Chapter Thirty-Two - Jaxson
I can’t believe my eyes. It’s Fynn.
Isolde hovers ahead, frozen. I slide past her and stop suddenly.
There, huddled among tangled ivy and thorny bushes, is a small boy.
I almost pinch myself, fearing it’s a dream.
But it’s him—Fynn—unruly hair, freckled nose, olive skin smeared with blood and dirt.
His arms are wrapped tightly around his knees, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
He recoils, not seeming to recognize me.
For a few seconds, I’m cemented in place—overwhelmed by too many frantic thoughts at once.
Go to him.
Get a healer.
Find Anselm.
Isolde slowly—careful so not to startle him—kneels in front of him. “It’s okay. My name is Isolde. This is Jaxson. We’re Blades—you’re safe now.”
It takes every ounce of strength not to pull Isolde back, to take over, tell her I’m Fynn’s father. He’s terrified enough already. The best thing for him is Isolde’s soothing touch. She’s in pain. They can comfort each other, and I can update Soter so that he knows Fynn is safe now. He’s with me.
“Can you tell me if you’re hurt?” Isolde asks in a soft voice, kinder than I’ve ever heard.
Fynn stays silent. Isolde and I exchange an uneasy glance.
I fumble for my phone, hands shaking, and send a quick message to Soter. He can hear a shout from here, but I don’t dare startle Fynn more.
Jaxson
Dropping my location, come quick. We found the missing boy. Bring Chiara Dunn.
When I look up again, Isolde has coaxed Fynn into her arms. He clings to her; tiny fists balled in her shirt. Tears sting my eyes when his eyes meet mine, and they flare with recognition. I give him a reassuring smile that says I’m here.
Fucking hell, I thought I’d lost him forever.
But how is Fynn here? We assumed the Dullahan dragged him to Mictlan. Unease trickles down my spine. I scan the shifting darkness among the trees, suddenly hyperaware.
Something left him here. Something—or someone—could still be nearby.
“We shouldn’t stay out here,” I tell Isolde, my voice low. “We need to get him someplace warm.”
“This is a crime scene, Jaxson. We wait for Soter. Until then, no one moves,” she says, steady as ever. “We need a healer. Call—”
“Already done.”
She nods, adjusting her hold around Fynn.
“I can hold him,” I offer.
Fynn only buries himself deeper into Isolde’s arms.
“I’m good, thanks,” Isolde says, with a little smile. “I didn’t know kids were your thing.”
I laugh. “That kid is.”
Before Sol can question me, Soter, Ry, and Wilder’s mom arrive. Chiara beelines to Fynn, evaluating him where he sits rather than prying him from Isolde’s grasp. Soter and Ry head my way, but my gaze keeps drifting back to Fynn.
Chiara’s voice is calm, soothing, and directed mainly at Isolde since Fynn won’t speak. After a few questions, she pulls a kit from her bag.
“I need an update,” Soter says, handing a pocket-sized digital notepad to Ry. “Take notes.”
Ry raises an eyebrow. He looks more at home with a rifle than a pen.
“I was heading back toward the beach when I found Isolde,” I start. Soter nods, but his focus is pinned to Isolde as if she’ll disappear.
“What was Officer Faez doing?” Soter asks crisply.
I don’t mention the tears I’d seen. “She was on patrol, I assume.”
“Are you assuming, or do you know?” Soter’s gaze flicks to me, sharp.
“She looked upset. I stopped to see what was wrong, and then we heard it.”
“Heard what exactly?” Soter prompts.
“Crying,” I say.
He nods to Ry. “Did you get all that?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Ry, we need to update the president,” Soter adds. “Inform her that the missing boy has been found. We also need her final decision on the gateway. Ravi texted. He can close the rift, but I need confirmation from the Council—do we seal it permanently? Tell her Wendy and I await her final orders.”
Ry gives a brisk nod, but I catch the flash of hurt in his eyes. His friend is trapped in a realm of despair, and all he thinks he can do is relay messages. “Of course.”
Chiara approaches, her face serious despite the slight tremor in her hands. I move closer to her, lowering my voice.
“I’m working on a plan to get them out,” I tell her quietly. “I can convince some of the other Blades to—”
She shakes her head to cut me off. “Jaxson, he’s the most capable Blade any of us know. If anyone can navigate that realm and bring Leigh home safely, it’s Wilder.” Her voice wavers slightly, but her conviction remains strong. “He’ll find a way out in time.”
I search her face, seeing the effort it takes her to maintain that faith. “What if—”
“He will,” she says firmly, then places a hand on my arm. “I need you to have faith, too. The same faith I’m holding onto right now. Can you do that for me?”
The strength in her voice, even though her hands shake, makes something settle in my chest. If Chiara can believe in Wilder’s ability to return to us safely, so should I.
But watching her fight to stay strong only makes me more determined to have a backup plan ready.
“Commander Telfour, may I have a word about our patient?” Chiara asks.
Fynn still clutches Isolde like she’s his lifeline, so tight his knuckles are white. He trembles in Isolde’s hold. Soter straightens.
“Yeah, just give me a sec.” Soter aims toward Isolde and Fynn, removing his jacket.
“You can give me the update; I’ll tell Soter,” I offer.
“Physically, the patient is fine,” Chiara says, her tone clinical but gentle. She looks both ready for battle and as though she were just pulled from bed—rain boots, leggings, a plaid coat—sleep traded for adrenaline. “The blood isn’t his.”
I close my eyes, relief flooding me.
“Why won’t he talk?” He’s a quiet kid, but not this silent.
“Mute shock. Totally normal at this stage. He doesn’t know us, not yet.”
As she looks back at Fynn, I notice how intently he watches Isolde, never blinking as she stares at Soter.
I smile, feeling happy he is safe and that he trusts Isolde enough to let her comfort him after everything he has been through.
I used to give Isolde a hard time because of what she did to Wilder, but she has proven again and again that she is a good person whose past does not define her.
Maybe I’ve been too hard on Soter tonight.
He’s handling the situation with remarkable professionalism.
“He’s formed an attachment to Isolde,” Chiara whispers.
I clear my throat, knowing I need to contact Anselm. “So, what’s next?”
“You can call Child Protective Services. I’ll have Isolde bring him inside and wait until someone from the orphanage can pick him up.”
The urge to argue rises. I want to be Fynn’s protector, his calm in the storm, his family.
But I recall Isolde’s tears, the way he holds her, and let it go.
They need each other tonight. Separating them would just deepen the wounds.
He’s safe. That has to be enough for now.
I can take care of him for the rest of his life.
“I’ll make the call,” I say.
Chiara’s smile is tired but kind, so like Desi’s that it knocks the wind from me. “Let them know he’s safe. If they want to speak to me, give them my number. I’ll check on him within the hour.”
“Thank you, Chiara.”
She squeezes my arm before returning to the others. Isolde wraps Soter’s jacket around Fynn, cocooning him. Soter hesitates, sharing a silent glance with Isolde before moving away, shoulders stiff. She gazes after him for a moment, then takes a deep breath and turns away.
I can’t spare energy for whatever’s going on between them. I text Anselm that Fynn is safe, then dial the orphanage, my hands still shaking as the adrenaline fades. Tonight could have ended a hundred ways. But I’ll make sure Fynn’s story gets a gentler second chapter.
“Hello, this is Domna Foster-Reid, Fynn Cygnus’s adoptive father,” I say to the woman on the line from Child Services at Lethe Orphanage, loud enough to capture everyone’s wide-eyed attention. “I’ve found him. He’s safe.”