Chapter 147

Eleanor‘s POV

The Tower. Upside down.

Her expression shifted—something flickered that looked like recognition and sorrow mixed.

"Tower reversed," she said quiet, studying it. "Old foundations crumbling. Trauma from the past resurfaces." She looked up, gaze so intense I almost stepped back. "You will face blood and water, child. Shadows of old wounds will return."

My stomach dropped. "What does that mean?"

"A trauma you buried will come back." She reached out and gripped my hand—skin papery and cool. "Something connected to water. To drowning. To fear you thought you'd overcome."

My breath caught. How could she—

"But listen." Her grip tightened. "You'll survive. When darkness comes—and it will come soon—your light will find you." Her gaze shifted to Julian, tense and protective at my side. "He will come for you. Trust in that."

Julian stepped forward, positioning himself slightly between us. Voice polite but firm. "Thanks for the reading. We should go."

She released my hand and stepped back, but her eyes stayed on me—sad and knowing and somehow pitying.

"Remember, child." Voice dropped to barely a whisper. "When the water calls, don't let fear win. Your light will come. He always does."

Then she turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner before I could ask what she meant, how she knew about the water, about the fear I'd carried since I was eight.

I stood frozen, heart pounding too hard.

"Elle." Julian's voice was gentle. He turned me to face him, hands on my shoulders, gray-blue eyes searching mine. "Hey. Look at me."

I met his gaze and some panic receded.

"Just superstition," he said firm. "Card readings aren't real. She probably says the same thing to everyone—vague warnings that could apply to anything."

"She knew about the water." My voice came out small. "She said drowning. How—"

"Lucky guess." But I saw tension in his jaw, the way his eyes had gone sharp. "Or maybe she heard something. Greenwich isn't that big. People talk."

I wanted to believe him. Let his certainty wash away the unease coiling in my stomach.

But I couldn't shake her words. Blood and water. Old wounds. Darkness coming soon.

"Julian." I gripped his arms, suddenly desperate. "What if something happens? What if—"

"Hey." He cupped my face in both hands, forcing me to focus. "Listen. Nothing's gonna happen to you. I won't let it."

"You can't promise that."

"Watch me." Voice dropped lower, more intense. "I've been keeping you safe since we were kids. Before either of us understood what that meant. Not stopping now."

He leaned in, pressed his forehead to mine, hands still framing my face. "You're mine to protect, Elle. Mine to keep safe. And I take that job damn seriously."

Despite everything, my lips curved. "Yours to protect?"

"Damn right." He pulled back just enough to look at me, and the fierce possessiveness in his eyes made my breath catch. "Mine. And I don't let anything hurt what's mine."

I kissed him then—quick and hard and desperate, trying to pour all my fear and love and trust into it.

When we broke apart, both breathing harder.

"Come on," Julian said, taking my hand. "Let's get out of here."

As we walked back, I couldn't shake the feeling something had shifted. That the old woman's warning wasn't just superstition.

That somewhere, somehow, the past was catching up.

I didn't notice the man in the baseball cap watching from across the street, phone raised. Didn't see how his expression twisted dark and bitter as he watched Julian help me into the car.

Didn't know Jack—the man who'd tried to kill me ten years ago—had finally found me again.

---

We drove quiet for a while, Julian's hand warm on my thigh, thumb tracing patterns that should've soothed but didn't. The old woman's words kept echoing.

Blood and water. Old wounds. Darkness coming soon.

"Where to now?" I finally asked, trying to shake it off.

"Riverside Park." Julian glanced at me, concern glinting in his eyes even as he tried to hide it. "I thought we could grab sandwiches from that spot you like and have afternoon tea by the water. If that's okay with you?"

"Sounds perfect."

And it did. By the time we parked and walked to the sandwich shop, the mild late winter sun was warm on my face—that deceptive warmth that made you forget it was still technically winter—and the warning had faded to dull anxiety I could almost ignore.

We got our usual—turkey and avocado for me, roast beef for Julian—and walked to the park. The path was familiar, lined with bare trees. But unlike the dead skeletal look of deep winter, these branches had that faint swelling at the tips—the promise of buds, of green returning, of spring just around the corner.

Found an empty bench with a view of the water. I sat down, unwrapping my sandwich. River was calm, reflecting the bright late winter sky like polished silver. Few ducks paddled near shore, and in the distance I could hear kids playing—more of them than there'd been in January, drawn out by the milder weather.

Julian sat beside me but didn't unwrap his food. He was watching something across the park, expression distant.

Two kids—boy around seven, girl maybe five. Boy had snatched a stuffed bear from the girl, who was crying and chasing him, small face red with tears.

"Julian?" I touched his arm. "You okay?"

He blinked, coming back. "Yeah. Sorry. Just—" He stood abruptly, setting down his sandwich. "Give me a sec."

I watched him walk over, crouch to the boy's level. Couldn't hear what he said, but the boy's defensive posture—arms crossed, chin out—gradually softened.

Julian said something else and the boy's face went red. After a moment, he walked to the little girl and handed back the bear, mumbling something that stopped her crying.

Then Julian said something to both—something that made the girl giggle and the boy smile shy—and the two kids ran off together, girl clutching her bear and laughing.

Julian walked back, and when he sat, his expression was complicated. Vulnerable.

"What'd you say to him?" I asked soft.

"Told him if he liked the girl, stealing her toys was a shit way to show it." He picked up his sandwich but didn't bite, just stared. "That he should try being nice instead. Talk to her. Tell her how he feels. See where that gets him."

My throat went tight. "Julian."

"I know." He finally looked at me, raw honesty in his eyes making my chest ache. "I was that kid once, Elle. Doing everything wrong cause I didn't know how to do it right. Thought if I couldn't make you like me, at least I could make you notice me."

"I always noticed you." Words came out before I could stop them, thick with emotion. "Even when I thought I hated you, I couldn't stop noticing. You were always there, Julian. Always."

Something shifted in his expression—surprise and relief and something almost like pain.

"Spent so many years being mean to you," he said quiet. "Picking fights, saying shit I didn't mean, pushing your buttons just to get a reaction. Whole time, all I really wanted was for you to see me. Really see me. Not as Arthur's annoying little brother or the family disappointment. Just... me."

I set down my sandwich and turned to face him full. "I see you now."

"I know." Voice was rough. "Best thing that's ever happened to me."

I reached up and pulled him down by his collar, kissing him hard enough to feel his surprise before he melted into it. His hand came up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, and for a moment the world narrowed to just this—his mouth on mine, his warmth, the way he held me like I was something precious.

When we broke apart, both breathing harder.

"I love you," I whispered against his mouth. "You ridiculous, wonderful, impossible man. Love you so much."

"Love you too, Red." He pressed his forehead to mine. "So fucking much it scares me sometimes."

We stayed like that, the mild late winter sun warm on our faces—warmer than it had any right to be in February, that false promise of spring—the sound of the river and distant laughter creating a pocket of peace I wanted to live in forever.

I didn't know that across the park, hidden behind a tree, someone was watching.