not corrupted yet, but close. So close.

“He wasn’t just looking for us,” I admit finally, the truth I’ve been hiding since that night clawing its way out. “He was testing us. Checking to see if we had Mom’s gift. If we could be...”

“Corrupted,” Luna finishes, her legal mind piecing it together. “Like he was. Like the experiments at Shadow Locke.”

“Corrupted,” I confirm, watching Lyra’s unconscious form for any sign of shadow-sickness. “Valerie’s experiments... they’re not new. Someone was practicing long before Shadow Locke. Someone who knew about our family’s connection to shadow essence.”

The kitchen dims as our collective shadows respond to the truth we’ve been avoiding. Through pack bonds, I feel Frankie’s immediate concern, her own experience with Valerie’s corruption resonating with our fear.

“Mom knew.” Luna’s shadows curl protectively around Lyra, legal documents forgotten. “That’s why she pushed you so hard after Dad left. Why she made you swear that oath.”

Lucia’s charcoal moves frantically now, each stroke bleeding shadow essence onto paper. The images make my heart stop: Dad in various stages of corruption, his shadows twisting into something ancient and wrong. But it’s the last sketch that turns my blood to ice—five female figures, their shadows reaching toward a corrupted core.

“It’s not just about Dad anymore,” Lena realizes, her psychology training giving way to raw understanding. “The corruption’s calling to us. To our essence.”

As if responding to her words, Lyra stirs. The shadow-notes around her pulse with strange rhythms—Dad’s last composition distorted into something that makes my teeth ache. Her eyes flutter open, solid black.

“He waits in the void,” she whispers in that distant voice that reminds me too much of Mom’s prophecies. “Where shadow bleeds into corruption. Where essence turns to hunger.” Her hand reaches out, trailing void-touched darkness. “He’s not alone anymore.”

Liliana’s grip on my hand tightens. “The others like him... they’re calling too, aren’t they? That’s what Valerie’s really doing at Shadow Locke.”

Through our family bond, I feel the truth settle like lead: Dad wasn’t the first. The corruption had been waiting, watching our bloodline. Waiting for the shadow gift to manifest in all five sisters.

“Mom’s last warning,” I say, remembering her final lesson. “About why some families have stronger connections to shadow essence. About why ours was different.”

Luna’s eyes narrow. “Different how?”

But Lyra answers, her voice still carrying echoes of prophecy: “Because Martinez shadows don’t just shape darkness. They shape the void itself.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Mom’s training sessions flash through my memory: learning to pull objects from shadow space, discovering how to shape darkness into solid forms, understanding why our family’s essence felt different from other shifters’.

“Shape the void.” My shadows coil with ancient recognition. Through pack bonds, I feel Frankie and Finn’s immediate attention—the twins understanding the implications before I can voice them. “That’s why Valerie came to Shadow Locke. She’s not just corrupting shadow essence. She’s trying to control the void itself.”

“Using Dad as a test subject,” Luna’s voice carries deadly calm, but her shadows writhe with rage. “Because our family can actually touch it. Actually change it.”

Lucia’s sketches blur together, showing a progression I hadn’t wanted to see: Dad’s corruption spreading like ink through water, changing not just his shadows but the void around him. “That’s why he came back, isn’t it? Not for us. For our essence.”

“He’s not the only one watching anymore.” Lyra’s voice still carries that prophetic edge, her shadow-notes forming patterns that remind me of Valerie’s experiments. “The void hungers for Martinez blood. For what we can do to it.”

My protective instincts surge, shadows expanding to cover my sisters. Through pack bonds, I feel Matteo and Bishop’s immediate response—their power reaching to reinforce mine. Even Dorian’s ancient essence stirs, recognizing a threat older than his curse.

“Leo.” Lena’s analytical tone barely masks her fear. “Mom’s training. It wasn’t just about control, was it? She was preparing you for this. For when they came for us.”

The truth settles like ice in my veins. “She knew. About Dad, about what was coming. She knew our shadow gifts would manifest together.” My voice catches. “She knew they’d try to use us to break the barriers between shadow and void.”

“Like they used Dad.” Liliana’s small voice carries generations of Martinez understanding. “But it didn’t work with just him, did it? They need all of us. A complete set.”

Lyra’s shadow-notes twist into a familiar pattern—Mom’s protection sigils, but different now. Evolved. “Five must stand,” she whispers, “where one light failed. But Mom didn’t fail, did she? She was buying time. Training you. Preparing us.”

“For what?” Luna demands, but her shadows already form defensive patterns Mom drilled into me years ago.

“To finish what she started.” The words come with absolute certainty. “To stop the corruption before it spreads through Shadow Locke. Before it reaches the void itself.” I meet each of their eyes. “To save Dad, or...”

“Or stop him,” Lucia finishes, her artist’s hands steady even as her shadows tremble. “That’s what Mom really meant about Martinez shadows protecting their own. Sometimes protection means...”

“Making the hard choice,” I finish, Mom’s final lesson crystallizing with brutal clarity.

Through our combined shadows, I feel the exact moment understanding hits them. Luna’s legal documents shred themselves in a burst of dark energy. Lucia’s sketchbook bleeds void-touched essence onto the floor. Lena’s psychology texts flip to chapters about sacrifice and necessary evils. Liliana’s small shadows pulse with inherited power.

And Lyra... Lyra’s shadow-song shifts into Mom’s last lullaby, but corrupted now. Changed. A warning wrapped in melody:

“When shadow bleeds to void-touched night,

Five must stand with ancient might.

