Chapter Fifty-Six
I ROLLED TO a stop behind the old grain mill, the engine of my bike tickin’ as it cooled, the sound swallowed by the kind of silence that only lived this far out in the sticks.
The mill rose up outta the earth like a carcass left unburied too long, red brick split and crumblin’, rust bleedin’ down warped tin sheets, kudzu stranglin’ every inch. Windows gaped hollow, black holes starin’ back at me.
The moon hung low and mean behind a bank of clouds, spillin’ just enough light to keep a man guessin’ what might be waitin’ in the dark.
My fingers hovered near the pistol inside my cut, the weight of it solid. Every damn thing about this screamed trap. Hell, it should’ve been a trap.
But I came anyway.
From the far side of the mill, a shape peeled outta the shadows. Slow steps. Hands raised. Movin’ careful, like he knew one wrong twitch would drop him flat.
He stayed in the open. Shoulders squared. Head high.
Moonlight slid over him, catchin’ on silver hair that didn’t belong on a man his age. My hand tightened on the grip of my pistol.
Closer he came—calm, controlled, palms empty—but the tension rolled off him like barbed wire pulled too tight.
Then he stepped into the spill of moonlight.
And my gut near bottomed out.
He looked like me.
Not a little. Not a hint. Me. Same jaw cut sharp. Same ice-blue eyes. Same silver streaked through his hair like frost. Like starin’ into a warped mirror, showin’ me a man made by a different road.
But he wasn’t untouched. Scar cut through his eyebrow. Another dragged down his jaw into his collar. Knuckles busted, healed, busted again. Hands that’d known fire and fists both.
And the way he watched me—steady, unblinkin’—hell, that was my own stare comin’ back at me. Only his carried a shadow, like he’d spent too long hidin’ in corners.
I forgot to breathe till my lungs clawed for air.
“What the hell,” I muttered.
He stopped ten feet away. Didn’t push closer. Didn’t flinch.
“I know,” he said, voice low, practiced. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Seeing yourself standing across from you.”
My jaw locked. “Start talkin’.”
His mouth tilted—not a smile, not really. Just tired. “I’m Ash. Your cousin. My father was your mother’s brother.”
The words hit like a fist to the chest. My mind balked, stuttered, suspicion clawin’ cold down my spine.
“You’re full of shit.”
Ash didn’t flinch. He moved careful, slow, reachin’ inside his coat like he knew one quick twitch’d get him dropped. Pulled somethin’ small, worn soft with age, and held it out.
I took it, my fingers brushin’ his, long enough to feel the tremor he couldn’t hide.
The photograph was thin as old cloth, folds nearly torn through.
And the second I saw it, the air slammed outta me.
A chapel. Wooden slats weathered gray. Flame symbols carved into the doors. Scripture painted ‘cross the trim like a warning.
Two men stood in the center.
One was my daddy. Behind him, my momma—braid pulled tight, eyes soft and kind.
And beside them, a man who looked just like me and Ash—his daddy.
Ash’s voice cut steady. “That’s the compound. Children of the Flame.”
The words cracked through me like gunfire.
“No,” I rasped, shakin’ my head, fingers crumplin’ the photo. “That ain’t—”
But it was.
The flames carved in the wood. The scripture. The faces.
Memories I’d buried came tearin’ back raw. Fire in my lungs. Screamin’ behind me. Momma’s hand iron-tight ‘round mine. Her whisper in my ear: Don’t look back. Don’t say a word.
I staggered back a step, chest heavin’. “You’re tellin’ me…” My voice near broke. “That’s what we ran from?”
Ash’s eyes softened, but he didn’t move closer. “Yeah. Same place. Same doctrine. Same man at the center, only worse now. You grew up outside, Zeke. But you were born in the fire same as me.”
The ground tilted under me.
All these years, I thought Momma’d run from him. From my father’s fists, his wrath. A religion. Why keep this from me? Especially after Sable came along.
Rage burned through the shock, fast and blindin’.
Why the hell didn’t she tell me? Why let me grow up thinkin’ the scars were only hers? Why carry it alone when it was mine too?
Because she wanted to protect me.
Because she wanted me free.
Because she knew once you put fire in a boy’s hands, he might never set it down.
I dragged a sharp breath through my teeth, fightin’ to steady the storm in my chest. My knuckles went white ‘round the photo.
Ash watched me, his jaw tight, scar catchin’ the moonlight. “We made it out ten years after your mother. Been in the shadows since, watching, waiting. We didn’t know Aunt Miriam was this close or we’d have reached out.”
