Chapter 89 89

Chapter 89 Part 2-Chapter 6
Vargas lived in the kind of building that made you think twice about touching anything barehanded. The brick façade was cracked, grimy, and painted over more times than a crime scene. A rusted gate leaned against the entryway like it had given up on being useful sometime in 1998. Even the air felt stale, like it had absorbed every bad decision made inside.

Raines stared up at the sign above the door…a faded wooden plank that once read ARCANE CONSULTATIONS but now mostly said A E C NS L AT NS. She snorted. “Yeah. Nothing screams trustworthy quite like missing vowels.”

Inside, the stairwell smelled like dust and incense. Raines kept her hand near her gun as we climbed, muttering under her breath about tetanus shots and regret. Normally I’d joke back, but my mind was somewhere else: Cyne.

His presence tugged faintly at the edges of my consciousness, not a voice, not even a sound. Just a pressure, like someone lightly pressing two fingers against the inside of my chest. Faint. Weak…but real. Whatever held him had no idea how tightly he held onto me in return.

Raines caught me drifting. “You’re doing the spooky staring-off thing again,” she whispered.

“I feel him again,” I informed her.

She blinked. “Hate that. Hate everything about that sentence.”

We stopped in front of a door painted a color that might once have been red but now resembled dried blood diluted with bleach. A handwritten note taped to it read: KNOCK ONLY IF YOU BRING CASH, QUESTIONS, OR APOLOGIES.

Raines grimaced. “What if we bring none of the above?”

I shrugged. “Then we improvise.”

She muttered something about hating improv and lifted her hand to knock, but the door opened before she touched it.

Vargas stood there barefoot in a loose linen shirt, hair tied into a messy knot, looking like a man who hadn’t slept in a week and didn’t mind. His eyes were sharp though. Too sharp.

“Sponsor Echo,” he greeted, voice smooth as worn leather. “And Officer Raines.” He smiled at her panic-flash of surprise. “Yes, I know who you are. Come in.”

Raines shot me a glare that said I hate him already, but we followed Vargas into a cluttered living room that looked like a thrift store had exploded. Books piled on chairs. Jars filled with strange powders. A collection of old keys nailed to one wall like a shrine.

Raines whispered, “I swear to God if he pulls out a Ouija board I’m leaving.”

“He doesn’t use Ouija boards,” I muttered.

“Oh good,” she returned. “He’s worse.”

Vargas motioned for us to sit. We didn’t.

“You brought something,” he said. “I can feel it from here.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the pendant. Its weight felt heavier today, like it had absorbed meaning since the last time I held it. Vargas extended his hand.

I didn’t give it to him yet. “What is it?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “If I tell you without touching it, I’ll lie.”

Raines groaned. “Terrific.”

I placed the pendant into his palm. His expression changed instantly, sharpened, stilled, like someone had hit pause on all the casual showmanship.

He whispered, almost reverently, “Oh…you have no idea what you’re carrying.”

“No,” I snapped. “We don’t. That’s why we’re here.”

He turned the pendant over slowly, fingers trembling. “This symbol is not used lightly. Or broadly. It was once reserved for a very specific lineage.”

Raines crossed her arms. “Whose lineage?”

Vargas lifted his gaze to mine. “Yours.”

My breath caught. A cold wave slid down my spine.

Raines shook her head. “You’re going to need to elaborate before I start flipping tables.”

Vargas set the pendant gently on the table and stepped back like it might burn him. “This mark belonged to an ancient order. Older than any cult you’ve encountered. They didn’t worship anything. They protected something.”

“Protected what?” I asked.

“Bloodlines,” he whispered. “Rare ones. Dangerous ones. Ones worth killing for. Or keeping alive.” He pointed at me. “And you are the next in that line.”

Raines swore softly. “Sponsor…Jesus.”

I swallowed hard. “So they’ve been waiting for me.”

“Yes,” Vargas said. “And they are not patient.”

My pulse hammered. “What about Cyne? Why take him?”

Vargas’s face dimmed. “Because he stood in the way.”

Raines stepped closer, jaw tight. “What do you mean stood? Past tense? Watch your wording, Mystic Salad.”

“He’s alive,” Vargas said simply. “For now.”

I felt the floor tilt for a moment. The world narrowed to the phrase hanging between us.

“For now,” I whispered.

Vargas continued. “They’re using him because he is tied to you. He is your shield. Your hunter. Your deterrent. And they need you without him.”

“They’ll never get that,” I snapped.

His gaze softened. “I know you believe that. But lineage has gravity. And you have no idea how many centuries it has been pulling.”

I forced myself to breathe. “Where is he?”

Vargas hesitated. “If I tell you, you’ll run to him. And running toward that place is running into your own cage.”

“Tell me anyway,” I requested.

He searched my face, sighed, and reached for a book on a nearby shelf. Old. Bound in cracked leather. He opened it to a map…somewhere north of the city, beyond the industrial district, near the edge of the water.

“This,” Vargas said, tapping a finger on a blackened mark. “Is the origin site. The place your line began…and the place they’re taking anyone who stands in its way.”

Raines leaned over my shoulder. “Why there?”

“Because that’s where the ritual begins,” he muttered, as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t know.

My stomach dropped. “Ritual?”

Vargas nodded slowly. “You asked why they want you. The answer is simple.” His eyes met mine, steady and sad. “You’re meant to awaken something.”

Raines whispered, “Oh hell. Absolutely not.” But I just stood there, heartbeat in my ears, pendant cold in my hand, Cyne’s weak pull brushing the inside of my chest.

Vargas’s voice softened. “You weren’t hunted, Sponsor. You were summoned.”

A chill wrapped around my ribs. Summoned.

Raines grabbed my arm. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

I nodded numbly. “Yeah.”

Vargas didn’t follow us to the door. He just called out one last thing as we stepped into the hallway. “When you find Cyne…remember something.”

I paused. “What?”

“He wasn’t taken.” He paused a beat, then continued. “He volunteered.”