Page 49 of Eclipse Born

Skye shrugged, but their eyes were sharp, assessing. “Sterling said something about the seals. And a guy named Hawk.”

The name meant nothing to me, but I could tell by the subtle tension in Sean's shoulders that it should. Another piece of knowledge lost in the gap of my absence, another reminder of how much had changed.

“Hawk?” I repeated, watching Sean carefully. “Who's that?”

Skye's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. “That's the weird thing. Sterling seemed to think you'd recognize the name. Said something about your father?”

I went still, a cold feeling settling in my chest. My father had been dead for years, but the past never stays buried in our world. Especially not with the seals breaking, with ancient powers awakening. “He mentioned my father specifically?”

Skye nodded, studying my reaction. “Yeah. Said Hawk knew him well.”

Sean leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a frown creasing his forehead. “Never heard of him.” His tone was carefully neutral—too neutral. I knew him well enough to recognize the deliberate blankness. Sean was hiding something.

“You're lying,” I said quietly, not an accusation but a statement of fact.

For a moment, Sean looked like he might deny it. Then his shoulders dropped slightly. “I've heard rumors. Hawk is... was... a Hallow hunter. One of the best. Went off-grid years ago. Some say he died. Others say he found something that changed him.”

Skye's expression darkened, fingers unconsciously tracing a scar on their forearm. “That Hawk? You're sure it's him? Last I heard while still in Hallow, he was declared KIA after that bloodbath in Prague. I thought Sterling knew another Hawk.”

Sean nodded grimly. “The same. If Hawk's resurfaced after all this time, it's not good news.”

“No,” Skye muttered, their voice tight with old memories. “It's really not.”

I finished my coffee, the liquid gone cold, bitter on my tongue. “Guess we're about to find out.” I spoke with a casualness I didn't feel, already mentally preparing for whatever new catastrophe awaited us.

Sean pushed away from the counter, already moving with purpose. “I'll get the weapons.”

“I'll check satellite feeds for unusual activity around known seal locations,” Skye offered, reaching for their laptop.

And just like that, the brief peace of the morning was gone, replaced by the familiar rhythm of preparation, of bracing for battle. I should feel something about this—regret for the interrupted calm, perhaps, or anxiety about what Sterling had discovered. But the hollow place inside me offered only silence.

Roxie watched us from her perch on the windowsill, blue eyes unblinking, judging our frantic human concerns with feline indifference. I envied her that detachment, the ability to exist solely in the present moment, unburdened by the weight of destiny or the scars of the past.

As Sean and I gathered our gear, moving in the practiced choreography of partners who knew each other's rhythms by heart, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window glass. For just a moment, I thought I saw something behind my eyes—a flicker of otherness, a hint of the void I felt growing inside me. But then Sean called my name, and the moment passed, leaving me to wonder if I'd imagined it.

The CITD officewas its usual controlled chaos—agents moving between desks, the hum of urgent conversations creating a background drone of activity. I tugged the brim of my baseball cap lower, adjusted the fake glasses on my nose, and kept my head down. The last thing we needed was for someone to recognize the formerly deceased Agent Cross walking through the bullpen.

“You look ridiculous,” Sean muttered beside me, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Like a college student who wandered into the wrong building.”

“Shut up,” I whispered back. “You try coming back from the dead and see how you handle it.”

Sean smirked. “I'd pull it off better than that dollar store Clark Kent getup.”

The disguise was minimal but effective—glasses, hat, different hairstyle, clothes I wouldn't normally wear. Simple changes that altered my silhouette and face just enough to pass casual scrutiny. To these people, Cade Cross was dead, his name etched on the memorial wall in the lobby. And officially, that's how it needed to stay, at least until Sterling figured out how to explain my resurrection to the higher-ups.

We navigated through the maze of desks toward Sterling's office, located in the back corner of the bullpen. A few agents glanced our way, but their eyes slid past without recognition. Just another pair of hunters or consultants coming to see the old man.

Sterling's office door was open, but the man himself barely looked up from his notes when we entered. His desk was piled with files, ancient texts mixed with modern reports, a half-eaten sandwich pushed to one side and forgotten. The corkboard behind him was covered with photos, maps, and strings connecting seemingly unrelated events.

“Took you long enough,” Sterling growled, voice gruff and edged with exhaustion. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his beard was more salt than pepper, the stress of recent months etched into the lines of his face.

I took in the state of the office—the empty coffee cups, the rumpled clothes, the sleeping bag rolled up in the corner. Sterling had been living here, working nonstop. Whatever was happening, it had escalated to crisis levels.

“Traffic,” Sean said dryly, closing the door behind us. “What's so urgent?”

Sterling's eyes narrowed, studying me with the intensity of a man who had spent decades detecting lies and half-truths. “How're you feeling, kid?”

The question caught me off guard. It wasn't what I expected in the middle of whatever crisis had Sterling working around the clock. “Fine,” I said automatically.

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