Chapter 27
Alina
My heart pounded as I tore through the empty hallway, desperate to escape the auditorium’s suffocating murk. I burst through the exit and into the blinding daylight, gasping for air.
Up ahead, Jack was already sprinting toward the clock tower, his body fueled by something wild and unhinged. I didn’t hesitate. I forced my legs to move faster, lungs burning, the world narrowing to the figure ahead.
What is he doing?
The thought burrowed in my gut.
He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t try to kill himself, would he?
He was fragile. Desperate. Shattered. And yet… I needed him. I needed the knowledge he carried, the path to the Sun and Moon Daggers.
Jack disappeared through the tower’s arched entrance just as I reached the lawn. Panic gripped me. The vibrant green beneath my feet blurred as I raced across it.
I skidded beneath the stone archway. There were spiraling stairs. Without a second thought, I launched upward.
My feet slammed against ancient stone as I ascended the winding staircase, two steps at a time. Sweat stung my eyes, trickled down my spine. My breath came in harsh, ragged gasps.
When I finally reached the top, I collapsed against a pillar, chest heaving, the wind knocked clean out of me.
Then I saw him.
Jack stood near the open window, one foot braced on the ledge as if preparing to climb out. The sun hit his sweat-slicked hair, casting shadows across his face. He didn’t notice me.
His voice broke the silence, low and bitter.
“I’ve never been accepted,” he muttered. “That idiot Carlton Smith—always making me his target in sixth grade. He loved watching me trip over myself in gym class. Made him feel powerful.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “And Amanda Ray… senior year. Her voice dripped with disgust when someone asked if she was taking me to prom. ‘Jack James?’” He mimicked her tone, sharp and mocking.
“‘No way. He’s like a brain in a jar or something.’ Then she laughed and said, ‘I’m going with Dylan.
He’s got muscles. Jack’s just... weird.’”
His voice broke, and I saw it all for a moment—years of ridicule, rejection, invisibility. The world hadn’t just ignored Jack James. It had mocked him repeatedly, until he became the punchline of his own story.
And now, he was on the edge.
He stood at the window, staring at the unforgiving ground below.
His voice wavered with pent-up rage. “Jeremiah Schmidt—my high school philosophy instructor—he loved humiliating me. ‘Mr. James,’ he said with that smug grin, egging the class on, ‘if you can’t keep your head out of the clouds with these fantasy theories about time travel, maybe you should transfer to a science fiction course. This class is for serious minds.’”
Jack’s jaw clenched, his fingers tightening against the window frame.
“I’ve been the joke my entire life,” he confessed. “No one’s ever believed in me. No one’s ever said, ‘I see you.’ I’m the biggest goddamn failure alive.”
A blaze of frustration lit in my chest. Man up, I wanted to shout. Stop crying over the past. Stop begging the world to accept you. Take responsibility and grow a spine.
Instead, I thought of Balthazar—his iron will, his brutal resolve, the way he stood tall even when the world was burning beneath him. That was strength. That was power. Jack was a shattered mirror, desperate for someone to pick up the pieces for him.
But I needed him.
And that need was stronger than my contempt.
“Jack,” I said, forcing softness into my voice.
He spun, eyes wild. “You again? What do you want from me? Why are you here?”
I took a careful step forward.
He threw one leg over the windowsill.
Then the other.
He perched on the edge now, his body half in, half out—teetering between life and death.
“I felt the truth in your words,” I said, tightly. “Your dissertation—it wasn’t nonsense. It was brave. You stood in a room full of wolves and spoke about something the world is too afraid to believe.”
His face twisted, jaw tightening, but he didn’t move.
“You dared to speak the unspeakable,” I went on. “And I admire you for that.”
Still, he didn’t look at me. His eyes darted downward. His fingers tightened.
“I know what you’re thinking, that no one understands. That no one believes. But think about this—the skeptics? They were the same fools who once believed the world was flat. We’re not like them, Jack. You and I—we’re forward thinkers. We see what others fear.”
I took another step. Close now.
His eyes flicked to mine. For a second, something flickered in them.
Hope?
Doubt?
I wasn’t sure.
Then his gaze darted back to the void below.
My words clung to the back of my throat like lead, each one a carefully placed trap, sweetened with false sincerity. I just needed him to trust me. To want me. To need me. Once I had what I came for—the truth about the daggers—I could kill him without hesitation.
