Chapter 62 Kane’s Secrets
CHAPTER SIXTY TWO
Valencitia's POV~
My boots tapped quietly on the varnished floor, terror humming in my blood as I gripped Marcus’s note: Marrow’s alias—Elias Kane, Seryne bookshop. The words were a lifeline, a thread with which to pull apart Galden’s lies, but dread curled tight—what if Kane’s another trap? The vial of the antidote, stored safely within the lockbox in the estate, felt a hopeless distance away, and its warning — ‘unstable, neural overload — a ghost in my thoughts. My sweater stuck to my skin, still wet from Seryne’s morning dew, and I crawled into a microfilm booth, the machine’s purr a dark rumble. My fear peaked, and suddenly my heart was pounding—is Natasha looking? Her card from the coast lab, Marcus’ warning, that there was a mole in Lena’s lab, haunted me, but my mother’s note–find Marrow burned even brighter inside of me, a promise to get justice for her and for my father, both of whom Gregor killed.
I threaded a 1999 reel, my hands shaking, and the screen blinked with Galden’s notes. My breaths caught as the name Elias Kane appeared, a chemist on serum patents with his signature so bold on forms stamped Memory Suppression, Subject V. Followed by my name—Valenticia Clawford—like a clinical scar, but it was the footnote that had me choking back a gasp: E. and J. Clawford, whistleblowers, terminated for interference. My voice caught, it came out barely a whisper, “They died for this.” My parents, Eleanor and James, had battled Galden’s serum, the image of their bravery was like a sword in my heart. Tears pricked, distorting my vision, and I clutched the lip of the booth, rage and terror colliding—Gregor murdered them for me. A memory twinkled, my mother’s lullaby, Hush, my star, and I seized it, flakes of resolve freezing into steel. I will fight and finish them, I had sworn, printing out the patent, taking the paper’s sharp corners as a weapon against Galden’s shadows.
I found Rosanna’s letter that I had stashed in my bag from yesterday as I searched for a pen. Her script was elegant and urgent: Get the truth, child. You’re Eleanor’s light. My heart ached, her faith an offering, and I put the letter in my pocket, fear not gone but eased. What mystery springs from that truth? It was oppressive, the silence in the archives, broken only by the hum of a distant heater, and I glanced up and down the aisles, and fear whispered: Are Gregor’s spies here? I wanted Kane’s trail, and I heard Marcus’s mention of a bookshop in Seryne’s old town. My determination was beams of sparks but what galled me—where’s Stefan? He had been sending me vague texts since our night in the rose garden: Busy, talk soon. The silence between us, his heat leaving me and my heart squirmed; I pushed my doubt away, the fear of his taking a step back a small shadow. Concentrate, Valenticia, I said slipping the patent into my handbag, my shadow long in the library’s dim light.
Seryne’s old town was a knot of cobblestone and rot, its canal glinting in a roof of gray clouds, the bookshop a cramped storefront, faded sign: Kane’s Rare Tomes. I was in a panic, my heart pounding, fear surging through my veins as I pushed against the door, the sound of a bell jingling softly. It was dusty, with shelves of towering, leather-bound books, spines cracking like old bones. My boots made no sound on that creaking floor, and I glanced around for Kane, fear a steady drum—is he here, or is it just his secrets? A slim young clerk with skittish eyes stood by the counter, looking furtively first at me, then away. I became unsettled and, does he know me? I riffled, fingers trailing titles until I noticed a hidden shelf, books akimbo. Behind it, I found a folded note, the paper stiff to my touch, written in a rushed hand: Antidote’s Key—Lazareth. It seized me with fear, cold as a vise — what is Lazareth? A lab, a code, a trap? My head spun; the word was an enigma, a mystery and I stuffed the note in my pocket, determination ignited to solve it.
Stefan’s most recent text buzzed on my phone: Checking in, you okay? His absence since our night was a wound I couldn’t put a name to. OK, I said, fingers shaking, unease mounting—why’s he so far away? Our night, his touch, his whisper, “You’re my haven”, all seemed like a dream, and his fear whispered: Is he pulling away? I shook my head, concentrating on the note, but the clerk’s eyes darted once more, his fingers twitching sly surveillance. My heart skipped a beat —Galden’s eyes? Panic rolled upon me, a tide I could not fend off, and I descended toward the door, the sound of the bell a betrayer as I went out into the fog, where Seryne’s goblins swallowed me.