Chapter 23 New Beginnings #2
His arms tighten around me. “I love you, too. More than I thought I was capable of.”
We get up slowly, reluctantly, both of us wishing we could stay a bit longer. But as I get on my feet, something catches my eye—a marking carved into the boat’s hull, just visible from where I’m now standing.
My blood turns to ice.
The symbol is small, easy to miss unless you know what to look for. But I’ve seen it before, burned into my memory during years of observing my parents’ associates. A stylized serpent wrapped around a crown, carved with precision into the weathered wood.
“Max,” I breathe, pointing with a trembling finger. “Look.”
He follows my gaze, and I see the exact moment recognition dawns. His face goes pale, the post-intimacy glow evaporating like morning mist.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “That’s—”
“The mark of the inner circle.” I’m already reaching for my phone, fingers shaking as I take a photo of the carving. “The same symbol my parents and the Queens had tattooed over their hearts.”
The implications crash over me like cold water. This boat doesn’t just belong to Jonah—it belongs to someone connected to the network. Someone who’s been watching us, letting us use it, possibly tracking our movements.
We sail back to shore in grim silence, both of us scanning the horizon for threats we can’t identify. When we dock, Jonah is waiting for us, his weathered face creased with what looks like genuine concern.
“Everything all right?” he asks as we secure the boat. “You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Jonah,” I say carefully, “that symbol carved into the hull—how long has it been there?”
His expression shifts, becoming guarded. “What symbol?”
“The serpent and crown. Small carving, starboard side.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, studying our faces with new intensity. “That marking’s been there as long as I can remember,” he says finally. “Since before I started working here, and that’s been… oh, twenty-seven years now.”
Twenty-seven years. Before Luna and I were even born. Before our parents’ crimes were exposed. This symbol, this connection to the network, has been here all along, hiding in plain sight on a boat used by university staff.
“Who owned the boat before you?” Max asks, his voice carefully neutral.
“University property,” Jonah replies, but there’s something in his tone that suggests he knows more than he’s saying. “Always has been. Part of the maintenance fleet.”
I thank him and we walk away, but I can feel his eyes following us long after we’re out of sight. As soon as we’re alone, I pull out my phone and send the photo to Detective Harper with a brief message: Found this carved into a boat at Shark Bay. Looks familiar.
His response comes within minutes, and it makes my hands shake so violently I nearly drop the phone:
That’s the mark of The Architect. Get to your dorm room immediately. Trust no one. I’m sending backup.
The Architect. The mysterious figure my parents mentioned during their interrogations, the one they claimed was really pulling the strings. The person who’s somehow remained hidden while everyone else fell.
“Belle?” Max catches my arm as I start walking faster. “What did he say?”
I show him the message, watching his face transform from concern to something approaching terror. “We need to get back. Now.”
The walk across campus feels like navigating a minefield. Every student we pass could be a threat. Every staff member could be reporting our movements. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being observed from every shadow.
My dorm room door is standing slightly ajar when we reach it.
“I locked it,” I whisper, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I always lock it.”
Max pushes me behind him, his body tense with protective instinct. “Stay back.”
He nudges the door open with his foot, revealing my room in pristine condition. Nothing appears to be disturbed, nothing stolen or vandalized. But on my desk, arranged with deliberate precision, sits a single black envelope.
My name is written across it in elegant script.
“Don’t touch it,” Max warns, but I’m already moving forward. Whatever message awaits inside, whatever threat or revelation, I need to know.
The paper inside is expensive, heavy stock that whispers of old money and older power. The message is brief:
Congratulations on your parents’ conviction. Your performance was exemplary. But the real game is just beginning. You’ve been an unwitting player for far too long. Soon, you’ll have an opportunity to meet the architect of your destiny.
It’s unsigned, but at the bottom of the page is a small sketch of the same symbol we found carved into the boat.
My legs give out, and I sink into my desk chair, the letter trembling in my hands.
All this time, while I thought I was fighting for justice, for freedom, I was still dancing to someone else’s tune.
The Architect—whoever they are—has been orchestrating events from the beginning.
My rebellion, my testimony, even my relationship with Max…
it’s all been part of some larger plan I can’t see.
“Belle?” Max’s voice seems to come from very far away. “What does it say?”
I hand him the letter, watching his face drain of color as he reads. When he looks up, his eyes are blazing with protective fury.
My phone buzzes with a text from Detective Harper: On our way. Secure location and wait for backup.
But as I stare at the letter in Max’s hands, at the threat against the first person I’ve ever truly loved, I know that we’re in way over our heads.