Page 12 of Forbidden Fate

By Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Not the original, of course. I saw that at the Tate Britain years ago during my travels in Europe.

Persephone. The girl taken to the Underworld. The woman who becomes its queen.

Why is this the only thing in the house?

I step closer. It’s a beautiful recreation of the original. Nearly perfect. Except…

I home in on the pomegranate in her hand.

The bite.

It’s actually an indentation.

I know you should never touch the surface of a painting, but my curiosity bests me. It’s a print, anyway. I reach out slowly and brush my fingers into the hollow.

It’s real. A groove, and inside, a handle.

My breath catches. “No way…” I grip it and pull.

The painting shifts and swings open.

It’s a door. A fucking door!

My heart is pounding now, adrenaline flooding my system as I step through the opening.

The room beyond is small and windowless. A desk sits against one wall with a computer on top of it. A filing cabinet stands against another wall.

I move straight to the cabinet, yank it open, and flip through the files.

Names.

Documents.

Records.

Too many to process at once.

I slow down.

Focus.

And then I see it.

“Bellamy, Austin.”

My breath catches.

My father.

Oh. My. God.

This is it. This is the connection.

I reach in and grab the file, close my fingers around the tab⁠—

A prick. Then a sting at my neck. Near my ear.

“What—”