A coy smirk lifted the edge of her lips. “I was going to keep it to myself in case you were pissed about the pregnancy. But since you’re thrilled…” She shrugged. “Alina’s seeing someone. Jack James. Rumor has it—they’re engaged.”
The words hit me like a blade to the ribs. Air left my lungs in a hollow gasp.
Alina. Engaged.To him.
Oh, I was going to kill her this time.
No more distractions. No more mercy.
It was time to destroy her, once and for all.
Chapter 31
Alina
It had been three years since I married Jack—a choice I never intended to make, yet somehow still did. Our lives were consumed by research, our days swallowed by the search for the ancient Sun and Moon Daggers.
Weeks blurred together in an endless loop of dusty pages and feverish note-taking. Jack was relentless in his pursuit, poring over books and manuscripts late into every night. His focus was admirable—admirable, and all-consuming.
Our sex life, however, was a barren stretch of mediocrity. Jack clung to the same dull rhythm, always confined to the monotony of a missionary. He never dared explore, never wondered what it might feel like to ignite something primal. When I tried to guide him into something new, I nearly fell asleep from the effort—disappointed, untouched, uninspired.
Still, I smothered him in praise. I whispered admiration like a spell in the bedroom, kitchen, and every corner of our too-quiet home. And it worked. His eyes lit up with every compliment, his smile softening my numbness.
But it wasn’t real.
The hobbled old man, whom I’d come to call the Scholar, warned me never to hurt Jack. So, I fed his ego to protect myself. I became fluent in false enthusiasm, a master of stagedaffection—anything to avoid provoking the wrath of whatever power lingered behind Jack’s connection to that man.
The truth? Everything about this marriage drained me.
Worse still, Jack remained a closed door. Withdrawn and secretive—unless buried in his research. I asked about his childhood, gently, then directly. But he never opened up.
He told me he was an orphan. Abandoned on the street with no one. That was it—a single hollow sentence. No stories. No scars. No history. Just silence.
Jack was a shadow. And I was married to a mystery I never truly understood.
I threw myself into the hunt for the daggers to keep from being frustrated. I buried my soul in dusty texts, vanished into libraries, and prowled obscure bookshops and whisper-filled cafés. I chased every rumor, clung to every scrap of lore. And every lead turned to dust in my hands.
I was tired, disheartened, and beginning to wonder if this quest had been nothing more than a mirage leading me deeper into ruin.
One damp afternoon in Vancouver, as the gray sky pressed low and the air smelled of salt and pavement, I trudged through the city streets, lost in thought. That was when I saw him.
Lee.
He looked suspicious and tightly wound, swaying slightly like he’d spent most of the day nursing something strong in a glass.
“Hello, Alina,” he said, his tone cool. “How’s the little dagger quest going?”
I unloaded my despair about the dead ends, the lies, the mounting hopelessness. To my surprise, he listened.
“There’s a shop,” he finally said. “Quill & Codex Antiquarium. They specialize in the kinds of things most people think are myths. A friend of mine runs it. He deals in rare, ancient texts and artifacts. If anyone knows something, he will.”
But just as he finished speaking, his gaze shifted past me. His pupils widened with something close to terror.
I turned on instinct, heart hammering.
Nothing.
Just an empty street. A rusted bike was chained to a post. A dog barking somewhere in the distance.
