Page 80 of Shattered Jewel
Cav turns away, cursing under his breath. There’s a hardened set to his jaw as he clenches his fists, the tendons standing out starkly through his skin. Kaspian’s eyes harden, his fingers pausing on the keys before he pulls his other arm out of his sling and truly flies over the keys, pulling up more information that Maverick had uncovered.
Elara’s face is pale under the harsh light of the computer screen. Questions must spin in her mind, each one bouncing off the walls of her skull but never finding their way to her lips.
I give her a nod of reassurance, hoping she knows I’m here for her. I think.
The silence breaks when Wilder throws a well-worn book—Jonquil’s logbook—onto the table, a frayed ribbon marking a page in its center.
“Maverick was translating this,” he announces.
The script is old English with flourishes that speak of an age when quills were common and ink was handmade. Some symbols are circled in red while others have been crossed out with black.
“See here?” Wilder adds, pointing at a list of names, faded with time but still legible. “William Jonquil was tracking missing women, too, which is probably what got Maverick started on this path.”
“I’ve seen those symbols before,” I say between a staccato of blinks. My mind is running through a microfiche of my memories, trying to find the right one.
“Where?” Cav demands.
“When…” I close my eyes, my brows tightening. “When they were deciding which ones to put on me.”
Elara releases Sasha’s hand, stepping toward me with a grace I don’t deserve. Her gaze sweeps over me before her hands close around mine, pulling them to her chest. Delicate fingers hold my scarred ones.
Her stare doesn’t waver.
“No one deserves this,” she says. “Including you. Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this. That none of you are involved with these missing girls.” Her throat bobs. Her eyes don’t stray as they hold mine. The raw vulnerability in her gaze makes it impossible for me to look away. “Please.”
My tongue swells with the need to offer her the solace she seeks. She wants my denial as much as she dreads it might be a lie.
“No,” I grind out, my voice rasping against the charged air surrounding us. “I swear, Elara. None of us have anything to do with taking girls.”
Kaspian nods, his fingers stilling on the keyboard. “We’re monsters, but we’re not those monsters.”
Cav doesn’t respond verbally; he only looks away, his eyes far too weary for someone who thrives in havoc.
Wilder’s focus flicks between Elara and me before he adds, “We’ve been trying to break free from the Court for years now. But they hold our families hostage. Our heritage, reputations … curses. They threaten it all to keep us in line.”
Elara’s gaze softens slightly before she releases my hands and steps back. She gives a slow nod. “I believe you.”
It’s not relief that floods me then, but something far more profound and unsettling: trust.
After a beat, her forehead wrinkles and she looks to the side, deep in thought.
“Families…” she whispers, more to herself. Then her eyes widen and lock onto the back of Kaspian’s head. “The Sovereigns have been doing this for centuries. Kaspian, check on these girls’ last names. Are they from powerful families? Or descendants of the founders of Titan Falls?”
“Way ahead of you,” Kaspian responds.
It’s then I notice Jonquil’s logbook to the right of the computer, where Kaspian’s been cross-referencing it. “The missing women Jonquil linked together, Mary Primrose, Beloved Hawthorn, Elizabeth Thistle, Sophronia Bluebell, Mary Cowslip … they are all from the original settling families of Titan Falls.”
Sasha gasps softly, her hand clutching at Elara’s arm if trying to absorb some of her best friend’s startling calm.
“So they knew Sarah Anderton,” I surmise.
Wilder cocks a brow. “Any chance they’re part of the families who hired Sarah to off someone?”
“That’s not what Jonquil or Maverick were focused on,” Kaspian murmurs, his eyes darting from page to screen and back again. “I’m forced to admit Big Brother was thorough, beastie.”
“And the latest girls?” Cav asks. His attention shifts from the screen to Elara, his eyes flaring with a renewed intensity. “She’s right. The victims seem convenient for the Court. It makes sense they’d target those with power or influence.”
“For what?” Elara asks with horror.