Page 142 of Without a Trace
I let that settle. “So you’re saying she’s been triggering it since day one.”
“She was born triggering it.”
I swore under my breath.
“She would’ve activated someone eventually,” Zeke continued. “But it had to be the right match. The right blood. You, me—we weren’t candidates. Trace and Alden… they were. And she chose them.”
He flipped a page and paused. “The problem is—she wasn’t supposed to exist. Not in the open. Not unclaimed.”
My pulse kicked. “You mean unaligned.”
“No, Rhett.” Zeke looked up. “I mean unclaimed. That bond wasn’t supposed to go to anyone. It was sealed generations ago—locked by her father’s side. The Red Veil.”
“And now?”
He dragged a single sheet forward. Burned edges. Strange ink.
“Now that it’s awakened… they’ll feel it. Every surviving tether will. Especially him.”
A chill cut down my spine despite the heat crawling through the window.
I shook my head. “So what—you’re saying this bond was supposed to stay dormant unless activated through sex? Like a fucking trapdoor no one knew they were standing on?”
Zeke’s shoulders dropped, the flight gone from his voice. “Something like that.”
“Jesus.”
He didn’t respond. Just picked up another file and turned it toward me.
It was labeled SEALING EVENTS — Known Cases.
Only three were listed. One had a date from before the United States existed. One had a faded name that looked almost burned through.
The third?
Unmarked.
“Have you ever seen it in real life?” I asked.
Zeke shook his head. “No. And neither has anyone else who’s still alive.”
Scarlett
It was someone’s dumb fucking idea to bring me back to the training circle.
Probably Kane. Or maybe Trace, still trying to fix what none of them could explain.
No one asked if I was ready. They just pointed toward the clearing and expected me to fall in line.
The sun hammered down, burning through the tops of the trees, turning my skin slick beneath the thin tank I’d thrown on. My hands were still shaking. Not from fear. From the kind of fury that simmers hot under the surface, waiting for an outlet. A reason.
This was theirs.
A clearing, a handful of blades, and the audacity to call it training.
Trace stood by the supply crate. Shirtless and still.
Alden adjusted the strap of the rifle across his chest but didn’t meet my gaze. He hadn’t really looked at me since the porch.