Father’s blood will call its own,

Unless Martinez shadows stand alone.”

“The pack can help,” I say quickly, feeling their fear spiral through our family bond. “Frankie and Finn understand corruption better than anyone. Bishop’s Guardian knowledge?—”

“No.” Luna’s shadows snap with authority. “Mom trained you to protect us, but she also taught us about Martinez pride. This is family business.”

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Lena’s clinical tone returns, steadying us all. “When Dad visited. His shadows weren’t just corrupted. They were... hunting. Testing.”

Lucia holds up her sketchbook, showing a new image forming in real time: five female figures, their shadows reaching not toward corruption, but through it. Toward something deeper. Ancient. “He was checking if we could do this. If we could reach the void like he can now.”

My pancakes are long forgotten, burning to ash as my control slips. The kitchen fills with writhing shadows as five untrained gifts respond to mounting understanding. Through pack bonds, I feel their growing concern, their instinct to protect.

“Leo.” Liliana’s voice carries that same tone Mom used before her biggest revelations. “What aren’t you telling us? About what really happened to Dad?”

The shadows around us pulse with shared memory:

Dad’s last night home.

Mom’s frantic training sessions.

The moment Dad’s essence first touched the void.

“He didn’t just leave,” I admit, the truth I’ve carried alone finally surfacing. “Mom didn’t drive him away. She tried to save him. But the void... once it gets hold of Martinez essence...”

“It never lets go,” Lyra finishes, her shadow-notes forming the familiar pattern of Dad’s corruption. “Unless...”

“Unless what?” Luna demands, but her shadows already twist with understanding.

“Unless a stronger connection to the void overwrites the corruption.” The words taste like ash and prophecy. “Unless five pure Martinez shadow gifts combine to sever the connection. To...”

“To unmake what the void has claimed,” Lena whispers. “That’s what Mom was preparing us for. Not just to fight the corruption...”

“But to save Dad by destroying his connection to shadow essence entirely,” Lucia realizes, her artist’s hands trembling. “To burn out his gift before the void consumes him completely.”

The kitchen shadows turn viscous with our collective grief. Through pack bonds, I feel them responding to my pain—Matteo’s protective surge, Frankie’s understanding of the cost, Bishop’s grim recognition of necessary sacrifice.

“How long?” Luna asks, legal mind cutting to the heart of our crisis. “Before the corruption reaches the point Mom feared? Before Dad becomes something we can’t...”

She can’t finish, but Lyra’s shadow-song answers for her, twisting into a corrupted version of Dad’s last composition. The notes bleed darkness, forming images that make my stomach turn: Dad’s essence reaching through the void, calling to his children’s untainted power.

“Not long,” I admit, watching Lucia sketch the progression unconsciously. Each image shows the same pattern: corruption spreading, void energy growing, Dad’s humanity slipping away. “Valerie’s experiments are accelerating the process. The void’s getting stronger, hungrier.”

“That’s why our powers manifested now.” Lena’s psychology training gives way to shadow understanding. “The void’s call is getting stronger, pulling on our essence. On our blood.”

Liliana’s small hand finds mine again, her untrained shadows reaching for protection. “Mom knew this would happen. That’s why she made you swear that oath. Not just to protect us...”

“But to lead us,” Luna finishes, her legal documents swirling with shadows that remind me too much of Mom’s power. “To teach us what she taught you. To prepare us for what has to be done.”

Through our family bond—deeper than pack magic, older than blood—I feel their resolution building. Their grief. Their love.

“Los Martinez protect their own,” I quote Mom’s favorite saying, but now we all hear the darker meaning beneath it. Sometimes protection means sacrifice. Sometimes love means letting go.

“Even from themselves,” Lyra whispers, her prophecy finally fading as normal awareness returns to her eyes. “Even from the void itself.”

The shadows around us pulse with shared purpose, with inherited power, with the weight of what’s coming. Through pack bonds, I feel their unwavering support, their understanding of what family truly means.

“So,” Luna says, lawyer voice steady despite the shadows trembling around her, “what’s the plan, big brother?”

I look at my sisters—at our shadows dancing together like Mom taught me, at the strength she always said would come—and manage a small smile. Not bright, but real.

“First, we finish breakfast. Mom always said never face void corruption on an empty stomach.”

Lucia snorts, her sketches finally showing something other than corruption. “And then?”

“Then we do what Martinez shadows do best.” I meet each of their eyes, seeing Mom’s determination reflected back. “We protect our own. We stop this corruption from spreading. We finish what Mom started.”

“Together,” Liliana adds, her young voice carrying ancient certainty.

“Together,” we echo, our shadows merging into something powerful. Something ready.

Through our various bonds—pack and family and shadow itself—I feel their resolve. Their grief. Their love.

Sometimes family is accepting painful truths.

Sometimes it’s protecting what remains.

Sometimes it’s understanding that Mom’s greatest gift wasn’t her training—it was preparing us to face the hardest choice.

“Also,” I add, finally dealing with the burning pancakes, “we should probably warn Matteo that family dinners are about to get a lot more interesting.”

Five sets of shadows ripple with dark laughter, and for a moment—just a moment—I let myself believe we’re ready for what’s coming.

But through the pack bonds, I feel Frankie and Finn’s twin-sparked warning: the void isn’t just calling anymore.

It’s hunting.