“Would you like some water?” he offered, lifting the urn with a single arm, his biceps flexing under the strain.
“Yes, please. That would be lovely,” I replied, my mouth dry, the heat heavy in my throat. I had grown too soft from years of coastal fog and mild breezes—this place felt like a furnace.
When he returned, I took a sip and began spinning my web.
I told him of Peru—of how I’d ventured through forgotten ruins, deciphered ancient symbols, and unearthed the dagger buried beneath centuries of silence. I layered in bravery, peril, and the noble cause Jack and I had supposedly undertaken together… even while I was pregnant.
It was all a beautifully constructed lie, every beat calculated, every word dripping with the conviction of someone who believed it herself.
John James hung on every syllable, his gaze locked on mine, enthralled as if I were some long-lost heroine from a myth retold around campfires.
“Honestly, Alina,” he said, his voice low with reverence, “your fortitude isadmirable.”
I basked in the glow of his admiration. It had been almosttooeasy—this game of deception. But I had been born to tell stories. I had learned to lie long before I ever learned to love.
A sly smirk curved my lips as I leaned in, letting my voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I’ve brought the Sun Dagger with me,” I said. “Would you like to see it?”
His breath hitched. His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow gulps, and his eyes gleamed—not with awe but hunger.
“Show me,” he rasped.
His voice pulsed with need, and the air around us was filled with it. It was more than curiosity—it was obsession.
I lifted the satchel from my shoulder and unzipped it, the sound slicing through the thick air. From within, I withdrew the dagger, long and slender, its bone handle etched with intricate symbols that pulsed with ancient meaning. Even as I passed it into John James’ hands, I still felt its weight in mine, like the echo of a burden that refused to leave me.
His eyes widened as he studied it, his breath catching in reverence. The blade gleamed under the patchy sunlight, casting fragmented reflections across his face.
“This,” I said quietly, “and my journal… they’re what Balthazar will use to track me. They tie me to him. That’s why I have to give them up, for now. I need you to keep them safe.”
I met his gaze, silently pleading. My lips didn’t move, but the desperation in my eyes said everything I couldn’t bear to speak aloud.
John James’ pupils dilated. He shook his head, slowly at first, then with mounting panic.
“I can’t,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t risk it. If those items fall into my possession, Balthazar will never stop hunting me. He’ll rip me apart.”
A shiver ran through him, as if the very mention of Balthazar chilled his bones. He staggered to his feet, stumbling backward, nearly tripping over a tree root. Wringing his hands, he looked like a man already haunted by consequences.
“Here’s my advice,” he said, eyes blazing. “Separate them. Keep them far apart. Don’t tempt fate.”
He slammed a fist into his palm with finality.
“You need to entrust them to someone strong—someone capable of defending themselves if Balthazar comes for them.”
His urgency sent a jolt through me. I flinched.
“Do you have someone in mind?” I asked, my voice thin, laced with dread.
“Yes.” His voice snapped like a whip through the trees.
He looked pale now, drawn and hollow, but his eyes burned with fierce certainty. Reaching out, he grabbed my wrist with trembling fingers.
“Take the Sun Dagger to Giovanni Zampa,” he said. “He’ll protect it. He’s the only one who can.”
“Signor Zampa?” I echoed, breath catching. “Yes… I know him.”
The words came out in a rush. Of course. It made sense. Giovanni had power. Reach. Ruthlessness.
