Kieran holds me tightly. His heartbeat can be felt against my shoulder, where there is a fresh mark from a bite.
Rowena glares across the table at Kali, her fingers digging into the wood. “You let me mourn you,” she spits out. “You let Kieran grow up thinking his aunt was dead. You made me bury an empty casket.”
Kali doesn’t flinch. She leans against the wall, arms crossed. The scar on her face catches the light. “Better empty than with your body in it,” she says calmly. “They will come for you next. Then him.” Her golden eyes flick at me. “Then her.”
Mom’s real journal lies open on the table. The pages are crammed with messy notes and chemical diagrams. One line stands out, circled so many times the paper is wearing thin:
The Bridge must be willing. Force breaks it. Choice completes i
