Theo woke at seven, color back in his cheeks. The fever had broken. He sat up with clear eyes. “Can Elias take me somewhere?” he asked. “Just us?”
My instinct was fast and sharp: no. Two days before Halloween. The ward tugging at him. Alaric circling. Every moment felt borrowed. “Where?”
“Anywhere. I want to know him. Before Halloween.”
The words cut clean, as if he knew what might come after. Elias stood in the doorway with coffee and exhaustion. He’d stayed up all night listening to Theo breathe. Now my son wanted time with his father—time I couldn’t give them if I said no.
“Stay public,” I said. “Phone on. Text me every hour.”
Elias nodded. “I’ll keep him safe.”
“I know.” I touched Theo’s hair. “Be good.”
“Always am.”
They left at nine. I watched until they turned the corner, then stood in the quiet apartment and felt the silence press down.
I tried to work—files from Voss and Black, contracts, schedules—but my mind circled my son and the man I’d kept from him for seven years.
Elara called at ten with pack updates. Support was building but fragile. Alaric had money and old loyalty. We had momentum and anger. It would come down to who made the better argument on Halloween night.
“How’s Theo?” she asked.
“Better. Elias took him out.”
“That’s good. They need time.”
We talked strategy until a text buzzed: Theo pressed to a jellyfish tank. Caption: They glow like the lighthouse.
I tried to work. I failed.
They returned at five. Theo burst in with stories: the aquarium—sharks and jellyfish; lunch at a diner; a construction site with blueprints and a borrowed hard hat; a playground where he swung so high he thought he might fly.
“We’re building a treehouse,” Theo said. “After Halloween. We’ll design it together.”
“That sounds perfect.”
He kept talking—about the crew member who asked if he was Elias’s kid, the other dad who said kids grow fast, the way Elias admitted he was scared but showing up anyway. Ordinary moments. Father and son. The kind I’d given him alone for seven years.
Exhausted, he fell asleep early with a smile. I watched him breathe. Two days. We had two days to keep him here.
Elias sat on the couch, phone in hand, looking steadier. I sat beside him.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For today.”
He set his phone down. “He asked why I didn’t come before. I explained the Shadowbinding as simply as I could. Then he asked if I wished he wasn’t mine.”
My chest tightened. “What did you say?”
“That he’s the best thing I didn’t know I was waiting for.” He met my eyes. “He told me you cry at night, that you think he’s asleep.”
Heat rose through my face.
“He said you’ve been carrying a lot alone,” Elias continued. “Then he said not anymore, because I’m here now.”
My throat closed.
“He told me his birthday was last month,” Elias said. “Seven now. But you told him Halloween is more important.”
“The ward counts from conception, not birth,” I said. “Halloween is seven years since the Shadowbinding. That’s when the magic peaks.”
“I know now.” He shifted closer. “At the playground a father asked if Theo was mine. I said yes. First time in public. Theo heard. He smiled like I’d handed him something he didn’t know he needed.”
“You gave him his father.”
“I gave him what you’ve given him for seven years—presence, attention, time.” He took my hand. “At the site he asked if we could do this again after Halloween. I told him every weekend if he wants.”
“He wants.”
“So do I.” His grip tightened. “Whatever happens on Halloween, I’m showing up for the days after. I’m not going anywhere.”
I leaned into him. Outside, the city moved through its routines. Inside, we gathered strength.
“He asked if I was scared,” Elias said. “I told him the truth. Terrified. But here anyway. That’s what family does.”
“First time you used that word with him.”
“It felt right.” He kissed my hair. “I love him, Mara.”
“It’s seven years late,” I said, “not fast.”
He searched my face. “I love you too. I’m choosing you. I’m choosing this.”
The words settled—heavy and true.
“I love you,” I said. “And I’m terrified of losing you, of failing on Halloween and watching everything fall apart.”
“We won’t fail.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No,” he said. “But I can promise I’ll give the ward everything I have. I’ll stand beside you at midnight. I’ll speak the truth even when it hurts. I’ll bleed if necessary. I won’t let you face this alone.”
I kissed him, trying to memorize the steadiness that had become necessary in eight impossible weeks. The apartment felt too small for what we needed.
“After Halloween,” I whispered. “I want everything. You in my bed. You at my table. You reading to him at night.”
“You’ll have it,” he said.
We went to the bedroom and closed the door. We made love quietly—desperate and tender, holding on as if the world might end in two days. Maybe it would. But tonight we had this.
After, I lay with my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat—steady, strong.
“Eight weeks ago I didn’t know you existed,” he said. “Now I can’t imagine a world without you. Without him.”
“Don’t imagine it.”
“If the ward takes him, I don’t survive that. So we don’t lose.”
“We won’t,” I said.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number. A message: Tomorrow is Halloween Eve. Final rehearsal before the main event. Rest well—you’ll need your strength. Coordinates followed. I plugged them into maps.
The lighthouse. Of course.
A second message: Midnight tomorrow. Both of you. Come see what I’ve prepared.
I showed Elias. His jaw tightened.
“It’s a trap,” he said.
“Probably.”
“We should ignore it.”
“We can’t. If he’s doing something to the lighthouse, we need to know before Halloween.” I pulled on my clothes. “We go tomorrow night. We see what he wants us to see. Then we prepare.”
“Mara—”
“I won’t let him control the board without seeing his pieces.” I met his eyes. “We go together. We stay alert. We leave if it feels wrong.”
He nodded. “Together.”
We returned to the couch because sleep wouldn’t come. We watched the city lights. Tomorrow night we’d see what he’d built.
Two days until Halloween. Two days until midnight. Two days until the ward demanded everything.
I took Elias’s hand. He squeezed back.
Another buzz. Different number: Bryony. The lighthouse lens cracked further tonight. Fractures spreading. Whatever this is, it’s accelerating. Stabilize it before Halloween or the binding won’t hold.
I set the phone down.
Elias pulled me close. “We can do this.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the alternative is unacceptable. So we find a way.”
I wanted to believe him. Sometimes you do everything right and still lose. I didn’t say it. I held on and let his certainty carry us. Tomorrow we would walk into Alaric’s trap. Halloween night we would face the ward. Between those, we would hold to each other and hope it was enough. Together.