“This one.” He picked it up; fingers gripped the leather strap as though it had been designed for him. “What’s it for?”
“That’s not for killing.” Archie adjusted the strap. “It’s for getting out alive.”
Malachi nodded and set it back, with care.
Archie stepped forward and closed the locker. Themetal thudded shut. “I showed mercy last time. It only made things worse.” He met Ina’s eyes. “We need to kill them.”
She didn’t hesitate, just nodded, as though she had been waiting for Archie to reach the same conclusion she already knew.
“Why can’t we just ask for help?” Malachi rubbed his temple, eyes closing briefly. Fatigue set in heavy and fast. “If Tilly knows… maybe others…” He exhaled through his nose, already understanding the secrecy of the Otherworld. “What do you need me to do?”
“Drive.” Archie hated the answer for several reasons. He didn’t want Malachi to be involved at all, but they needed him.
“Drive?” Malachi raised his eyebrows.
“We need you to drive us to the Selkie nest.” He held Malachi’s gaze. “Ina and I go in. You stay in the car with the engine running. If anything goes wrong, you are our getaway.”
He wanted Malachi upstairs, asleep and safe. He wanted to lock the Hideaway behind him and shoulder this alone. But he needed Ina on the ground, and he needed someone watching the exit. Right now, that someone was Malachi.
“Lord help us with him at the wheel.” Ina cleared her throat, but the laugh had already escaped.
Malachi shot her a look, but Archie’s hand landed on his shoulder.
“If we survive the drive,” Archie forced a crooked smile, “we end this tomorrow night.”
Ina inhaled sharply, ready to argue.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Archie got in first, eyesflicking to Malachi. “We’re exhausted. We need to sleep and then get prepared. Tomorrow.”
Ina threw her hands up, but didn’t argue.
“Are you okay with that, son?” Archie wasn’t. Not even close.
There was a traitorous flicker of pride at the idea of standing shoulder to shoulder with his son instead of shielding him from shadows. It made his stomach drop just as fast. Pride and terror twisting together until he couldn’t tell which was stronger.
“I’m fine.” Malachi stood tall, arms crossing. “Tomorrow.”
Archie slipped an arm around Malachi’s shoulder and steered him towards the stairs. “Tomorrow.”
He was wired to the bone; sleep wouldn’t come. But staying awake was a risk they couldn’t afford. They needed clear heads; their lives depended on it. As they climbed the stairs, the thought settled heavy in his chest: every step he took to shield Malachi somehow nudged him closer to danger. Protection wasn’t a straight line. It was bent and twisted. If Archie wasn’t careful, it led exactly where he was trying to keep his son from going.
Chapter 20
Malachi
“Sorry I’m late.” A sharp pain rippled across Malachi’s ribs as he caught his breath. Not as intense as last night—Ina’s painkillers were doing their job—but enough to remind him that he wasn’t fine, no matter how much he pretended otherwise.
He chained his bike up in the car park and hurried across the gravel to join Jeff and Ally on the wall. Jeff’s car was parked across two bays, careless and territorial, like he owned the place.
“It was difficult to get away.” This wasn’t a lie, but the half-truth sat sour in his stomach.
His body was heavy from lack of sleep and a head full of things he couldn’t unsee. He needed air and space from Riverside to process its secrets. The cycle around to Brown’s Bay had cleared some of the fog. He’d need to do a full lap of Latharna to clear it completely.
It was 8am. The old stone wall above the beach was already baking in the early morning sunshine. They’d been coming here since they were children. The midway point between their three houses—close enough to cycle to before they’dall passed their driving tests, but far enough away to give them privacy to plot their escape from Latharna. Plans that seemed childish, now he knew about the Otherworld. He was going to learn as much as he could about it, whether Dad wanted him to or not.
A shiver crawled up his spine. He pulled on the hoodie he’d lifted from the washing pile before he left the house—the fabric rough against his throat. It hid the cut on his neck. Ally would notice it and ask a million questions.
He sat between them, rubbing the dull pain in his ribs. A constant reminder that the Selkie were real. Always had been.
