I didn’t expect to see a cetery on an island like this.
The rows of tombstones hit so hard my heart stumbled. For a second, my knees went weak. Then I forced myself to breathe. If this place ant nothing, Yael wouldn’t have dragged here at dawn like it was so kind of ritual.
I swallowed my fear and stepped forward.
Dead people weren’t the real danger.
Living ones were.
And the one standing beside was proof.
The air slled like salt and wet stone. My skin still felt too smooth, too new, like it didn’t belong to . The spray bottle in my hand felt heavy, like a leash disguised as help.
I walked between the graves, reading nas in silence.
Most of them were Blackwells.
Or tied to the Blackwells.
So this wasn’t so old public cetery. This was theirs. A private burial ground, tucked away where no one would disturb it.
The oldest grave didn’t look ancient. It was more like two generations stacked into one secret corner of the world. And at the far end, the tallest, grandest tombstone stood like a throne.
Yael’s grandfather.
Ronald.
I moved closer and my breath caught.
He wasn’t buried alone. His partner’s na was carved beside his. And laid neatly in front of the stone were objects that made my stomach flip.
Jewelry I wore on my bond day.
Ethan’s watch.
Jake’s belt.
And a rusty lighter I barely recognized... but my body did. My mory did. Like the tal still held heat from another life.
My hands curled into fists before I could stop them.
My blood didn’t just warm.
It boiled.
They did this to us.
They ended us.
And now they were using our belongings like offerings like our lives were decoration at Ronald’s feet.
Yael’s voice slid into my thoughts, smooth and careless. "Elena, I always wanted to bring the Morrigans here to apologize."
I turned slowly, my jaw tight.
Apologize?
Before I could speak, his tone shifted sharper, colder, like a switch being flipped.
"Elena," he said, eyes bright with sothing unstable, "kneel. Atone for your sins with true remorse."
My throat went dry.
One mont he acted like he cared.
The next he was asking to bow like I belonged to him.
I forced my voice out anyway. "What’s the history between the Morrigans and the Blackwells?"
I didn’t even finish the sentence before pain shot through my leg.
Yael kicked the back of my knee.
I crumpled to the ground, the stone biting into my skin through the thin fabric of my dress. My palms landed hard. My breath broke.
He crouched slightly, looking down at like I was sothing he’d trained.
His face softened, but it didn’t make him kinder.
"Elena," he said almost gently, "you should be grateful I like you. If I didn’t, today wouldn’t be about kneeling."
His eyes sharpened, calm and deadly. "It would be about using your head as a sacrifice."
A cold shiver ran through .
Not fear like panic.
Fear like truth.
I believed him.
So I stayed kneeling. I didn’t even try to stand.
My voice ca out thin. "If you won’t tell what happened, how can I atone?"
He sighed, like I’d exhausted him. "I know it’s not your fault."
Then he looked past , to Ronald’s stone, like he was speaking to the dead.
"But your grandmother’s sins... those belong to you too. The sins of Quintus and liora are yours to bear."
Quintus Morrigan my grandfather.
liora my grandmother.
My stomach tightened.
"What happened back then?" I asked.
Yael was quiet for so long the waves filled the space between us.
Finally, he spoke. "Quintus saw my grandmother. He wanted her. So he took her in broad daylight."
My face pinched in disbelief. "That doesn’t make sense. How could he do that? Where were the laws?"
Yael laughed once bitter, empty. "Laws?"
His voice turned colder. "Back then, the strongest pack in town made the rules. The only law was power. Your grandmother’s family had teeth and numbers. We didn’t."
He stared at , like he wanted the words to hurt. "We begged liora to help. She was worse than Quintus. My great-uncle and his wife went to speak to her, and she had them killed in the street."
I felt sick.
I had grown up hearing my grandmother was strict. Hard. Controlling.
But this was different.
This was a different kind of darkness.
Yael continued, the words coming slower now. "We waited for our grandmother to co back. We kept telling ourselves she would. That she’d walk through the door one morning like nothing happened."
His jaw clenched. "When the old order finally started cracking, they released her."
He paused.
"And when she ca back... she was barely alive."
My chest tightened, the air suddenly too thin.
Yael’s voice dropped, like he didn’t want the island to hear him. "It wasn’t just Quintus. The Morrigans used her beauty like a trade. Like currency. They passed her around to powerful n, because it bought them protection. Influence."
I stared at the grave, struggling to fit that story into the family na I carried.
He kept going, eyes flat. "She said she was locked in a basent. Chained. Treated like she wasn’t human. Even servants felt bold enough to tornt her."
My stomach churned hard, and I swallowed against it.
"After the country settled," Yael said, "the Morrigans shifted their power into business and beca untouchable. My grandfather tried to comfort her, but she didn’t co back whole."
His voice cracked for the first ti, just barely. "One winter night, she ended it. We found her under a plum tree. Snow fell all night, covering her like a blanket."
I didn’t know what to say.
The wind brushed my face, and I felt the urge to argue, to deny it, to defend the na I grew up with.
But my mouth wouldn’t move.
Because even if I didn’t want to believe it... Yael wasn’t telling this like a story. He was telling it like a scar.
I managed a whisper. "What happened after that?"
He exhaled, eyes distant. "People expected my grandfather to go mad. To burn everything down."
His gaze lowered. "Instead, he got quiet. Quiet in the way that scares you more than screaming."
Yael’s mouth tightened. "He used a special solution to preserve her body. Then he encased her inside a stone sculpture, like he could keep her safe if she never decayed."
He glanced around at the graves. "Our family carved stone for generations. We survived every era because people always want statues. People always want to rember."
His voice hardened again. "We thought it was over. We hated the Morrigans, but we were too far beneath them to touch them."
Then his eyes sharpened. "Until one year."
He stood a little straighter, like that part still fed him. "My grandfather was hired to carve a piece for the Hales. There was a banquet. The Morrigans were there."
My stomach sank.
"He tried to kill Quintus and his wife," Yael said quietly. "He failed."
He let out a short, humorless breath. "liora smiled like she forgave him. Like she let him go."
Yael’s eyes darkened. "But she didn’t forget."
My throat went tight. "What did she do?"
"She crushed us," he said simply. "And the Whites too, because they were connected to us. We lost everything. Then we found out the Morrigans wanted all our descendants wiped out."
A chill slid across my spine.
"That’s why we left," he said. "That’s why we hid."
His voice grew heavier. "My father was a child when he watched the Blackwells fall apart. He watched his mother die. That’s when revenge stopped being an idea and beca... a vow."
I didn’t blink. I barely breathed.
"And Camilla?" I asked.
Yael’s mouth curled, not amused proud. "She’s my great-uncle’s granddaughter. Her real na is Wisteria Blackwell."
He stepped closer, forcing to look up at him while still kneeling.
"The Blackwells hoped the younger ones would move on," he said. "But when my great-uncle and his wife were beaten to death in their ho and left in the street... that hope died."
His gaze held mine, sharp as a blade. "We never forgot. My brother and I didn’t either."
Then he said it slow, clear, like an oath.
"The blood debt of the Blackwells... the Morrigans must pay."
My mouth went dry.
My eyes flicked back to the objects at Ronald’s grave.
The rusty lighter.
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