The memory surfaced like a whisper in the dark—the day Jack and I had found the dagger. The fire between us. The reckless passion.
The doctor handed me a tissue, and I wiped my tears, though it felt pointless. I wasn’t crying from joy. I was distraught.
I thought of the future—the kind of future I never chose. I didn’t want this baby. The very idea of motherhood sickened me. Again? In this century? I had already been a mother once, long ago, in the 1700s. That life had ended in pain and blood. Why should I repeat it?
I had one purpose when I came here—to find the Sun and Moon Daggers, drown this world in darkness, and force Balthazar to kneel before me.
Instead, I was stuck—trapped in a loveless marriage with Jack, bearing his child like a curse. Every breath felt like poison. His touch, his voice, and even how he looked at me made my skin crawl.
And then there was Zara. Balthazar’s former lover. Her cruel laughter echoed in my mind like a haunting lullaby.
I wasn’t just angry. I was consumed.
I stormed out of the room, jaw clenched, fury pounding in my temples. Door after door, I yanked open, desperate to escape, breathe, destroy something—anything.
My mind spun in fog, and I lost track of the hallways. Then, I turned a corner and stopped cold.
What I saw nearly dropped me to my knees.
Balthazar.
Cradling a baby.
His eyes were red, wet with tears. He stood over a hospital bed, and in it—her. A woman. Pale. Fragile. Beautiful. Too beautiful.
Something inside me snapped.
This was betrayal—a dagger to the gut.
She had stolen him from me.
I would kill her. I would rip her from this world and leave him to suffer. Let Balthazar raise a child alone while I hunted the Moon Dagger and burned every piece of this life to ash.
“Can I help you?” A nurse stepped into view, blocking my line of sight.
“I… I… Exit,” I stammered, trying to peer past her.
The nurse gently placed her hands on my shoulders and turned me around. “That way. Straight ahead, then right at the end of the hall.”
I walked numbly, but inside I was burning. Had Balthazar seen me? Would he come after me next? Would he kill me like he had so many before?
The nurse disappeared down the corridor, and I hesitated.
Then, like a shadow slipping backward, I retraced my steps.
I had to act. That woman in the room was the reason everything had fallen apart. I would erase her before anyone even knew I was there.
When Balthazar stepped away from the room, I darted into the nearest bathroom, kept the lights off, and opened the door just a bit. His footsteps echoed closer. He paused, looked right at me. Shit.
I slammed the door shut and held my breath.
Seconds passed. A full minute. Silence.
When I opened the door again, the hallway was empty.
Grabbing a nearby medical cart, I pushed it methodically down the corridor, pretending I belonged there—just another nurse on rounds.
The scent of antiseptic clung to the air as I neared her room. Inside, the low hum of conversation. A doctor and two nurses stood by the bed, speaking in hushed tones as they checked vitals, scribbled notes, and adjusted machines. The woman—pale, weak, helpless—lay still among the wires and tubes.
