The silence after Micah's departure was unbearable. It clung to the air, thick and suffocating, as though the house itself held its breath.
"Amara's mother hadn't moved from the window. Her shoulders were rigid, her fingers locked around the frame so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. Amara could hear her own pulse pounding in her ears.
Finally, she forced herself to speak, her voice shaking. "What did he mean?"
Her mother flinched but didn't turn.
Amara's chest tightened. "What did he mean when he called you 'sister'?"
Slowly, her mother let her hand fall away from the window. She turned, her eyes glassy, her expression one of someone who had carried a weight too long. "Sit down, Amara."
"I don't want to sit."
"Please." Her voice cracked, desperate. "If you're going to hear this… you need to be steady."
Amara sank into the chair reluctantly, her palms damp against her thighs. Her mother lowered herself across from her, folding her hands as though trying to contain the tremor running through them.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Rain began to patter against the window again, soft but insistent, filling the silence with its restless rhythm.
At last, her mother said, "Micah is my brother."
The words struck like a blow. Amara stared, waiting for her mother to take it back, to laugh bitterly and say it was nonsense. But she didn't.
Her throat went dry. "That makes him…"
"My brother," her mother repeated, cutting her off. "And your uncle."
The room tilted. Amara gripped the table edge. "How? How is that possible?"
Her mother's eyes darkened, heavy with shame. "Because of Jonas."
The name was a knife, sharp and cold.
"I was young," her mother continued, her voice trembling. "You've heard me speak of my mother your grandmother how she was strong, but secretive. What I never told you was why. Jonas was the reason." She exhaled shakily. "He was… powerful. Charismatic. Dangerous in ways I didn't understand as a child. But my mother knew. She had been his before she was anyone's. He marked her, Amara. Claimed her. And from that union came two children me, and Micah."
The floor seemed to vanish beneath Amara. She shook her head, refusing to accept it. "So you're saying… he's my grandfather?"
Her mother's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes."
Amara felt sick. Her stomach twisted violently. "And Micah… he knows this?"
"He knows," her mother whispered. "He's always known. And it twisted him. He grew up in Jonas's shadow, believing every word of his doctrine that blood was power, that it must never be diluted, never wasted. That we were chosen to carry something greater, something the world could never understand."
Amara's pulse raced. "But you don't believe that."
Her mother's eyes softened, but sorrow lingered there. "No. I wanted nothing to do with Jonas. I ran from him, from Micah, from all of it. I thought if I buried the truth deep enough, it would never touch you. That you could live free."
Her voice broke. "But I was wrong."
Tears burned Amara's eyes. "Why me? Why now?"
"Because Micah doesn't see you as his niece," her mother said bitterly. "He sees you as the fulfillment of Jonas's promise. In his mind, you are the continuation of the bloodline stronger, purer, untouched by rebellion the way I was. To him, you are what Jonas intended all along."
Amara's skin crawled. "That's why he says I'm his."
Her mother nodded, her face pale. "He thinks binding himself to you will seal the blood, make him the rightful heir of everything Jonas started. He doesn't care what it does to you. To him, you're not a person. You're a destiny."
Amara's chest heaved. She pushed back from the table, pacing the kitchen. Her mind reeled, trying to stitch together the fragments of her life with this new, horrifying truth. All the stories, all the secrecy, all the warnings it all circled back to Jonas.
Her voice cracked when she spoke. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you let me find out this way?"
Her mother closed her eyes, tears slipping free. "Because I wanted to protect you. I thought ignorance would keep you safe. If you didn't know, then maybe he wouldn't find you. Maybe he wouldn't care."
"But he does," Amara snapped, anger surging through her fear. "He's here. He slipped a letter under my door. He was standing in our driveway, calling me his. You can't keep pretending silence will save me."
Her mother's face crumpled. "I know. I know."
Amara gripped the counter, her knuckles white. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "So what do we do?"
For a long time, her mother didn't answer. She just stared at her hands, trembling in her lap. Then, softly, she said, "We run."
Amara's heart sank. "Run? That's your plan?"
"It's the only way," her mother said fiercely. "Micah won't stop. He never has. I've seen him follow shadows for years, hunting pieces of Jonas wherever he thought they remained. He's relentless. The only way to survive is to stay ahead of him."
Amara shook her head. "And when he finds us again?"
Her mother's lips parted, but she had no answer.
The silence stretched, suffocating. Amara felt the walls closing in, the air too thick to breathe. The truth had been laid bare, but instead of relief, only dread remained.
Her mother reached for her hand across the table. "Amara… I need you to trust me. Please. I know this is more than you ever wanted to carry. But if we stay here, if we hesitate, he'll take you. And I can't" Her voice cracked. "I can't lose you."
Amara's throat tightened. For the first time, she saw not just her mother's fear, but her desperation. She had been carrying this secret for decades, sacrificing everything to keep Amara safe. And yet, the past had found them anyway.
Before she could respond, a sharp thud echoed against the front door.
Both women froze.
Another thud. Slow. Deliberate.
Amara's blood ran cold. Her mother's grip on her hand tightened painfully.
Then came a voice. Deep, steady, and chillingly familiar.
"Blood calls to blood."
Amara's heart stopped. Micah hadn't gone far at all.
He was still here.
Waiting.