“Your theory on time travel,” I said softly, taking a step closer, “it’s brilliant, Jack. It’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for. I’ve wished I’d meet someone who shared my beliefs my whole life.”
His brow furrowed, eyes flickering with a wary confusion. “You… believe me? Is time travel possible?”
“Of course I do,” I said, opening my arms as if welcoming him home. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Grab your things—we’ll go to my place.”
Something shifted in his expression—something raw and vulnerable—a flicker of light in the dark.
“I even have a roommate,” I continued, my tone brightening. “Moon Lee. Or just Lee, for short. He’s obsessed with time travel, too. You two will get along great. We can all discuss your theories, really dig into it together.”
I took another step, my voice threading with anticipation. “What do you say?”
Jack blinked, glancing down at his legs dangling over the windowsill as if only now realizing the danger he’d been in. His voice came out in a daze. “Someone… believes in me?”
He scrambled back just as I lunged forward, catching him before he slipped on the stone floor.
I steadied him, brushing invisible dust from his shirt like a gentle caretaker. “There you go. You made the right choice. People will doubt you. That’s their nature. A lot of people don’t like me, either.”
Jack flushed. “I find that hard to believe.”
A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”
I extended my hand.
“So, are you ready to come with me?”
He stared at it momentarily, then placed his hand in mine.
“Yes,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I’d like that very much.”
When we climbed the steps to my apartment, the sun still blazed outside, casting golden light on the sidewalk—but inside, the air felt strangely cool, almost sterile.
Jack hesitated at the threshold, blinking as if the sudden shift from sunlight to shadows had disoriented him.
“Come in, come in. Don’t be shy,” I said, giving him a gentle but deliberate nudge through the doorway.
He stumbled inside like someone not quite used to having legs.
At the sound of our arrival, Lee emerged from the bedroom, stretching lazily and blinking at the noise. His gaze landed on Jack, and for a moment, he said nothing—just studied him, the way a predator might assess a newcomer to the territory.
But then something in Lee shifted. Maybe it was Jack’s awkward innocence or his wide-eyed curiosity.
Whatever it was, Lee softened, his posture relaxing as he launched into a story about his Native American ancestors—their deep connection to the land, the legends passed down, the sacred ties to time and spirit.
Jack listened intently, nodding, asking quiet questions that showed he absorbed Lee’s words.
I remained standing where I was, awkwardly frozen. I wasn’t used to being the one overlooked.
As I opened my mouth to interject, Lee said, “You and your brother look so much alike.”
Jack blinked. “I don’t have a brother. I’m an only child.”
Lee paused—just a beat too long—then offered a casual shrug. “Oh, my mistake. I was talking about someone else.”
I shot Lee a pointed glare. He, of course, ignored it.
“I’m going out to grab some food,” I said, louder than necessary. “Jack, do you want to come with me?”
He barely turned. “No, thank you. I’m enjoying my conversation with Lee.”
His soft, genuine smile was the first I’d ever seen on him. It made him… almost handsome. It also made something twist inside me.
“Suit yourself,” I muttered, turning sharply on my heel and stepping back into the sunlight.
The street outside buzzed faintly with traffic, the distant hum of the city. As I descended the steps, a man approached from the opposite end of the sidewalk. He walked with a limp, hunched slightly from age or injury.
He looked around fifty, with round spectacles perched on his nose. Everything about him was muted—his clothing, posture, and plain, unremarkable face. He seemed like someone who belonged in a dusty library, hunched over ancient manuscripts, forgotten by the world.
I was about to step around him when he shifted, blocking my path.
“Excuse me,” I said, startled. “You’re in my way.”
He looked up, and something in me recoiled.
His eyes were black, void of anything remotely human. The shadow of a hood obscured the rest of his face, but the intensity in his stare made the hairs on my neck rise.
“I know about you,” he said, voice low and raspy, like gravel scraping metal. “We’ve never met face-to-face, but I know exactly who you are.”
I froze, rooted to the pavement by fear and confusion.
“Did Zara send you?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He didn’t answer at first. He just stood there, watching me silently, which felt like a threat. Then he said, “I don’t know anyone named Zara. I came to thank you… personally. For saving Jack today.”
Something twisted in my stomach.
“Jack is very important to me,” he continued. “And I want to make sure you understand something very clearly.”
He stepped closer. He was small in stature, but overwhelming in pressure, like a storm bearing down.