Chapter 12: What the Blood Remembers
They didn't sleep.
They sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders brushing, the storm finally fading into silence.
Isla broke it.
"Tell me about my mother."
Rafe's fingers tightened around the glass of water in his hand.
"She was brilliant," he said. "And terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of what she helped discover."
He met Isla's eyes.
"She believed blood carries memory. Not thoughts. Not pictures. Instinct. Pull. Recognition."
Isla frowned. "You're saying my blood remembers something."
"Yes."
Her chest tightened. "What?"
"Doors," he said. "And how to open them."
A chill slid through her.
"I don't feel powerful."
"No," he said softly. "You feel called."
The word echoed.
She stood, suddenly restless, moving toward the window.
"What happens if they get me?"
Rafe rose immediately.
"They will try to take what's in you," he said. "And if they can't…"
He didn't finish.
She turned slowly. "They'll kill me."
"Yes."
Fear rose—but so did something else.
Anger.
"Then why am I not already dead?"
"Because you haven't awakened yet."
Her voice trembled. "Awakened to what?"
Rafe hesitated.
"To the thing in you that will recognize where you're meant to stand."
Silence pressed between them.
Then Isla said quietly, "What if I don't want any of this?"
Rafe crossed the room.
"You don't get to choose what you are," he said. "But you get to choose who you become."
She searched his face.
"And what am I becoming?"
His voice dropped.
"Someone the world will try to use."
"And you?"
His jaw tightened.
"I'm becoming someone who will burn it before I let that happen."
The intensity in his voice made her breath catch.
"You'd give up everything?"
"Yes."
"For me?"
His answer was immediate.
"Already have."