Roman hesitated, choosing his words with care. “Without seeing him like that. We’ll hold a ceremony. For Osman. To honor him.”
Rosie, so small amidst the ruins, tugged at my skirt, her innocence a fragile light amid our devastation. She looked up at me, her wide, uncomprehending eyes brimming with questions.
“What do we do next?” she asked, her voice soft, her hope aching in its simplicity.
I glanced at Roman, his steady presence grounding me.
Taking a deep breath, I answered, “We will remember Osman as he lived, not as he died,” I whispered, though the words felt as much for myself as they did for Rosie. “Then we gather our strength, and we move forward. Together.”
As I shifted Luna in my arms, the air was thick with the lingering scent of char and sorrow. Roman’s gaze found mine, a storm of resolve darkening his eyes.
“When Osman was dying,” Roman began, his voice cutting through the oppressive stillness. “He told me we had to find a man named Pasha Hassan. Only he could help us decipher the ancient scriptures of the blades and bring their power back to life.”
My heart clenched at the mention of a new quest. Even amidst the ashes of our despair, a flicker of hope kindled—fragile but alive.
“How do we find him?” I asked, the practicality of the task already weighing heavily on my mind.
Her face streaked with ash and tears, Reyna slowly pushed herself to her feet. Though emotion thickened her voice, determination cut through it like steel. “He lives in Anatolia,” she said, her resolve unshaken despite the grief hanging over her like a shadow.
“I understand that,” I replied, my voice a soft murmur. “I have searched for people before, which can be difficult. And many times, they are dead or, if they are alive, they refuse to help.”
“No, Pasha Hassan is alive and is one of the last scholars who knows the blades’ history.” Reyna’s voice held a reverence that underscored the gravity of the man’s knowledge.
“Then that’s the next plan,” Roman declared, his voice firm and resolute. “We head to Anatolia.”
“It’s dangerous,” Reyna interjected, her gaze flickering with unease. The loss of Osman lingered in her eyes, but something else—something darker—shadowed her expression. “The most powerful Timehunter society resides there.”
“I don’t care,” Roman replied, his jaw set with unyielding resolve. His eyes moved between Luna and me, then to Malik and Rosie, his family, and his responsibility. “We’ll tell them we’re explorers. A family. If that doesn’t work, we’ll say we’re Timehunters from England.”
Luna stirred in my arms, her tiny body shifting as she let out a soft sigh, blissfully unaware of the dangers her existence had already defied. My heart clenched as I glanced at her peaceful face, the fragility of her life sharpening my focus. We needed to decipher the ancient script on the sun and moon daggers—for her, for all of us.
Roman’s plan settled over us like a beacon, lighting the way through the darkness surrounding us. Together, as a family, we would face the unknown.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
ALINA
My consciousness flickered like a dying flame as I came to, the stench of decay and damp stone assaulting my senses. A cold shiver ran down my spine, and I froze as something crawled across my skin. Panic surged as I jerked against the chains binding me to the wall, the clanking of metal echoing through the oppressive void. A tingling sensation spread, and I looked down in horror to see dozens of tiny white maggots swarming over my flesh. They writhed and squirmed, some creeping up my legs, others brushing against my face. Their slimy, relentless movements made bile rise in my throat as I frantically thrashed, trying to dislodge them.
I screamed a raw, throat-tearing sound that reverberated through the darkness, returning to me like a taunting echo.
“Where am I? Someone help me!” The words ripped from my lips, soaked in desperation.
“Alina, my daughter, are you alright?” Strained with pain and concern, the voice cut through the suffocating blackness. My father. Mathias. His presence was a cruel paradox—comfort in the reminder that I wasn’t alone but despair in knowing he was trapped in this waking nightmare.
“Where are you?” I croaked, twisting toward the direction of his voice, my vision swallowed by the impenetrable ink of our prison.
“A dark place, my dear,” he said, his tone muffled, struggling as if to break through some unseen barrier. Then his voice hardened, laced with bitter reproach. “You fucked up. You knew the plan. But you got impatient. You revealed yourself to Olivia. And in the heat of it all, I followed suit. Now, here we are, in Salvatore’s torture chamber.”
The words struck like a hammer, and I groaned at the weight of our shared fate. Salvatore. The darkest of the dark. The very father of shadows. What cruel horrors awaited us in his lair?
Guilt coiled in my gut, a knot heavier than the chains biting into my wrists. We had fallen into the snare we had so carefully laid for others, undone by my recklessness. My tempestuous impatience had shattered the delicate balance of our scheme, and now we were paying the price.
I clawed at my skin, desperate to rid myself of the writhing maggots that clung to me, their slimy forms a relentless reminder of my downfall. Revulsion churned in my stomach, threatening to overwhelm me, when an eerie light flickered to life. It cast long, grotesque shadows across the damp stone walls of the dungeon, distorting the space into something far more sinister.
Salvatore’s silhouette filled the doorway, his presence as oppressive as the chains that held me. His wicked laugh—a mocking cackle—ricocheted off the walls, a sound that carried the promise of pain and despair with it.
“You fucking idiots,” he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. “Everything we worked for—everything—went to shit in just a few months.”
