Chapter 23
Alina
Ijolted awake, heart racing, ears straining for the sound that had ripped me from sleep. At first, there was only silence—then came the low murmur of a voice, growing louder and clearer. It was English. Urgent. Rambling.
In the dim corner of the room, a man crouched, his back to me. Papers and strange objects were scattered at his feet, and his hands moved in frantic, jittery motions. “Can’t leave these out. Not with them sniffing around. No, no, no...” He shoved the items into a worn rucksack.
I pushed myself upright and leaned forward, seeing one of the parchments before he stuffed it away. The words time travel were written in elegant, fluid script.
My pulse skipped.
It was him—John James.
I cleared my throat.
He spun toward me, startled. His eyes, wide and sharp, landed on mine.
“I’ve been looking for you,” I said evenly. “And if you’re trying to hide your time travel documents, don’t bother.”
He blinked. Once. Twice. Then let out a weary sigh. His shoulders slumped. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m hiding,” I admitted. “From a man named Balthazar. He’s—” I hesitated. “He’s a monster.”
Something flickered in John James’ eyes—recognition, maybe even fear—but vanished too quickly. Had I imagined it?
“I need to find the Sun and Moon Daggers,” I told him. “I’m a time traveler.”
He studied me in silence, his expression unreadable. Then he rose, his gaze fixed on mine—no longer questioning, but understanding.
“You’re a time traveler?” he asked, wonder and skepticism mingling in his voice.
“I am,” I said, instinctively stepping back as he approached.
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Your accent…” He rocked back on his heels and gestured toward me. “You sound like you’re from distant lands. So, you’ve picked up some English?”
“Yes,” I whispered, my tone careful. “My English is not perfect, but I understand. I can speak… some.”
A lie. I knew enough English when I first arrived—more now, after living with Philip. But I’d learned it was safer to pretend ignorance when it served me.
“What’s your name?”
I hesitated.
Philip never knew my real name. To him, I was always Francesca—a false name for a false life. But something about John James made me want to be honest—if only for a moment.
“Alina,” I said finally.
His eyes lit up. “A beautiful name! I’m so glad you’re a time traveler—this is wonderful!
” He patted my shoulder with a sudden, almost paternal affection.
“Don’t worry, my child, I will help you.
We’ve been waiting for someone like you.
Once you’ve rested, I’ll introduce you to Dancing Fire.
He’s a good man. His tribe is good people. ”
I recoiled, a small whimper escaping me. “No… no, please. I won’t hear of it.”
Panic clawed at my chest. After everything—being captured, being watched—I couldn’t stomach the idea of meeting another stranger, let alone a whole tribe.
John James lowered himself to his knees and gently took my hands. His gaze was steady, warm. “Nothing bad will happen to you. Not while I’m here. You’re safe, Alina. I promise.”
I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him. But in a land this wild and strange, nothing felt certain. Still, I gave a faint nod, and his smile returned—gentle, reassuring. He squeezed my hands.
But then his expression shifted—his voice turning more serious.
“You’ll need help to find the daggers,” he said. “Dancing Fire is a time traveler, too. And it’s better to search in pairs. Trust me.”
My stomach twisted. Another time traveler?
Is he a darkness, too?
I recoiled at his offer. If I’d wanted a partner, I would’ve chosen Balthazar—the man I once loved. Not some stranger. Not anyone. No matter who they were, I wouldn’t give an ounce of my power away.
“I’d rather go alone,” I said firmly.
John James’ expression shifted. His eyes turned cold, hard. “No, you wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t dream of letting you.”
His stare rooted me in place, dread creeping down my spine like ice water. My skin was dampened with cold sweat. What did he know about the blades that I didn’t? Why was he so insistent?
Doubt flared—was Malik wrong? Or worse… had he lied?
But just as quickly, John James softened. His posture relaxed, and his smile returned, this time warm and disarming. Too warm.
“Come now,” he said, standing. “Let’s get you something to eat. When we meet Dancing Fire and his people, you’ll want your strength.”
He stepped outside. The door creaked open on rusted hinges, groaning like a warning.
I stayed behind, perched on the edge of the bed, my foot tapping nervously against the warped wooden floorboards.
My heart pounded, anticipation tightening my chest as I waited for his return from the dark outbuilding beyond the trees.
The cabin around me was sparsely furnished but filled with curiosities.
