Chapter 20

Chapter 20
Jax's POV

Back in the slums, I shoved open the creaking door of our shack and tossed that damned crown onto the windowsill without a second glance, already turning to search the cramped space for any sign of life.

"Grandma?" I called out, my voice echoing hollow in the emptiness.

The stove fire had long since died, leaving half a bowl of cold porridge congealed in the pot. Grandma Briony's wicker chair sat vacant, her threadbare gray shawl draped over the back like a ghost.

My stomach dropped, dread washing over me like ice water poured straight from the heavens.

She never went out at this hour. Never.

I bolted outside, nearly tripping over my own feet as I scrambled to the neighboring fisherman's doorstep. The old man sat there mending his nets, needle and thread moving methodically under the dim glow of an oil lamp.

"Have you seen my grandmother?" I gasped, fear making my voice shake.

The fisherman looked up, something like pity flickering in his clouded eyes. "Your grandma headed to the docks hours ago, said something about wanting to see that salvaged ship." He paused, sighing. "Wouldn't listen to reason, kept saying she needed to see her son..."

My ears rang.

The Albatross.

The drunk bastards' conversation from the tavern came flooding back—that ship had been dredged up, the very ship my father Gideon had served on before everything went to hell.

And Grandma, she must have gone looking for any trace of her son, any scrap of memory.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, already sprinting toward the harbor.

The slum alleys were narrow and filthy, garbage and sewage piled everywhere. I vaulted over a rotting crate, nearly stepped on a dead rat, but I didn't have time to care.

All I knew was I had to get there fast, before the worst could happen.

The sea breeze grew stronger, thick with the stench of fish guts and rotting seaweed. I could hear waves crashing against the docks in the distance, mixed with the chaotic buzz of a crowd.

The closer I got to the harbor, the worse that sick feeling in my gut became.

Then I saw it.

The dock was cordoned off by a ring of uniformed thugs, merchant guild badges pinned to their chests, batons dangling from their hands. In the center of the crowd knelt a hunched figure—Grandma.

She was on her knees on the cold cobblestones, hands clasped together, voice hoarse as she begged. "I just want to see my son... he was on that ship... please, just let me look..."

A thick-necked guard captain waved her off impatiently. "Get lost, old hag! This ain't your business! Go back to whatever gutter you crawled out of!"

Grandma tried to crawl forward, her hands scrambling across the ground, reaching for something, anything. The guard captain didn't hesitate—he kicked her square in the shoulder.

She went down hard, crashing onto the broken stones. Her palms split open, blood seeping through the cuts, her walking stick clattering away with a sharp clatter.

My vision went red.

The wolf instinct inside me erupted like a volcano. I wanted to charge forward, to shift, to rip out their throats and make them pay for laying a hand on her—

No.

Reason grabbed me by the scruff at the last second.

If I exposed myself as a wolf, I was dead. Worse, Grandma would be implicated too.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the power roiling through my veins back down. I could feel it howling in my blood, tearing at my bones, but I had to hold it in.

I hurried forward, bending down to help Grandma up, plastering a pathetic, groveling smile on my face. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, my grandmother's old, she doesn't know what she's doing... we're leaving, we're leaving right now..."

The guard captain spat, saliva hitting the ground. "Get the fuck out of here! If I see this old piece of trash again, I'm throwing her in the ocean to feed the fish!"

Not a single bystander spoke up. They just watched, cold and indifferent, as if none of this had anything to do with them.

I held Grandma's trembling body, feeling how light she was, how fragile. She weighed nothing, like a bird made of paper, and it broke something inside me.

Rage, humiliation, and helplessness churned in my chest like three knives twisting in the wound, but there was nothing I could do.

All I could do was support her as we walked slowly back to the slums. The moon stretched our shadows long and thin across the ground.

On the way home, Grandma stayed silent, tears streaming endlessly down her wrinkled face, soaking into her worn shawl.

"Jax..." she said suddenly, her voice barely more than a rasp. "What did you do today?"

My heart clenched. I stammered, not knowing how to answer. I couldn't tell her I'd broken into the Silver Moon Pack Alpha's estate, couldn't tell her I'd stolen a crown that might bring death to our doorstep.

"I... I went to the docks looking for work," I mumbled. "Made a little money..."

Grandma didn't press, but the disappointment in her eyes cut deeper than any scolding ever could.

"I know you've been doing those dirty little jobs again..." she choked out. "Jax, your father went down that same road, and look what happened..."

She couldn't finish, just covered her face and wept.

I wanted to argue, wanted to tell her I was doing this for her, for us to survive. But looking at her worn, exhausted face, the words stuck in my throat and refused to come out.

When we got home, Grandma glanced at the faintly glowing crown on the windowsill and froze for a moment. But she said nothing, just dragged herself over to the cupboard and pulled out a pair of rusted scissors.

She pointed to the crude shrine on the wall—a black-and-white photo of my father Gideon, with a burnt-out stick of incense beside it.

"Kneel," Grandma said, her voice weak but carrying an authority that left no room for argument.

I stared at my father's photo. That man who'd once been so full of life had ended up a drunken, debt-ridden wreck.

I didn't want to kneel. I didn't want to bow to this hypocritical world.

But Grandma was struggling to breathe, clutching her chest, her face pale as death.

Gritting my teeth, I slowly knelt on the worn cushion in front of the shrine.

Grandma's hands shook as she lifted the scissors and began cutting my unkempt hair. "Starting tomorrow... you'll go pray to the Wind Goddess... you'll turn over a new leaf... you'll live like a normal person..."

Black strands fell to the floor like severed hope.

My eyes stayed locked on my father's photograph.

In the picture, Gideon was grinning, his eyes bright with life.

But what I remembered was his final form—sitting in that filthy tavern, hands trembling as he pressed the green earring into my palm, his gaze hollow and dead.

My eyes burned, tears gathering but refusing to fall.

Faith? What fucking faith! This city uses the "Goddess" to enslave everyone. My father was destroyed by these lies!

But another voice whispered: Grandma, if this is what you need... if kneeling will give you peace... then Jax will accept it...

The last lock of hair dropped to the ground.

My fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms, blood dripping between my fingers.

Grandma set down the scissors and stroked my head. "Good boy... tomorrow you'll go to the lighthouse... the Goddess will forgive you..."

I closed my eyes. A single tear finally slipped free.

Late that night, I lay on my rickety bed, unable to sleep. Moonlight filtered through the broken window, casting uneven patches of light across the floor.

I stared at the crown's gemstone, which had once glowed green, then glanced at the faintly glowing earring still in my ear.

After a moment's hesitation, I pulled off the earring and moved it close to the crown.

Nothing happened.

The crown lay there, its gem dull and lifeless.

"It's not this?" I muttered. "Could it be because of Celeste's ring?"

I thought of Celeste—that "Goddess" trapped in her own cage.

Just like me, she was a prisoner.

I made a decision.

Tomorrow I'd go worship the Goddess, but not to repent, not to reform.

I was going to warn Celeste: danger was coming.