“And now’s the time?” My voice came flat, hard.
“It is.” His gaze never wavered. “They have her, Zeke. They have all of them. Sable. The kids. Your mother. And there are still people inside who want out. With your help we can get inside.”
The air went thin. My heart slammed once, then fell into a heavy thud that made my ribs ache.
“You know where they’re keepin’ ‘em?” My voice sounded lethal to my own ears.
“I know how to find them.” He didn’t blink.
“We know the rituals. The routes. The man Gabrial’s become.
You want them alive? You’ll need more than fire and fury.
You’ll need someone who’s lived it. I was there that night Sable escaped.
I watched from the treeline. I warned Tallis Gabrial would find her. ”
He gestured toward the tree line where a narrow trail disappeared into shadow. “You coming with me isn’t trust. It’s necessity if you want to save them.”
For a long beat, the world stilled. My chest heavy, my pulse draggin’ heat and ice both through my veins.
This wasn’t just a lead.
This was blood.
A door slammin’ open on every secret Momma’d kept locked.
I looked at the photo one last time. At Momma standin’ fierce behind Daddy. At the chapel carved in flame. At the shadow of the man who looked too much like me.
Then I folded it, tucked it into my cut, and gave one short nod.
I followed.
‘Cause there wasn’t no other choice.
Not when they had my family in chains.
Not when this was the first real shot at bringin’ ‘em back.
And not when my blood, scarred by the same fire, stood in front of me, offerin’ fire for fire.
Ash turned toward the tree line, but before I could take a step, the gravel behind me crunched.
“Thought we agreed you weren’t going in blind,” Devil’s voice cut soft, grounded.
I didn’t turn. Didn’t have to. I could feel him there, solid as a wall at my back. Mystic’s boots shifted to my right, Chain’s heavy frame looming close, rifle slung like it was born to him.
Ash froze. His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t reach for a weapon. Just looked over mine at the men who’d stepped outta the dark. “You brought company.”
“Damn right I did,” I said, jaw tight. “Ain’t nobody walks me into shadows alone.”
Devil’s hand brushed my shoulder once, a grounding weight, then dropped. “So this him?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I muttered. My chest was still twisted from the photo, the revelation. “This is blood.”
Ash’s gaze flicked between them, measured. “If you don’t trust me yet, fine. But if you want your family back, we don’t have time to circle wagons. Follow me or don’t.”
Chain’s rifle creaked as he shifted his grip. “If this goes sideways, he’s the first to drop.”
Ash gave a short nod, no argument. “Fair.”
We moved.
The trail cut narrow through the trees, gravel crunchin’ under boots, and the sound of tires going through dirt from our motorcycles where we pushed them. The night was heavy, the air thick with pine and damp earth.
Ash walked ahead, his frame bent like a man used to bein’ hunted. Every now and then his hand brushed the scar at his jaw, like it itched when the silence stretched too long.
I couldn’t stop starin’ at him. The way his shoulders hunched, the same tilt of his head I’d seen in my own reflection but scarred.
Mystic leaned close, voice pitched for me alone. “You alright, brother?”
I swallowed hard. “Don’t ask me that right now.”
He didn’t push. Just walked with me, eyes sweepin’ the woods like always.
The trail opened onto a clearing. A farmhouse sat at the center, white paint, porch light flickerin’ weak against the dark. Barn off to the side, fencing around the property. It looked like any backroad Carolina farm.
Except the hair on my neck stood straight.
Ash slowed. Lifted a hand, palm out. “We’re back,” he called into the darkness.
The porch door opened.
A man stepped out, broad-shouldered, his silver hair catchin’ the light same as Ash’s. His face was older, lines carved deep, but the resemblance hit hard. His eyes locked on me, and for a breath the whole world went still.
Behind him, a woman followed, dark braid streaked with gray, her eyes piercing, her posture proud despite the wear of years.
And in the doorway, two younger figures lingered.
A boy with the same blue eyes as mine, watchful, wary.
A girl, maybe a year or two younger, her arms crossed, jaw set stubborn.
Family.
Blood I never knew I had.
My heart slammed hard against my ribs, the photograph burnin’ hot in my pocket.
Ash’s voice broke the silence. “Father,” he said. “This is Zeke.”
The man’s gaze didn’t soften. Didn’t break. Just bored into me like he was weighin’ every choice that’d led me here.
My throat went tight.
I’d come huntin’ answers. Instead, I’d found ghosts with my face.