Chapter 35
ELLA
We need to speak. —A
No threats. No coordinates. Just a static code embedded underneath.
I decode it with hands that won’t stay still.
Coordinates resolve into a sector tag on the outer ring of Novaria—one of those hybrid stations, half library, half data-archive, where Coalition and Alliance treaties were digitized after the last war.
Public, neutral, civilized.
And that’s what makes it terrifying.
Takhiss sleeps on the couch—he’s too big for it, so one leg hangs off, his hand resting on the small hover-crib that hums beside him. He always does that. Keeps his hand close enough to grab Vex if something goes wrong. Like a reflex he never trained out.
I watch him breathe. Count the rise and fall of his chest. The soft whistle that comes when his second set of lungs exhales. He looks... peaceable. Human, almost. And for a moment, I almost wake him. Almost tell him I’m going somewhere.
But if I do, he’ll follow. If he follows, Autrua will see him. And that is not happening.
So I pull on my jacket, slip my datapad into my pocket, and step into the night.
Novaria’s undercity is quieter at this hour. No cabs screaming past, no vendors shouting over engine noise. Just steam vents hissing and the echo of my boots on synthcrete. The air tastes like rust and regret. I wrap my coat tighter, check the coordinates again, and keep walking until I see it.
The library-station rises from the street like a spire of glass teeth. Its light is thin and green, pulsing from the inside out. The doors glide open as I approach, spilling a wash of recycled air that smells faintly of ozone and old paper.
Inside, the silence hums. I pass shelves of data-slates and preserved print tomes wrapped in static film. Someone once told me the Coalition clergy keeps their own scriptures here—religious records encoded in languages no one outside their order is allowed to read.
So of course she’d pick this place.
Autrua waits in the back alcove, seated at a metal table that glows from within, lighting her from below.
Her robes are a cascade of black and gold, each movement whispering.
Her hair is coiled in the formal priesthood pattern, every strand pinned with surgical precision.
Her smile is the same as I remember—cool, practiced, wrong.
She gestures to the seat across from her. “Ella Corleone. It’s been some time.”
“Not long enough,” I say. I don’t sit.
Autrua tilts her head. “Still defiant. Takhiss always admired that about you.”
“Why am I here?”
“To talk.” She steeples her fingers. Her nails are gold. Real gold. “About the child.”
I stiffen. “If you came here to threaten me—”
“Oh, no, no.” Her voice drips with that cloying kind of sweetness that hides a blade. “Not a threat. A discussion. You’ve done remarkably well raising him. Despite... the circumstances.”
My pulse spikes. “What circumstances?”
She touches the back of her neck. A shimmer ripples across her skin, and I see it—her priesthood identifier. It glows faint blue with embedded biometric threads. A live transmission channel. Someone is listening on the other end.
“He knows the boy is a hybrid, Ella. But does he know how valuable that blood is? Does he know the Jalshagar resonance isn't just present—it’s unprecedented? That his son isn't just a soldier, but a living key to the Coalition throne?”
I go still. My throat closes. The sound that comes out of me isn’t a word so much as a static burst. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, but I do.” Her smile widens just enough to show a hint of teeth.
“I ran the genetic archives myself, back when they processed your rescue files. The blood samples, the medical data. The child isn't just a hybrid. He is a conduit. Jalshagar resonance in the DNA sequence. Stronger than I’ve ever seen.”
She leans forward. The air between us feels like it’s vibrating. “When Takhiss finds out how dangerous his son really is... do you think he’ll look at him with love? Or fear?”
I force myself not to look away. “If you so much as try to contact him—”
She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “My dear, you misunderstand me. I’m not your enemy. I’m offering an order. Takhiss is bound by our laws. If we acknowledge the child officially, we can protect him. Give him a name. A lineage.”
“You mean take him.”
Her eyes flicker. “Raise him properly. Among his father’s people. You’re human. You can’t teach him what he is.”
I laugh, but it comes out brittle. “You mean I can’t control him.”
Autrua doesn’t flinch. “Control is such a crude word. But yes. If left unchecked, his instincts will surface early. And then what? The Alliance will dissect him. The Coalition will use him. You’ll lose him either way.”
I step forward, palms flat on the glowing table. “You’re not taking my son.”
She tilts her head. “Then you’d better tell his father the truth before I do.”
Her words fall like a blade through the static hum.
I breathe once. Twice. My chest feels tight enough to crack. “What do you want, Autrua?”
Her smile returns, slow and satisfied. “To remind you that everything has a place. Even chaos. Even you. Think carefully before you decide to stand in the way of fate.”
Then she stands, smooth as smoke, and glides past me toward the exit. The scent she leaves behind is sharp and metallic, like burnt copper.
For a long minute, I can’t move. My fingers are numb. The table’s glow flickers, distorting my reflection—hair wild, eyes wide, skin pale under green light. I look like someone caught in her own lie.
The air feels wrong. Heavy. Every sound in the station has teeth.
When I finally stumble outside, the sky has begun to lighten at the edges. The horizon’s smeared with pink and ash. I pull my jacket tight and start walking. My legs feel like they don’t belong to me.
She knows. And if she knows, the others do too.
I think about what she said—that Takhiss will find out. That the Coalition has records. That the child’s resonance is strong. And she’s right. He’ll figure it out. Maybe soon.
The worst part? I can’t tell if I’m more afraid of losing him when he finds out or of what happens if he decides to stay.
By the time I reach home, the city’s awake. Hovercabs scream down the street, exhaust stinging my throat. I keep walking, boots clicking too fast, heart hammering.
Takhiss is standing outside the garage, shirt half unbuttoned, grease smeared on one shoulder. He looks at me like he felt me coming from a block away.
“You’re late,” he says.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I lie. “Went for a walk.”
He studies me, eyes narrowing just enough to make my stomach twist. “Where?”
“Library.”
“Library?” His tone softens. “You don’t read at this hour.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I repeat.
He doesn’t press.
Just steps closer... His eyes search mine, sharp and knowing.
He smells the lie. He smells the fear.
But he doesn't call me out.
"We'll fix it together," he says, but his voice is tight. A warning that he won't wait for the truth forever.
Later, when he’s asleep with Vex curled against his chest, I sit by the window with the lights off, staring at the sky. The stars look close enough to break.
Autrua’s words echo in my head: He will find out.
Maybe that’s the only truth left.
I press my palms against the glass and whisper, “Not yet. Please, not yet.”
The city doesn’t answer. But somewhere in the dark, through the hum of the datapad I left on the table, I swear I hear a whisper—low, feminine, electric—bleeding through the circuits:
Tick-tock, little mother. Tick-tock.
And I know the countdown has started.