Chapter 47
JAX
After Esme and Dayn storm off, I’m left sitting at this bizarre breakfast table surrounded by family and ancient spirits.
The silence that follows feels like it could shatter crystal.
Two grandmothers—Esther and Helena—apparently locked in some silent battle that’s been raging for centuries.
And Dominic... well, he’s just watching everything with that unnerving calm of his.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me.
I also notice that my dad’s been strangely quiet. I try to probe for him, to feel his presence.
“You okay?” I mutter.
The response comes back suddenly, and tight, clipped: “Leave the table. Get some privacy.”
I frown but clear my throat and push back from the table. I don’t bother to explain why I’m leaving; it should be obvious that nobody at this table has an appetite left.
Mom gives me a questioning look, her fingers briefly touching her bracelet. Brynn’s eyes meet mine, traced with a mixture of frustration and concern.
I return them a look that says “I’ll find you later,” then turn and stride away from the graveyard, my pace quickening as I hit the forest path. Everyone will probably follow my cue anyway.
The trees close in around me, their shadows providing cover as I move deeper into the woods. My heart hammers against my ribs, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation building.
When I’m far enough, I lean against an oak, catching my breath.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of wind moving through the branches.
Then my dad answers. “No.”
I straighten. “Okay. That’s not reassuring.”
His presence feels off, tighter. Like he’s pacing in a room with no doors.
“At the table,” he says slowly, “when Esther said, ‘Some things are bigger than one life’...”
I frown. “Yeah?” It sounds like exactly the kind of dramatic nonsense she says before ruining someone’s day.
“She said those exact words before.”
Something in his tone makes my stomach turn.
“When?”
A long pause.
“Thirteen years ago,” he says. “Right before Tarnhollow.”
I go still.
Tarnhollow. The mission he supposedly died on.
I push off the tree. “You’re remembering?”
Another pause.
“Yes,” he says. “Somehow, what Esther said, it jogged something deep… Tarnhollow—it was supposed to be a recon mission. Clearblood territory. But that was just the story.”
Cold slides down my spine.
“The story?” I stare into the trees like they might personally explain what the hell that means. “Dad.”
His voice feels quieter, but somehow heavier. “Before Tarnhollow, I’d already started watching Esther. And Blythe. As you saw in my notes.”
I think back to the coded mess hidden in his desk. About Esther’s fixation on protocol. Blythe’s repeated trips into restricted archives…
“I’d noticed Blythe was in the restricted section more often than she had reason to be,” he continues. “And Esther was meeting with her. They were pulling old records—like founder documents, pre-war material, things no one had touched in decades.”
“You thought they were planning something?”
“I knew they were. And I followed it because that’s who I was,” he says. “It was my job. And instinct kept telling me whatever it was, it wasn’t just about clearbloods. It was bigger than that. Bigger than our usual politics…”
He pauses.
“I overheard them once. Esther and Blythe. They thought they were alone. That’s when she said it. That line.”
I cross my arms. “And this was before Tarnhollow?”
“Yes.”
“So what was Tarnhollow actually?”
He goes quiet again, and I feel something strange move through him, as if memory is dragging itself up through mud.
“An excuse,” he says at last. “A clean story. A place to point people when I disappeared.”
I blink. “What?”
“I never went to Tarnhollow. I went… elsewhere.”
My stomach drops.
“But your notes—” I try to piece it together. “You wrote that you were leading the Tarnhollow mission. Something like: ‘Mission parameters changed last minute. I lead personally.’”
“My notes were deliberately cryptic.”
“Yeah, no shit.” I drag a hand through my hair. “Then where did you actually go? And why? And what the hell were Esther and Blythe talking about?”
Silence.
For a second, I genuinely think he’s gone again, lost in whatever fractured part of him still can’t hold onto this.
Then—
“We need to go to the library, Jax,” he says suddenly. “The restricted section. I remember where.”
I stare. “The library… It was burned.”
“The main structure burned,” he says. “The restricted archives beneath it wouldn’t have. Not even dragonfire could breach those wards. They were built to survive war and invasion.”
That tracks. Of course the one place with actual answers is probably buried under five layers of magical death traps.
I exhale sharply. “So you’re just gonna send me on a side quest, right in the middle of explaining something this big?”
“I’m sending you to the answers. I can help you get in. Go now.”
The sense of urgency radiating from him cuts through my sarcasm.
I start forward, my heart rate already picking up.
Because, damn it, I need answers.
Because whatever this is—it feels bigger than anything we’ve dealt with.
And because for the first time since I remember… I think my dad is genuinely afraid.