18. Hux
EIGHTEEN
HUX
The taste of her lingered on his lips as they climbed the stairs from the archives.
Lunaria’s hand was warm in his, her fingers threaded through his own, and Hux couldn’t remember the last time he’d held someone’s hand. Couldn’t remember if he ever had—not like this, not with this desperate need to stay anchored to another person.
Georgia’s revelation echoed through his mind. His father had been silenced. Had known the truth for decades and been magically forbidden from speaking it. Had watched Hux grow up aching and incomplete.
“We need to talk to him,” Lunaria said as they emerged into the evening air. “Tonight. Before anyone realizes what we’ve found.”
Hux nodded. The Holt family estate was a fifteen-minute walk from Town Hall—the same route he’d taken a thousand times, the same Victorian mansion that had never felt like home. Tonight, the walk felt like a march toward execution.
His father was in the study when they arrived.
Isandro looked up from his desk as they entered, and emotion flickered across his weathered face. Recognition. Fear. A desperate, wordless plea that Hux had never seen before.
“Son.” The word came out hoarse. “And Ms. Reed. This is... unexpected.”
“We need to talk.” Hux heard the flatness in his own voice. The controlled calm that preceded every crisis he’d ever managed. “About Cornelius Marsh. About the binding. About what was done to this family.”
Isandro’s face went pale.
Lunaria stepped forward, the locket dangling from her fingers. “Deia Tullio made this the day before she died. It’s a death chart—a celestial record of the exact moment she was murdered. The constellation alignment points here. To this house.”
“I don’t—” Isandro’s voice cracked. “I can’t—”
“Cornelius lived here after he married into the family. He made deals from this house. And when Deia threatened to expose him, he killed her and came home to this house.” Lunaria’s tone was gentle but relentless. “You know all of this, don’t you? You’ve known for years.”
Isandro opened his mouth to respond—
And nothing came out.
His face contorted. His throat worked, muscles straining against invisible bonds. He tried again, lips forming words that dissolved into silence before they could be heard.
Just like Georgia.
The same silencing spell. The same magical gag that had trapped Georgia for sixty years. His father had been fighting the same battle—trying to speak truth that refused to be spoken.
“You’re bound.” Hux’s voice was strangled. “Someone silenced you. You can’t talk about any of this.”
Isandro nodded, tears streaming down his face. The composed elder, the distant father, the man who had always seemed carved from duty and expectation—crying openly, his control shattered by the simple act of being seen.
“How long?” Hux demanded. “How long have you known?”
His father held up fingers. Three. Five.
“Thirty-five years.” The number was an abyss.
“You’ve known for thirty-five years. Since I was—” His voice broke.
“You watched me grow up thinking wrongness hung in the air with me. Watched me search for bonds I could never find. Watched me light that candle three months ago and see nothing. And you couldn’t say a single damn word. ”
Isandro’s face crumpled further. He reached for Hux, and Hux stepped back—couldn’t bear to be touched right now, couldn’t bear the comfort of a man who had let him suffer in silence.
“Is there a way to break it?” Lunaria’s voice cut through the tension. “The curse, the binding—can it be undone?”
Isandro’s mouth worked. The veins in his neck stood out with effort. He fought the silencing spell with everything he had, trying to force words through barriers that had held for decades.
“Ch—” A gasp of pain. “Choi—”
“Don’t.” Hux stepped forward despite himself. “Father, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”
But Isandro shook his head violently. Kept pushing. His face had gone purple with exertion, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Choice.” The word tore out of him like it was barbed. “Love.” Another gasp, another wrenching effort. “Anyway.”
Then he collapsed.
Hux caught him before he hit the floor. His father was unconscious, breathing shallowly, his pulse thready beneath Hux’s fingers. The effort of speaking those three words had nearly killed him.
“I’ll call a healer.” Lunaria had her phone in her hand. “Stay with him.”
Hux stayed. Held his father’s limp form and tried to make sense of what had just happened. Three words, forced through magical restraints that had held for thirty-five years.