I flip another page. And another. Same name. Different dates. Different decades. This isn’t just ownership history. This is lineage. Planning. Intent. There’s a map folded beneath the papers, and when I open it carefully, the layout of the town spreads out in faded ink.
But it’s not just a map. It’s marked. Boundaries. Lines. Nodes. And at the center?—
This building. My bookstore. I go very still. Because suddenly?—
Everything clicks into place in a way I wasn’t prepared for. This wasn’t just a shop someone sold. This wasn’t just a lucky real estate deal. This wasintentional placement.
A structure tied into something bigger. Something strategic. Something I was never told about. My fingers tighten around the paper.
“What the hell is this?” I whisper.
A knock sounds above me. Sharp. Immediate. I almost drop everything.
“Tessa?” Archer’s voice calls from upstairs.
Relief hits so fast it’s almost dizzying. But it doesn’t erase the unease sitting in my chest.
“I’m down here,” I call back.
A pause. Then footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. Fast. He appears in the basement doorway a second later, scanning the space instantly like he’s assessing threat levels before he even looks at me. Of course he does. That’s who he is now. And maybe who he’s always been.
“You shouldn’t be down here alone,” he says immediately.
“I wasn’t alone five seconds ago,” I reply, gesturing vaguely at him. “Congratulations on fast response time.”
His gaze drops. And stops. On the documents. Everything in him stills. That alone tells me I’m not overreacting.
“You found it,” he says quietly.
That again. Not surprise. Recognition.
I straighten slowly. “I’m starting to get really tired of people saying that like I was supposed to eventually.”
He steps fully into the basement now, closing the distance between us in a few measured strides.
“I didn’t want you involved in this part,” he says.
“‘This part’ being the part where my entire building has secret architectural significance in a supernatural territorial conflict?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I laugh once, sharp and disbelieving.
“You don’t decide what I’m involved in anymore, Archer.”
“I’m not deciding,” he says immediately. “I’m trying to protect you from information that puts you in more danger.”
I hold up the map.
“That ship sailed when I foundthis.”
Silence. Heavy. Tense. His eyes track the markings on the paper, his expression shifting subtly. Not shock. Concern. Calculation.
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he says.
“That seems to be a recurring theme,” I mutter.
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.
