Page 61 of Eclipse Born

“I've got people risking their lives to narrow down the heart's location,” Hawk continued, voice lowered but still intense. “People I've known for decades. So spare me the lecture on urgency.”

Sean took a step forward, jaw clenched, eyes burning with the particular fury of a hunter who has seen too much death, too much loss. His hand came to rest on the table's edge, knuckles white with tension.

“We need to know now—” He leaned in, the movement aggressive, confrontational. Whatever he was about to say next would likely escalate the situation beyond repair.

The atmosphere in the room had shifted from professional disagreement to something more volatile. Two hunters with different approaches but equally valid concerns, both pushed to the edge by the stakes of their mission. It was a powder keg waiting for a spark.

I put a hand on Sean's arm, stopping him. The touch was light but firm, a silent message understood through the months we'd worked together. Enough.

Sean's nostrils flared, his breath coming quick and shallow with the effort of containing his frustration. For a moment, it seemed he might shrug off my restraint. Then, gradually, the tension in his muscles eased slightly. He exhaled sharply and turned away from Hawk, creating physical distance to cool the heated moment.

I met Hawk's eyes briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. The crisis was averted for now, but the underlying issue remained. Time was our enemy as much as Asmodeus, and the balance between caution and action was a razor's edge we were all walking.

“A couple of days,” I said, not a question but a statement. A deadline. “Then we move, with whatever information we have.”

Hawk studied me for a moment, then nodded once. Agreement reached, for better or worse.

As Sean moved toward the door, Hawk lingered, his weathered face uncharacteristically hesitant. “There's something else, Cade.”

I paused, sensing the weight behind his words. “About the mission?”

“About your father.” Hawk's voice softened, something I hadn't thought possible from the hardened hunter. “Richard and I... we weren't just colleagues. Your parents were the closest thing to friends I ever had.”

Sean glanced between us before quietly stepping outside, giving us privacy.

“Sterling mentioned you knew him,” I said carefully.

“Knew him?” A ghost of a smile crossed Hawk's face. “Richard Cross was the finest man I ever met. And Elizabeth... your mother had a fire in her that could light up a room.” His eyes grew distant with memory. “I was devastated when they died. We all were.”

I felt a strange disconnect—these were my parents he was talking about, but the emotion I should have felt remained stubbornly out of reach, locked behind the void where my soul should be.

“Your father left something with me,” Hawk continued, reaching into his jacket. “Made me promise I'd give it to you when the time was right.” He pulled out a weathered envelope, yellowed with age. “I think that time is now.”

The paper felt fragile between my fingers, my father's handwriting instantly recognizable across the front: “For Cade.”

“I'll give you some space,” Hawk said, moving toward the door.

When I was alone, I broke the seal and unfolded the letter, something cold and distant inside me acknowledging that this should feel more significant than it did.

My son,

If you're reading this, then I'm gone, and the life your mother and I worked so hard to give you has changed in ways we never wanted. I hope Hawk found you well. I hope you've grown into the man we always believed you would be.

There are truths I need to tell you—truths I should have shared in person. Your mother and I tried for years to have a child. The doctors said it was impossible. In our desperation, I made a choice I've questioned every day since. I made a deal with a being that promised us a child—you. The price was steep: eight years of joy before payment came due.

The demon gave us you, and then it took us away. I don't regret the deal, Cade. Not for a moment. Eight years of watching you grow, of holding you, of being your father—I would make the same choice again.

Whatever happens, whatever you discover about yourself or your path forward, know this: your mother and I loved you more than anything in this world or any other. You were worth everything to us.

Always and forever,

Dad

I refolded the letter carefully, my hands steady despite the revelations. There was a tightness in my chest—not quite grief, not quite anger, but something. A flicker where there should have been a flame. The emptiness inside me couldn't fully process what I should be feeling, but somewhere, in whatever fragment of humanity remained, I felt the ghost of what might have been love.

When I stepped outside, Sean was waiting, leaning against the wall with an unreadable expression. His eyes tracked my movements, searching my face.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his usual gruffness tempered with something like concern.

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