85. Rhett
Rhett
Z eke didn’t say a word—just took off down the path like a man on a mission. No barked orders, no eye contact. Just that clipped, furious pace that said don’t follow me.
So I did.
Because someone had to.
The sun was still blazing, no clouds in sight. Everything looked too calm for what the hell just happened.
His villa sat farther back than the rest, swallowed by thick palms and uneven stone steps. He shoved the door open hard enough for it to slam against the inside wall.
I followed him in.
No lights. No muttering. No hesitation. Just Zeke moving like he’d rehearsed this moment a hundred times—straight to the back of the room, down on one knee at a low cabinet.
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You mind telling me what we’re looking for? Or is this one of your secret-agent lone-wolf things again?”
The panel clicked. Hidden drawer.
Figures.
Zeke pulled out a black briefcase. Not the kind you’d pack for a weekend trip. The kind you’d bury if you didn’t want it found. Worn corners. Dented latches. When he popped it open, the hinges groaned.
Folders. Dozens of them. Some fat and curling with age, others color-coded with tabs and old post-its. A few stamped with the Order seal. One had her name written across the front in faded ink.
I pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “You really kept all this?”
Zeke just kept flipping like the right answer was buried in page eighty-six of whatever classified shit he wasn’t supposed to have.
“It’s not about keeping it,” he muttered. “It’s about who she is. And what happens now that they know she’s still breathing.”
I frowned. “You think the Red Veil had eyes on the bond?”
He didn’t answer. Which was an answer.
Zeke kept digging. Papers spread across the bed in a mess only he could make sense of. Maps, timestamps, photos. A few black-and-white. A few of her.
I stared at one of them. She couldn’t have been more than ten. Same eyes, different life.
“She wasn’t safe before the bond either, was she?” I asked quietly.
Zeke didn’t look up. “No.”
I waited. Let the silence stretch long enough to get on his nerves.
He finally sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose like it hurt to say it out loud. “You think it was coincidence we all got pulled in?” he muttered. “We thought the Order placed us there for her. But it wasn’t just that. It was her blood.”
“Her blood?”
He nodded once, clipped. “Some lines call to others. Something ancient. The bond doesn’t start with touch—it starts with proximity. Contact accelerates it, sure. Sex seals it. But it was already there.”
I let that settle. “So you’re saying she’s been triggering it since day one.”
“She was born triggering it.”
I swore under my breath.
“She would’ve activated someone eventually,” Zeke continued. “But it had to be the right match. The right blood. You, me—we weren’t candidates. Trace and Alden… they were. And she chose them.”
He flipped a page and paused. “The problem is—she wasn’t supposed to exist. Not in the open. Not unclaimed.”
My pulse kicked. “You mean unaligned.”
“No, Rhett.” Zeke looked up. “I mean unclaimed. That bond wasn’t supposed to go to anyone. It was sealed generations ago—locked by her father’s side. The Red Veil.”
“And now?”
He dragged a single sheet forward. Burned edges. Strange ink.
“Now that it’s awakened… they’ll feel it. Every surviving tether will. Especially him.”
A chill cut down my spine despite the heat crawling through the window.
I shook my head. “So what—you’re saying this bond was supposed to stay dormant unless activated through sex? Like a fucking trapdoor no one knew they were standing on?”
Zeke’s shoulders dropped, the flight gone from his voice. “Something like that.”
“Jesus.”
He didn’t respond. Just picked up another file and turned it toward me.
It was labeled SEALING EVENTS — Known Cases.
Only three were listed. One had a date from before the United States existed. One had a faded name that looked almost burned through.
The third?
Unmarked.
“Have you ever seen it in real life?” I asked.
Zeke shook his head. “No. And neither has anyone else who’s still alive.”