26. Holden
26
HOLDEN
W e pulled up outside Moon’s place just after midnight. The streets were quiet, the faint hum of a distant car engine the only sound cutting through the stillness. Hendrix killed the engine, and we climbed out of the car, keeping our voices low. The tension from the gallery still hung in the air, heavy and oppressive, but I could feel it shifting now. The four of us together—it felt like we were gearing up for a battle none of us knew how to fight yet.
I was glad Moon had wanted to run by her apartment for an overnight bag. The thought of her heading back here alone after everything that had happened left a knot in my chest I didn’t want to deal with. She’d become a comforting presence in our house, like she belonged there, seamlessly slipping into the spaces between us and pulling us closer. I didn’t want to go without that—not tonight, not any night. Having her with us made the chaos feel manageable, like whatever storm was brewing around us, we’d be able to weather with her holding us all together.
Moon led the way, her keys clinking softly as she unlocked the front door. “Be quiet,” she whispered, glancing back at us. “I’m sure my roommates are asleep.”
We slipped inside, the dim glow of string lights in the living room casting faint shadows across the eclectic furniture. She led the way to her room at the end of the hall, the floor creaking faintly under our steps. She pushed the door open, flipping on a light switch that just lit a bedside lamp, casting a muted glow. The four of us shuffled in behind her, lingering near the doorway at first before spreading out—Hendrix leaning against the wall, Conrad stepping in front of her dresser, and me trailing just behind her. I wasn’t sure why we all went in with her. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was something deeper, unspoken. She was ours—our anchor, our spark, our Moon—and none of us wanted to leave her alone.
Her room was like a snapshot of her—a mix of creativity and comfort. The faint scent of lavender still lingered in the air, wrapping around us like a reminder of everything that made this space hers. For the moment, it felt like a safe haven, a little piece of her world that hadn’t been tainted by the shadows creeping into ours.
But then I saw it.
The mirror above her dresser was smeared with a symbol I recognized all too well: the crow perched on a key. It loomed large, jagged, and uneven, like it had been scrawled hastily—painted in a deep red that could have been blood.
“Jesus Christ,” Hendrix sputtered, stepping in behind me.
Moon’s breath hitched, and she took a shaky step forward. “What the fuck,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Her hands were trembling at her sides. “He was here. In my room. Touching my things.” Her voice cracked, rising with panic. “How the hell did he get in? My roommates were home— they’re still asleep down the hall. How did he even know where to go?”
Her words came out in a rush, frantic and raw, as her hands hovered over the edge of her dresser like she was afraid to touch anything else. I stepped closer, my chest tightening at the sight of her so shaken. She was always the strong one, the calm one, but now? She looked like the ground had been ripped out from under her.
“Moon,” I said softly, reaching for her arm. “We’ve got you.”
Her head snapped toward me, her wide eyes shining with fear. “This isn’t just about the paintings anymore. I can’t believe he was in here. In my home. In my room. It feels fucking filthy.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, taking a shaky step back like she couldn’t bear to be surrounded by her own things. “It’s like he’s tainted it. Like nothing here belongs to me anymore.” Her voice cracked, softer now, but the weight of her words hit like a blow. “I don’t even feel safe in my own room. What if he comes back? What if…what if he’s still watching?”
She pressed a hand to her chest, her breaths uneven. “What if it doesn’t stop here?” Her voice dropped as she looked between us. “Should we call the cops? I don’t know if this is something we can handle on our own anymore.”
Conrad stepped closer to the mirror, searching her space with his careful eye. Then he pointed. Pinned to the wall beside her mirror, next to a cluster of her theatre photos and belongings, was an envelope. It was thick, sealed with black wax, the imprint of the crow and key pressed into its surface.
My stomach twisted as she reached for it, sucking in a sharp breath. “Let us,” I said quickly, stepping forward.
She glanced at me, her expression torn between fear and defiance, but she nodded and let her hand drop. I pulled the envelope from the wall, feeling its weight as I turned it over in my hands.
“What’s in it?” Conrad asked, his voice low but tense.
I slid my thumb under the seal, breaking it with a soft crack. Inside was a folded piece of heavy paper, its thickness and fine grain a quiet display of wealth. The text was typed, the letters precise and unnervingly clean.
I unfolded it, my eyes scanning the words, each line tightening the knot in my chest. Then, I read it aloud to the group.
To the one who steals from the Keeper’s sight,
You’ve walked where shadows veil the light.
The Chthonian waits where the roots run deep,
Where secrets are buried and silence keeps.
Return what you’ve taken to its rightful place,
Or you’ll learn the cost of the Keeper’s grace.
The crescent watches; the path is clear,
But tread with care—or your end is near.
The words hit like a punch to the gut, each line sharp and deliberate, leaving no room for doubt. This wasn’t a prank—this was a promise.
Hendrix’s jaw clenched as he re-read the note, his stormy blue eyes darkening with anger. “They think they can scare us with cryptic poetry?” he challenged, his voice low and dangerous. He gripped the stationary in his hand, his knuckles white. “Fuck that. Whoever the ‘Keeper’ is, they don’t know who they’re dealing with. They want to play games? Fine. Let’s play. But no one threatens you, Moon. Not while I’m breathing.”
Moon stood frozen, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her gaze fixed on the mirror. “It’s about the canvas,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “They know I took it. They know we have it, and it’s valuable.”
“They know everything,” Conrad said darkly, stepping closer, his jaw clenched as his eyes swept over the room. “The mirror, the letter—it’s not random. They wanted you to feel this, Moon. They wanted us all to feel it.”
My grip tightened on the letter, the edges crumpling under my fingers as a cold rage burned in my chest. “It’s not just her,” I said, my voice low and hard. “This is for all of us. They’re telling us to stop, to back off. A threat toward Moon is a threat toward us all. And they think they can scare us into submission.”
Hendrix let out a bitter laugh, his eyes flashing with defiance. “Well it is fucking scary, but that won’t stop us,” he snapped. “They just gave us a reason to dig in.”
Moon took a shaky breath, her eyes finding mine, steady despite the tremor in her voice. “What do we do now?” she asked, her words laced with both fear and resolve.
I folded the letter slowly, slipping it back into the envelope. My gaze shifted to the mirror, the blood-red symbol staring back like a taunt. “We keep moving,” I said, my voice sharp and resolute. “We figure out what’s on that canvas, why it terrifies them so much. We don’t stop until we know exactly what they’re hiding.”
“And I don’t think we can call the cops,” Conrad said quietly. “People like this own the cops. We’re going to have to track him down ourselves. The Keeper. Lucien. And whoever the fuck else he works with.”
“And when we do?” Hendrix asked, his tone quiet but sharp, a quiet storm brewing in his eyes.
I turned to him, the weight of James’ loss, of everything they had taken from us, pressing heavy in my chest. “Then we burn it all down,” I said, the words cold and certain.
The room fell silent, but the walls knew better—this wasn’t the end. This was the inhale before the scream. Moon’s mirror reflected the blood-red symbol, its jagged edges glaring like a scar against the glass—a warning, a dare. It wasn’t just a challenge; it was a declaration of war. Whatever was coming, it would consume us, twist us, shape us into something unrecognizable. But there was no way out. No mercy. No turning back. Only the fire ahead—and the ashes we’d leave behind.