Chapter 40: Ashes and Inheritance

The last time I saw Callum, I was ten years old, covered in soot and blood, being pulled away from the smoldering ruins of my family home. He'd come out of nowhere back then—screeching brakes, yelling my name, clutching me like he thought I might vanish into the smoke. Then just like that, he was gone again. Disappeared. No word. No funeral. No comfort. No answers.

And now here he was.

Leaning against the gatepost, chest rising and falling like he’d run the last few miles on foot. His boots were caked in mud, his clothes soaked through from rain, and his face had that same old stubborn tilt that said he didn’t plan to apologize for anything unless it was dragged out of him.

I didn’t move.

Not at first.

Because part of me didn’t believe he was real.

And part of me didn’t know if I wanted him to be.

"How the hell are you alive?" I asked, my voice sharper than intended.

Callum laughed once, dry and tired. "Nice to see you too."

"You disappeared. After the fire. After everything."

He shifted, hands in his coat pockets. "Yeah. I did."

I took a step forward. "Why? Where did you go?"

Callum sighed. "It’s a long story."

"Then start talking."

\---

Aidan had come down the moment the gate alarm went off, standing quietly a few steps behind me, his presence calm but watchful. When he saw Callum, he gave me a look. One that asked without words, Do you want me to stay?

I nodded.

Because I didn’t trust the ground beneath me, let alone the ghosts that had just wandered up our driveway.

We brought Callum inside. Not into the war room. Not into the council hall. Just the old sitting room by the library, where the fireplace still worked and the couches didn’t creak like something haunted. Aidan made tea, because he was Aidan and he did things like that. Elena popped in with a silver dagger tucked in her boot, just in case. Echo lingered outside the door, not intruding but listening, always.

Callum sat across from me, steaming mug in his hand, eyes flicking to the fire. "I never thought I’d see you again."

"Funny. I thought you were dead."

He nodded. "I was supposed to be."

"What happened?"

He exhaled, slow and shaky. "The night your family was attacked, I was on my way there. I’d gotten a call—from your dad. Said something didn’t feel right. I was fifteen minutes away when it happened. When I got there, it was already burning. And... they were gone."

My throat tightened, but I didn’t interrupt.

"I found you in the woods. You were shaking. Covered in ash. I tried to get help, but by the time I came back, the council had already taken you. Said they'd protect you. Said it was better you didn't know I was still alive. That it would be... cleaner."

"Cleaner?"

He met my eyes. "They wanted to control what you became. A scared orphan is easier to mold than a girl with surviving family."

My heart pounded. "You let them take me."

"No," he said firmly. "I fought it. I tried to come back. I tried countless times but every time, they shut me down. Threatened me. Erased my records. Gregory was part of it."

Of course he was.

Callum leaned forward. "Rox, they knew what you were before you did. Before I did. They were already tracking your DNA. The experiments... your parents tried to stop them. They were whistleblowers. They were targets."

My world tilted.

"You knew about the experiments?"

He nodded. "Not everything. But enough. Enough to know Gregory was behind it. Enough to know your family was killed because they got too close."

Aidan stood nearby, arms crossed, watching Callum with equal parts suspicion and sympathy.

"Why now?" I asked. "Why come back now?"

"Because I heard about the Bloodfangs. About Echo. About the labs.” His jaw tightened. "And because I found something. A location Gregory tried to erase. Not a lab. A vault. A place they stored early genetic material. Records. Tissue samples. Maybe even..."

He hesitated.

"Even what?"

"The original subject. T-0. The real one. The first one."

Silence.

Even the fire crackled more softly.

"Where?" Aidan asked.

Callum pulled out a weathered notebook from his coat. Inside, scribbled in rushed handwriting and taped pages, was a map. Coordinates. Notes. Old diagrams of what looked like a mountain facility.

"It's in Montana. Hidden inside an old cold war fallout shelter. Gregory used it as a blacksite before the council even knew he existed."

I looked at the map.

Then at Aidan.

Then at the man who used to be family, who might still be, who might never have stopped being.

"Then that’s where we go next."