Page 51 of Eclipse Born

Sterling looked away, his jaw tight. “Some things are better left buried, kid.” The words were cryptic, heavy with unspoken knowledge.

Sean moved closer to me, a subtle gesture of support. “But not if they're about to get un-buried anyway,” he said, his gaze sharp on Sterling. “If Hawk knows something about Cade's parents that's relevant to all this, he deserves to know.”

Sterling met Sean's challenge with a level stare. “It's not that simple, Cullen. Some knowledge comes with a price. And I'm not convinced Cade's in a place to pay it right now.” Sterling gathered his notes on the seals, shuffling them into a folder with practiced efficiency. “Hawk doesn't reach out unless it's dire. If he's calling now, after all these years...”

I nodded, understanding the implications. “It's endgame.”

“Worse,” Sterling said, and there was a weariness in his voice that sent a chill down my spine. “It's personal. Hawk's been tracking these seals since your father died. Said something about a promise made.”

Sean's eyebrows rose. “A promise? To who?”

Sterling hesitated, and in that brief pause, I saw rare uncertainty. “That's the question, isn't it? To Richard? To someone else? Hawk wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details.”

“So we go meet Hawk,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “We hear what he has to say, and we figure out how to stop this.”

Sterling slid a slip of paper across the desk. The tension between us eased slightly, shifting back to the mission at hand. “Hawk needs help with something. Said if we scratch his back, he'll scratch ours.”

The paper felt worn, almost oily from handling. The address was written in tight, sharp script—handwriting that spoke of precision and discipline. I recognized the location immediately—an industrial zone on the outskirts of town, abandoned for years. Perfect for anyone or anything that didn't want to be found.

“What kind of 'help' exactly?” I asked, studying the address while mentally cataloging which weapons we'd need to bring.

Sterling shrugged, the motion stiff with lingering tension. “Didn't say. Just said to come prepared.” His tone implied that “prepared” meant heavily armed and ready for the worst.

Sean picked up the paper, frowning at the location. “That's near the old paper mill. Been abandoned for years.”

“Hunters don't pick meeting spots for the ambiance,” Sterling remarked dryly. “Just means there won't be civilians around to get caught in the crossfire.”

The implication hung heavy in the air—whatever Hawk needed help with, it was likely to involve violence. The kind that required privacy and plausible deniability.

“So we're just supposed to walk in blind?” Sean's skepticism was palpable, the wariness of a man who'd seen too many traps sprung in his time. “No intel, no backup plan?”

Sterling's eyes narrowed slightly. “You want to sit this one out, Cullen? Nobody's forcing you to come.”

The tension between them flared again. I wondered what exactly happened during my absence that created this friction—Sterling and Sean had always respected each other, even if they didn't always see eye to eye.

“Where Cade goes, I go,” Sean stated flatly. It wasn't a romantic declaration but a statement of fact, immovable and non-negotiable.

I studied the slip of paper again, a sense of foreboding settling in my gut. The hollow space inside me didn't allow for full-fledged anxiety, but I recognized the warning signs. Vague instructions, mysterious contact, isolated location—it read like the setup for an ambush or worse.

“This feels off,” I said quietly, voicing what we were all thinking.

Sean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That's never a good sign.” Despite his words, there was a subtle shift in his stance—his body angling toward the door, already preparing for action.

Sterling nodded grimly. “Hawk doesn't reach out lightly. If he's calling for help now, after all these years in the wind...”

“It's bad,” I finished.

“When is it ever good?” Sean's attempt at humor fell flat, but there was truth in it. Our world wasn't one of good options—just varying degrees of terrible ones, each with their own price.

I pocketed the address, decision made. “We'll need silver rounds, the demon daggers, and probably the consecrated iron. If this is connected to the seals...”

Sterling nodded, already moving to his weapons cabinet. “I'll get you fully stocked.”

The familiar rhythm of preparation filled the room—checking weapons, distributing ammunition, reviewing contingencies. It was a dance we'd performed countless times before, the choreography of hunters preparing to step once more into the darkness.

I caught Sean's eye across the room, a silent question passing between us: Ready? The answer came in the slight nod, in the determined set of Sean's jaw. Whatever awaited us at the old paper mill, we'd face it together.

And that would have to be enough.

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