Page 36 of Her Soul to Own

“Jesus. Of course you do.”

“I wouldn’t ask unless it was serious.”

“Is this about your family?”

“It’s about someone who might’ve disappeared because of me.”

He doesn’t say anything. He’s definitely standing now and pacing like he always did when his brain clicked into FBI mode. God, I remember that look in his eyes when he solved a problem like it was a chessboard, and he’d already won.

“Tell me everything,” he finally says.

“Last night…” My voice catches. “I was with someone. A guy. His name’s Jake. We were at this diner. Then my bodyguard showed up when we were in his car.”

“Lyra…”

“He dragged me out of Jake’s car and threw me into another. That was the last time I saw Jake. No text. No call. No story on social media. Nothing.”

There’s static. A rustle. Then, “Wait—are you saying you think this guy killed someone?”

“I don’t know,” I hiss. “I don’t know what he did. But he’s dangerous, Elijah. He’s ex-military. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. And he’s obsessed with me.”

“You need to report this.”

“I can’t,” I snap. “This guy works for my father. You think they’d believe me over the Vane name?”

He’s quiet again. Then, soft and cutting, he says, “You’re scared.”

I don’t respond.

“You used to be fearless,” he says. “You used to be fire.”

“I still am,” I bite back. “But even fire knows when it needs gasoline. I’m not scared anyway, I just…”

“What?”

“I need to know what happened to Jake. I need protection. I need dirt on Silas Creed. Can you help me or not?”

A beat.

Then, Elijah says, “Send me everything you know. Full name, any records, photos. If he’s got military clearance, I can find cracks.”

I let out a slow, shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for your father,” he says. “I’m doing it for you. Because even after all this time, even after everything, we both know I’d still set the world on fire if you asked me to.”

Then the line goes dead.

And just like that, I’ve lit the fuse.

Because Elijah Blake doesn’t play games.

And I’ve just handed him a war.

Chapter 8 – Silas – Trapped in Glass

“This package ever make it to your logs?” I mutter to the housekeeper, but she’s already halfway out of the east wing, her arms full of linens and attitude. Perfect. Fewer questions that way. I watch her heels click down the corridor until the sound fades into stillness.

The box is small and unassuming. It’s wrapped in dull brown paper and stamped with a red FRAGILE label and a return address in Monaco. There’s no name, just careful cursive handwriting, elegant and old-fashioned. The box is the kind that smells like dusty libraries and secrets sealed with wax.

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