Chapter 19- Callisto

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Chapter 19- Callisto

“Calli! You need to come back!”

Alabaster’s voice slices through the dark like a blade. My vision blurs, body too heavy to hold upright.

“I know where he is!” I gasp, trying to stand—only for my legs to buckle.

Alabaster catches me before I hit the floor.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “You’re bleeding.”

It’s the way he says it—gentle, careful. Not like him.

My eyes sting. My face is wet. I glance toward the mirror and freeze.

My nose. My eyes. Blood streaks down my cheeks like tears in a horror film.

“What is this?” My voice trembles, hand frozen halfway to my face.

“You pushed too hard. Stayed too long. Magic takes its toll,” he says, steady. “Your body wasn’t built for what you just did.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you have limits.”

He says it too gently. Like I’ll break if he raises his voice.

I turn to him, narrowing my eyes.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m fragile. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t flinch.

“No, that you’re not.” His tone stays flat, but there’s softness buried beneath it. “Take it easy, pretty girl.”

He leaves the room for a moment, and I hear the water turn on. He comes back in with a wet hand towel.

Then, without asking, starts cleaning my face.

“I’m not a baby,” I mutter as he wipes away the blood.

“Shut up,” he replies—brushing me off like I didn’t just almost die...

My thoughts spiral—images I can’t unsee clawing their way to the surface.

Genni.

Genni is a witch… and they have her.

She was the closest thing I ever had to a real friend... The realization that she’s trapped—suffering in a place far worse than this—it splits something open in me. Then Cade flashes behind my eyes. His pain. The sound of him.
The way his voice cracked.

The look in his eyes.

The smell.

Gods—the smell of his burning flesh.

It punches me in the gut so hard I double over.

Crack.

The memory of bones breaking echoes in my skull. My body convulses, and I lurch forward, heaving onto the carpet.

“We have to get them out,” I gasp, bile and drool sliding from my lips, hanging off my chin like strings of guilt.

Panic flares in my chest like fire—wild and out of control. I can't sit still. I can't wait.

I shove out of Alabaster’s arms, shaking and unsteady, but driven by something feral.

“I need Jack.”

I stumble toward the doorway. My legs aren’t ready, but I make them work. Weakness be damned.

I don’t stop until I’m downstairs. The door creaks open under my hand. I spill out onto the porch—barefoot, breathless—and find Jack with his back to me, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling around him like fog.

“Not now, Calli,” he mutters, voice low, worn.

“I know where Cade is,” I say, my voice barely holding together. My chest is rising too fast. I force my breath to slow.

He spins around—shock wide in his eyes as the cigarette slips from his hand and dies on the wood.

Jack doesn’t ask questions. He just ushers me into the living room, steady hands guiding me to the couch. I sink down, still trembling, and he drops beside me with his laptop already in motion. Tabs spring open, one after another—maps, traffic cams, databases I don’t recognize.

“I tracked him on the freeway,” he mutters, eyes scanning fast. “Caught a few glimpses near the 101—but I lost him just outside L.A. I know the general direction, but nothing concrete.”

“He’s in Topanga Canyon,” I say, my voice firm, surprising even me. “The Covenant’s main house. That’s where they’re holding him.”

He freezes, fingers hovering above the keyboard before hammering down, faster this time. More tabs. More frantic clicks. His mouth parts slightly when he pulls up an old photo, then cross-references another—his pupils flick back and forth.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes. “You’re right. If I match Rosa’s tagged location history with this address... it’s the same house. It’s right there, hiding in plain sight. How the hell do you know this?”

I hesitate. My fingers twist in my lap.

“I saw him,” I say softly.

Everything in him stills.

Recognition flickers behind his eyes. The kind that carries weight. Fear, maybe. Or awe. Or both. I can see him holding back—deciding whether to ask the question forming in his throat.

“Is he…” Jack swallows hard. “Is he okay?”

The answer breaks me.

My throat closes, and tears rise before I can stop them. My head shakes slowly, side to side, and I try to breathe through it—but I can’t. The moment he asked… it made it real. Made it too much.