"They will be." Confidence colored her voice, absolute and unshakable. "When the time is right." She reached for something off-screen, her movements precise. "I've taken enough of your morning. Rest. Practice with the dagger. The runes will continue to reveal themselves as your connection to that bloodline strengthens."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Too many revelations. Too many questions still remained unanswered.
Zandia studied me for a moment longer, something complicated moving behind her eyes. "You're not who I thought you were," she said finally. "You're more. Don't waste it. Losing you would be a travesty."
The call ended before I could respond, her image freezing then fading from the screen. I sat in the sudden silence, Zandia's words echoing in my mind. Not who she thought I was. More.
What was it with the cryptic, powerful entities in my life suddenly acting all sweet and protective of me this morning. Both of them had tried to kill me at one point or another, but now they were both on a Protect Parker kick. What a weird fucking day and it wasn't even 5:00 am yet.
The dagger lay heavy across my palms, runes gleaming in the weak morning light. I turned it carefully, studying the symbols that had begun to make sense. One in particular caught my eye… larger than the others, etched deeper into the metal. I'd looked at it twice already, seeing only shapes, not meaning.
This time, when my eyes focused on it, something clicked. The symbol resolved, meaning flowing into my mind like water finding its level. Not a single word, but a concept, complex and layered: convergence. Balance. The meeting point of opposing forces.
My breath caught. The dagger cooled beneath my fingers, responding to my understanding. Not all the runes were clear. Many remained frustratingly opaque, meanings hovering just beyond my grasp. But this one, this central, vital one, had opened to me.
I didn't know exactly what it meant yet. What the convergence would demand of me. What balance would cost.
But I would. The knowledge lived in my blood. In my bones. I just needed to remember it.
I set the dagger carefully beside the grimoire, hands steady despite the fear and wonder warring in my chest. Outside my window, the sky had lightened further, pale gray giving way to the first hints of gold. Morning was coming, whether I was ready for it or not.
I slipped from the bed, moving to the window with measured steps. The compound was beginning to stir from the soft sounds of the day beginning, carrying on the still air. Soon, my team would be looking for me. Questions would need answers. Plans would need making.
CHAPTER 25
THE ONE WHERE YOU NEARLY GOT YOURSELF POSSESSED BY TRYING TO PET THE SHADOW DOG?
The kitchen smelled delicious. Something thick and savory hung in the air, layered with herbs I couldn't name but recognized bone deep. My steps faltered at the threshold of our common area, the domesticity of the scene catching me off guard. Just my team, gathered around the long table Grayson and Kearan had somehow procured to make me feel more comfortable in this place, passing dishes and speaking in voices quiet enough that they almost sounded normal.
I lingered in the doorway, suddenly unwilling to break whatever spell had fallen over them. Trux's laugh… his actual laugh, not the sarcastic bark he usually offered, rolled across the room. Seph sat with her feet tucked beneath her, gesturing with a piece of bread as she talked. Even Kearan moved through the space with a fluidity I'd expected would take longer to return after the burden he'd taken from Trux last night. He transferred something from a pot to a serving dish.
This wasn't my team on a mission. This wasn't ST3 debriefing or strategizing or preparing for the next catastrophe. This was just... people. Having dinner. Together.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen that. Couldn't remember if I ever had.
"You going to stand there all night?" Rhiot called, spotting me lurking in the doorway. "Because Kearan made some kind of stew that smells incredible, and Trux will absolutely eat your portion if you don't claim it."
Heat crawled up my neck as everyone turned to look at me. I stepped into the room properly, suddenly conscious of how I'd been hovering like some kind of ghost at the edges of a party I wasn't sure I'd been invited to.
"Sorry," I muttered. "Got caught up in some research."
A blatant lie. I'd been staring at the dagger for hours, trying to decipher more of the runes, my brain humming with Zandia's revelations and Ro's warnings. But they didn't need to know that. Not tonight. Not when everything felt so preciously, impossibly normal.
Kearan appeared beside me, silent as always despite his size. He didn't speak, just pressed a full plate into my hands and nodded toward an empty chair before disappearing back to the kitchen. The plate held a bowl of rich stew, chunks of meat and vegetables swimming in a broth that steamed invitingly. Beside it sat a thick slice of bread, already buttered.
I stood frozen, staring down at the food. Such a simple thing. A plate, prepared specifically for me. Thought put into what I might want, what I might need. The weight of it pressed against my ribs, making it hard to breathe.
"He's been cooking for hours," Grayson said, materializing at my elbow. "Won't say why."
I glanced toward the kitchen, where Kearan moved with surprising grace between stove and counter, his back to the room. No tension in his shoulders. No wariness in his movements. Just concentration and purpose.
"Does he need a reason?" I asked.
Grayson's mouth curved. "For normal people, no. For Kearan?" he shrugged. "This is the most... settled I've seen him since we met. And that was a long time ago."
I carried my plate to the table, eyes tracking the unexpected tableau before me. Seph sat at the far end, her wild hair standing up in all directions that somehow emphasized rather than disguised the sharpness of her features. She talked with her hands, animated and alive, punctuating her sentences with taps of her fork against her plate.
And at the opposite end—not exactly close, but present—sat Ryker. In human form. He'd been shifting to raccoon the moment I entered a room for weeks now, refusing to engage, refusing to even look at me directly. Now he sat fully human, shoulders hunched slightly beneath a worn flannel shirt, gaze fixed firmly on his plate as he methodically worked through his stew.
