I force myself to listen.
“You owe me,” a woman says.
“Owe you?” Kosac drawls.
“Yes, we had a deal.”
“I recall that your side of the bargain only happens if you manage to get—” Kosac cuts off abruptly as if he was about to say something he shouldn’t.
A groan from the female ghost rumbles through the silence, prickling my skin with goose bumps.
“I told youeverything,” she complains. “The longer we argue, the more likely she is to escape.”
Leigh goes rigid.
“Not without the boy. No one saw her leave the grounds.”
A wooden laugh comes from the female ghost. “You didn’t see her leave the party? I bet they’re already at the river. She’s figured it out, I’m telling you.”
“Then I suppose we need to go see.”
A weight has been liftedfrom my shoulders. I should have told Desiree the truth a long time ago. She responded better than I expected. But her reassurance, along with my peers’, means nothing unless I can bring Fynn home from Mictlan safely.
Myson. The word still feels foreign, terrifying.
Here’s what I need to do: convince at least three Blades to disobey Soter and Wendy’s orders. Isolde is already wavering. I heard her when Janus wanted to keep Fynn’s kidnapping a secret; she’s not happy with lying, just as I am sure she’s opposed to leaving Wilder and Leigh in Mictlan. Ry will follow if I can make him see reason. Maybe Pallas, too, since he’s always questioning authority.
We’ll tell the other Blades and our commanders we’re conducting a standard perimeter sweep, then slip through the rift as a group. It’s risky since none of us are Lunar Witches; we have no idea what we’re walking into, and we could all die in that realm. But we are out of time and left with a single option.
I’m still figuring out how to be a father, but I know it starts with trying to rescue him.
I’ve been acting hostile and insecure all night. I imagined false scenarios where my friends told me adopting Fynn was a mistake. In the end, my only mistake was not trustingmy choices. I’ve grown up since leaving Borealis. I now have responsibilities, and my family is one of them.
Two years ago, when Anselm consulted on a case for Wendy and me, I fell for him. He’s a former orderly who is now a counselor at Psyche Psychiatric, and we needed him to assess a suspect’s mental state. Throughout our meetings, he maintained perfect professionalism despite my subtle attempts to get his attention—bringing him coffee every morning, lingering after briefings, and finding excuses to ask his opinion on matters far outside his expertise.
I memorized his order—a caramel latte with light ice. Sweet, just like him. For weeks, I watched him sip that coffee while discussing patient psychology, his gentle voice explaining complex diagnoses with a patience I’ve never seen in anyone. He treated even the most difficult cases with compassion, never judging, always trying to understand.
He’s nothing like Desiree. Where she’s fire, passion, and chaos, Anselm is steady warmth and quiet strength. When I first moved to Glaucus, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t shake that final fight at Chiara’s house. It ate at me, knowing she didn’t want to be with me romantically anymore.
The hardest conversation of my life was telling Anselm about that pain. It was a blow to my ego—having to admit I was hurting over my ex while still falling for him. Most people would have walked away, but he listened. Really listened. Then he said something I’ll never forget:Your feelings are valid, and maybe it is time to love someone who will love you back.
That someone was him.
We moved in together a year ago, and I’ve never been happier. Things moved quickly when Anselm shared his dream of becoming a father. After practically raising my two younger brothers since my parents’ divorce, I thought I was done with kids. I spent my teenage years fighting to keep my loved onessafe, helping with homework I hardly understood myself, and acting as the parent while our real parents were doing everything they could to put food on our table.
Maybe all those years of stumbling through life and raising my brothers weren’t just to help my mom and dad. It was practice.
When we met Fynn during a supervised visit six months ago, I knew we were meant to be a family. He was a tiny four-year-old who barely spoke, but the way his turquoise eyes lit up when Anselm read to him, I was a goner. We signed the final paperwork earlier this week and were told that once everything cleared, we could bring him home this Sunday. It gave me the perfect opportunity to break the news to my friends while they were all in town for the wedding.
That’s why tonight matters so much. I’m not just trying to save some random child—I’m trying to save my son. The child Anselm and I chose, who chose us back in his own quiet way.
I see the lake coming into view, Soter pacing its edge while Wendy talks on the phone. They are the last people I want to deal with, but I have no choice.
“Jaxson?”
I pause, spotting Isolde sitting at the base of a tree, almost obscured by darkness.
“Hey,” I say, approaching. “Taking a break?”
