Sal gripped the wheel, fighting it through the second jolt.
The tires howled against gravel, then the car shuddered to a stop against the edge of the trees.
The front bumper crumpled in, steam whining and curling from under the hood.
My shoulder—God, the seatbelt had caught me dead-on—but I was already reaching for the door handle, ears still ringing.
“Wren—” Adrian’s hand clamped hard around my arm.
“That’s my father.” My voice came out shaking.
Anger, ancient grief—by now it felt like a relic someone else left behind.
“I need to understand why.” Outside, another car skidded to a stop, angled straight across the road so no one was going anywhere.
Two men got out—the driver, wide-shouldered, grim, already reaching for his belt.
The other guy… well, that one moved deliberately, like he was scared to break something: careful, slow, not exactly threatening, but not safe, either.
Lucian Hart didn’t look anything like the ghost I’d carried around all these years.
Older than I’d pictured.
Dark hair shot through with gray that matched mine, lines etched deep around eyes that looked right at me, full of something raw and familiar.
He found me straight across the wrecked road.
“Wren.” My name, cracked and rough in his voice, almost sounded grateful—too damned relieved.
“You’re alive.
I—I wasn’t certain the message reached you in time.” “You ran us off the road.” Adrian’s voice snapped the air in half, cold and sharp, and he shoved himself between us, flinching at the pain it cost him.
“That’s your idea of a friendly meeting?” “That wasn’t my order.” Lucian’s attention flicked to his companion, and his glare could’ve cut steel.
“Dorian was supposed to intercept.
Not ram them.” “You told me to stop them before they reached the Keeper,” the driver—Dorian—shot back, not rattled.
“Quickest way.
We don’t have time for small talk, Lucian.
If the broker’s people are on our trail—” “Enough.” Lucian didn’t even have to raise his voice to swear everyone silent, and hearing that effortless authority made my gut twist.
This wasn’t some desperate man in hiding.
This was someone who expected to be obeyed.
“You said you wanted to protect me.” My voice was unsteady.
“Everything you wrote in that message—was any of it true?” “All of it.” Lucian took a slow step forward, hands up in the classic “don’t startle the deer” pose.
“Wren, believe me, I know I lost my claim to your trust.
I forfeited that the day I let your mother think I was dead, rather than drag you both into what I really am.” “And what’s that supposed to be?” Adrian didn’t budge, still harsh, still defending.
Lucian’s jaw worked.
He looked tired.
Old, almost.
“I was born to Sovereignty,” he said.
“Before the Court’s collapse faded into myth, my family served as Keeper blood—sworn to protect the old records, and if the First Queen’s line appeared again, sworn to her too.” His eyes tangled with mine, full of pain I didn’t have a label for.
“I fell for your mother during that duty.
A Calloway woman, hiding behind an alias—just like the records warned us.
I told myself it was coincidence, for far too long.” “So you knew.” Each word dropped like stones.
“You knew what she was.
What I am.
This whole time.” “I suspected,” he said, voice thinning out.
“But I didn’t know for sure until you were six.
By then—” His voice cracked.
“Staying meant painting a target on both of you.
I couldn’t protect you from that.
Faking my death and disappearing was the only way I saw to keep those people from finding you.” “So you left us.” All my words wrecked against my teeth.
“Eighteen years.” “I never stopped watching,” Lucian choked out.
“Every report, every rumor from Redthorn, your ceremony—everything.
I made sure someone loyal stayed close.
To warn me if you were ever in danger.” Someone loyal.
Chills cut through me.
“Marcus,” I said, almost numb.
“The kitchen staff.
Not Rocco’s spy.
Yours.” Lucian didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
“He’s dead,” I said.
The words landed like a fist.
“Last night.
They made it look like Rocco’s people did it to cover a leak.” Lucian’s grief flared and vanished, just a flicker before he locked it away.
Decades of training, and he still almost let it break through.
“Then someone knows we’re coming,” he said, low.
“Whoever’s running the operation—now they know we’re close.
Time’s shorter than I thought.” “For what?” Adrian shoved forward.
He’d had enough of secrets.
“You spilled all the family drama and gave us a body.
What are we actually up against?” Lucian looked at all of us—me, Adrian, Sal still hovering near the trashed car.
His answer weighed as much as the wreckage behind us.
“The Sovereignty didn’t vanish,” he said.
“It fractured.
Factions spent sixty years arguing what should happen if the Queen’s bloodline returned.
One side wants to restore her, raise her up to power.
But there’s another side that thinks the only way to stay in control is to erase her line entirely.
For good.” My hands went cold.
“And which side came after us tonight?” Lucian’s lips pressed thin.
“Not that simple.
That crash?” He nodded at Dorian.
“That was me, trying to reach you before the others did.
But someone else is moving faster—feeding info to Rocco, silencing my people, playing a long game.
They’ve got deep pockets, patience.
I think someone from the erase faction already knows about you, Wren.
They’re letting Rocco and Redthorn fight while the real danger stays in the dark.” The world seemed smaller all at once—the ruined cars, the steam, just scenery against something ancient and slow, a conspiracy so patient it let everyone else do its dirty work, pulling me into the open.
“So who’s running things?” My voice lost its strength.
Lucian looked haunted now.
And scared—not for himself, but of the answer he had to give.
“I don’t know yet,” he said, soft.
“But whoever’s behind it, they’ve waited sixty years for a Calloway to surface.
That’s not someone who plans to lose.” I saw Dorian’s head snap up, glare cutting to the trees.
“Lucian.” His voice was low, urgent now.
“We’re not alone.” I followed his stare to the woods, and there, in the shifting shadows, sunlight flashed from a rifle scope—aimed right at us, unmoving, watching.
Exposed, out here, all of us lined up with nowhere to run.
[End of Chapter 13]