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Estella's composure falters for exactly a moment. "Perhaps we should discuss this privately⁠—"

"He stays." I gesture toward Darius, who positions himself near the door with alertness. "Whatever you're about to tell me, he needs to hear it too."

She leads us into her private study, a room whose floor-to-ceiling shelves groan beneath ancient texts and artifacts channeling an imprisoned, restless energy. Estella claims her seat behind the dark desk, her posture that of a queen bracing for battle.

"What is it you are looking to find out?"

"Tell me the truth about my mother's death, along with the Vessel's actual purpose. I also need to know why the coven wants me alive." I lean forward and let moonish energy crackle visibly beneath my skin. "And don't you dare give me another carefully sanitized version."

Estella's hands fold in her lap, yet I sense the slight tremor in her fingers. "Your mother... Amaris died in a tragic accident while trying to prevent the same ritual the coven is attempting now."

Everything shifts, making the room tilt on its axis. "What?"

"Twenty-nine years ago, a faction tried to use the blood moon to break the entity's prison. Amaris was the Vessel then—the strongest lunar witch in generations—but she was only twenty-two years old, and you were only a newborn. Your human father was killed in the initial crossfire when they came for her. She..." Estella's voice cracks slightly. "She embraced death to prevent them from completing the ritual."

A brilliant flash blurs my vision as rage builds behind my sternum. "You knew this entire time that I was walking the same path that killed her."

"I hoped it wouldn't come to that. I spent decades researching ways to break the bloodline connection, to free you from⁠—"

I slam my palm against the desk, searing a handprint of scorched wood. "I want the historical records. Bring me every journal and scrap of documentation regarding Vessels throughout our family history now."

Estella stares at the burned mark on her desk, then rises slowly. She moves to a wall panel I've never noticed before, pushing her palm against what looks like decorative carving. The wall slides away and uncovers a hidden vault, its shelves groaning under leather-bound journals and rolled parchments.

"These contain everything. The histories of past Vessels and their failed ritual attempts are documented here, alongside the generations of Crowe members who carried this burden."

I step toward the vault, starlight energy pulsing brighter with each heartbeat. Behind me, Darius shifts closer—close enough that his presence steadies the magic threatening to spiral out of control.

"And you thought keeping me ignorant would somehow change the outcome?"

Estella's aristocratic mask finally cracks. "I thought I could save you."

"Well, it didn't." Bitterness—flat and exhausted—colors the declaration. "And now I have maybe hours instead of decades to figure out how to fix this mess."

I stride toward the vault, sparks of energy snapping along my fingertips as I grab armfuls of journals and scrolls. "Darius, help me load these into the SUV. We're leaving."

He moves instantly, scooping up leather-bound volumes, his actions reflecting that familiar, quiet competence. Estella hovers near her desk like she wants to protest, but the scorched handprint I left behind apparently changed her mind about giving me orders.

"Serenity, you can't just⁠—"

"Watch me." I shove past her with another stack of documents. "You had twenty-nine years to prepare me for this. Now we do it my way."

I storm out to the driveway and dump the heavy load into the backseat, slamming the door before she can reply. Minutes later, the drive back to the safe house passes in tense silence. I balance journals across my lap and flip through pages by the SUV's dome light while Darius navigates the winding roads. The cramped handwriting of long-dead relatives blurs together until patterns start emerging from the chaos.

"Pull over," I say suddenly.

Darius glances at me but steers toward a gas station parking lot. "What is it?"

"Look at this." I angle the journal toward him and point at a passage written in faded ink. "In 1847, Vespera Crowe documents strange behavior from supernatural factions before her ritual attempt. She notes shifter packs attacking witch covens while vampires actively turn on their own allies."

His eyes skim the page, then sharpen as understanding hits him. "They were manipulated."

"Every single time." I flip to another journal, this one from the 1920s. "Here—Chara Crowe states unusual paranormal violence escalated for months before they tried to use her as a Vessel. And here..." I grab an additional text from a different decade. "The entity feeds on the Vessel's power, expanding its reach by absorbing emotional suffering and channeling intense magical chaos."

Darius leans closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he reads over the entries. "Especially between different paranormal races."

"The coven's been orchestrating conflicts for generations." Panic constricts my voice, shaken by a horrifying realization. "They deliberately engineered territorial disputes and poisoned alliances to turn species against each other."

I consider Darius's pack slaughtered in what he believed was a witch betrayal. This manipulation explains Lynn's defensive hostility toward newcomers trying to infiltrate her established inner circle, along with the paranormal council's corruption systematically eroding trust between supernatural communities.