The bed I sat on was stretched animal hide slung between two thick logs, pushed against the far wall.
In the corner stood a rough-hewn desk cluttered with odd tools and peculiar contraptions I didn’t recognize.
A dusty, timeworn book leaned against a stack of parchment, beside a half-empty bottle of dark liquid and a bowl brimming with dried herbs.
A dim oil lamp swayed from the ceiling, casting a flickering glow across the walls.
I rose, tempted to inspect the artifacts—perhaps find answers—but the door creaked again.
John James returned, arms laden with food. He placed it on a small, dust-covered table shoved against the back wall, clearly seldom used.
My stomach growled at the sight of salted pork, dried fruits, and something that looked like pickled vegetables. The aroma hit me in briny, sweet, savory waves, and my mouth watered uncontrollably.
John James piled a generous portion onto a tin plate and handed it to me. I took it eagerly, barely thanking him before devouring the food like a starving animal. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d eaten a proper meal.
He settled onto a hewn log across from me, chewing absently on a pickle as he watched me eat.
“How did you find me?” he asked after a beat. “Who told you to come?”
I paused, still chewing. “A man named Malik,” I said through a mouthful, feigning casualness. “He told me to find you.”
John James blinked, then leaned back with a nostalgic breath. “Ah, Malik. How is he?” A wistful smile tugged at his lips. “I haven’t seen him in some time. He came here with Layla. I told them where to find the daggers you seek.”
The words twisted in my gut. I lowered my gaze and chewed more slowly, the flavor suddenly becoming ash in my mouth.
I couldn’t tell him the truth—that Balthazar and I had tortured and poisoned them. That their blood was on my hands, not just his.
So, I lied.
“They’re gone,” I said, trembling just the right way. “Balthazar killed them both.”
John James froze. The color drained from his face. His mouth opened, but only a strangled sound came out. His eyes filled instantly with tears—wide, heartbroken, disbelieving.
“No...” he rasped. “Oh, Lord... no.” He turned away, hand trembling as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Such a tragedy. Such loss... Give me a second… that’s a lot to take in.”
“Of course,” I murmured, bowing my head and forcing a sniffle. Just enough to keep the illusion alive.
He stood and stumbled outside.
I waited in silence, barely breathing, every muscle tight with tension. I didn’t know if he’d return mourning or enraged.
When he finally came back, his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.
I folded my hands in my lap, schooling my features into a mask of sorrow.
John James clenched his fists and began pacing, his boots thudding against the floor in a restless rhythm. “You were right to come to me,” he growled. “I loathe this man—Balthazar. We must get to the tribe immediately and find Dancing Fire. Once we do, you’ll be on the path to the daggers.”
He paused, turning to me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you… How did you come to know Balthazar?”
The question slammed into me like a blade between the ribs.
Loving Balthazar was like a rusted nail embedded in my chest—corroding and aching. The memory of him surged through me like venom—passion twisted into pain, longing warped into something darker.
“We were lovers,” I admitted, the words laced with shame and fire.
“For a time. I was a fool.” I shot to my feet, the emotions boiling over.
“He tried to kill me—again and again. I don’t even know why I stayed.
But that’s over now. You have to help me find the Sun and Moon Daggers. I need to end him. Once and for all.”
John James stepped forward and placed a steady hand on my shoulder. “You have my word,” he said gently. “I’ll help you.”
Two hours later, we descended a dry hillside and crossed a wide, dusty plain. The landscape stretched flat and wild, golden grass swaying in the breeze. It was a far cry from the dark luxury I’d once known with Balthazar.
Animal hide tents clustered across the land like haphazard stars.
Children ran barefoot through the dust. People sat on the ground weaving baskets, skin browned and weathered, hair wild from the wind.
The air smelled of smoke, herbs, and sweat.
Everything about this place felt untouched, as if it had never known comfort.
They looked like they’d grown from the earth itself, wild and knotted like Philip’s stupid cornstalks.
But John James moved among them easily, greeting each person in a language I couldn’t understand. He led me into a circle of elders, their faces carved by time and sun. In the center stood a man unlike the others.
He was tall, proud, and striking, his face a chiseled blend of leather and stone. His eyes were deep-brown and as sharp as flint, and when they locked onto mine, I felt exposed.
“Alina,” John James said, gesturing. “This is Dancing Fire. Dancing Fire, this is Alina. She came seeking help.”