Quaint. Not useless, just … odd little parlor tricks.
After spending the entire afternoon flipping through brittle pages and skimming endless lines of half-legible text, I’m fried.
Whatever part of me processes information is now a puddle of useless goo.
And still … nothing. Not a goddamn thing that tells me what my power actually is.
Everything we’ve found is rumor, not fact. And the only guidepost I have is my mom. Sure, it explains how she could talk to Gram, but I never once saw her burst into flames or sprout fucking horns.
I flip to the next page. More cryptic little antidotes about a Daughter who always found four-leaf clovers, or one who could transfer her menstrual cramps to a misogynistic politician. Which, honestly, is a public service.
“What, exactly, is the logic here?” I demand. “Lucifer and Lilith just throw their daughter to the humans, hope no one killsthe bloodline, and what … she protects the underborne in the process? As a queen? Like a leader?
“I mean, these powers are underwhelming, if I’m being honest. Where’s the Daughter who could’ve cured cancer? Or the one who could have warned people before an earthquake hit? Where’s the Daughter who could have ended hunger or stopped a war before it started?
“You’re telling me these women had magic, and all they did was summon rainbows, always find matching socks, and talk to dead ghosts named George? You call that a legacy? Because I don’t want to be part of something that sits back and lets the world go to shit.”
Ezra watches, allowing me a moment to spiral. It’s well deserved after all the crap I’ve been through. His shadows reach for me but pull back when my voice sharpens.
I groan, dragging both hands through my hair, then gesture wildly at the book again.
“How is this even remotely helpful? This is just underborne propaganda! I can’t tell what’s real, what’s fairytale, or what some miserable asshole scribbled down hoping someone else would figure it out!”
I shove the book away and slump back into my chair. “This is fucking stupid.”
Am I acting like a frustrated child? Yes. But everything about this isn’t fair.
I just … wish my mom were here.
I rub my temples. “Okay, so what do we actually know?”
Ezra sits back, folding his arms. “That you are a Daughter of the Morning Star. That, from what I’ve observed, your power most likely has to do with persuasion. That your power has yet to awaken. And that, historically, all Daughters gained their full magic through …”
There’s a delicious cruelty in the way his mouth curves.
“Intimacy.”
I groan. “Just say fucking, Ezra.”
“I prefer intimacy.” His grin widens. “It makes it sound romantic, don’t you think?”
I glare at the stunningly handsome man sitting across the table from me.
“Ezra, no offense, but I’m not sure you’re the authority on what’s romantic.”
I arch a brow.
“Me? I prefer blunt honesty. I claim my power when I fuck the ancient shadow monster currently pretending to do research, when really, he’s just been ogling me.”
Ezra leans in like he’s about to share a secret—or cause trouble. His gaze flicks to my lips, tempest-grey eyes hooded, as his shadows tighten around my waist, mirroring his thoughts.
For a second, it looks like he might say something truly monstrous. Something devastating. Something I’d never recover from.
But then, with agonizing control, he exhales, tilts his head, and whispers, “You’ll be remarkable, darling.”
I clench my fists, resisting the urge to yank him down and demand he prove just how remarkable he really thinks I am.
Instead, I exhale slowly, trying desperately not to launch myself over the table.
