Because Chloe Bishop doesn’t just want Gage Oliver. She’s going to have him. One way or another. In this timeline or the next.
Even if I have to destroy everything else to make it happen.
The thought should scare me. Instead, it feels like freedom. Like finally admitting what I’ve always known. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make him mine.
Nothing at all.
30
Skyla
After that little celestial spat with my mother at Devil’s Peak, Logan and I wandered all over this overgrown rock and ended up where most people end up—at the Paragon Cemetery, sitting on a bench overlooking the fog-riddled grounds where the markers glitter like broken glass, broken dreams, and broken promises.
The irony isn’t lost on me that after discovering my mother’s betrayal, we’ve literally ended up in a graveyard. If that’s not symbolism with a sledgehammer, I don’t know what is.
The Paragon Cemetery spreads out below us like a city of the dead, littered with weathered headstones and marble angels draped in mist that rolls in from the ocean.
Dr. Oliver runs this place with the same gentle care he brings to everything else, and I can see why people find comfort here. The scent of sea salt mingles with something earthier—wet grass, damp soil, and the kind of silence that only comes when you’re surrounded by people who’ve stopped talking forever.
Initially, we wanted to speak to Marshall after our delightful family reunion at Devil’s Peak, but apparently,Shellynever left his mansion. Something about her not feeling well and needing somewhere comfortable to recover. Which, knowing Michelle Miller, probably translates to ransacking Marshall’s liquor cabinet while rolling around on his silk sheets once again.
“So,” Logan says, his voice cutting through both the fog and my homicidal thoughts about my mother, “that whole anchor story was complete bullshit.”
“Total bullshit,” I agree, pulling his letterman jacket tighter. “My mother fed us a gourmet meal of lies with a side of celestial manipulation and called it destiny.”
“The question is why,” Logan continues, his breath visible in the cold. “What’s her actual endgame?”
I lean back against the bench, mentally cataloguing my mother’s greatest hits of deception. “With Candace? Could be anything. World domination, cosmic chess, or just seeing how many times she can screw with our lives before we snap.”
“It has to be bigger than that,” Logan growls. “She brought us back here for a reason we’re not seeing. This isn’t just about creating an anchor or preserving memories. She’s orchestrating something massive, and we’re the pawns who don’t even know what game we’re playing.” He leans back and folds his arms against his chest. “I get it, we can’t disrupt the big things in the future. But honestly, it feels like she’s gambling with our kids’ existence at this point. Everything has to be just the way it was for your children with Gage and our children to land on this planet. Not to mention a lot of other people’s children. And I guess it will be. They’ll be here. They’ll be safe. But for claiming to protect our family, it sure as hell feels as if she’s risking everything.”
“My mother never gambles unless she knows the house will win,” I say as the realization hits me cold. “Which means whatever she’s really after, she’s already calculated that we’ll give it to her.”
“Or she’s calculated that we won’t have a choice.”
The cemetery suddenly feels less like a metaphor and more like a preview.
“Maybe she’s not risking it. Maybe she’s protecting it.” I pause as a new thought occurs to me. “She mentioned this had to do with Demetri tampering with our family. What if something happens in our future that she’s trying to prevent?”
Logan turns to look at me. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Another war? Some kind of spectacular disaster—yet again? What if keeping us here somehow stops something terrible from happening later—like much more terrible than the terrible things that are already destined to happen? Like, maybe this isn’t just protecting our children, it’s actuallysavingour children’s lives. We would do anything for them, including walk through Hell twice.”
“That’s a given. We already have. Multiple times. I’ve got the frequent flyer miles to prove it.” Logan runs a hand through his hair. “But why not just tell us how long we need to be here? Why all the smoke and mirrors?”
“Because manipulation is her love language.” I watch the fog swirl between the headstones. “The really sick part? She’s probably up there right now, convinced she’s mother of the year for traumatizing us into compliance.”
“While we’re here playing guess-the-apocalypse.”
“Exactly.” I lean against him, exhausted. “I hate that she might be right. I hate that whatever she’s preventing might be worth this.”
“Speaking of children,” a familiar voice drawls from somewhere behind us, “shouldn’t you two be getting home to tuck yours into bed?”
We turn to see Marshall emerging from the fog like the exact supernatural apparition he is, with his dark coat billowing in the night breeze. Even in a cemetery in the dead of night, the man manages to look like he stepped out of, well,Heaven.
“Dudley,” Logan says, not bothering to hide his relief. “We came by earlier and ran into Michelle.”
“Yes, I heard,” Marshall replies, standing on the grass near ourbench with casual elegance. “Unfortunately, Ms. Miller and her companions decided my home needed some urgent feminine attention. I thought it best to give them space to redecorate.”
