I was the last to arrive at the conference room—burdened with baby paraphernalia—but upon entering, I was surprised to find only my family present.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, holding Rafe close to my chest so he peered over my shoulder. He's a very curious baby, always eager to explore his surroundings, even though his vision is still developing. I approached the table where Cora, Roger, Henry, and Sinclair sat, their faces etched with concern and directed at me.

"What—" I began, freezing before I could sit down. "What's wrong? What is it?"

"Sit, Ella," Henry said, gesturing to the empty chair between him and Sinclair.

"No," I said, shaking my head, the denial escaping before I could fully process the situation. "No way. This looks…this looks like bad news."

A part of me knew I was being irrational—the news wouldn't magically improve by my delaying it—but fear surged through me. I couldn't handle more bad news, especially after the past few days, particularly if it seemed to target me.

"Ella, please," Sinclair said gently, pulling out the chair. "I promise it's not as bad as you think."

"Do you all know?" I asked, stiffening.

"Henry told us before you arrived," Cora replied, leaning forward, Roger's hand resting on her back. "He wanted us prepared so the focus could be on you when we told you."

"Oh my god," I whispered, slowly sitting down. "Is it me? Did I…did I do something?"

"Not at all," Henry said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Ella. I may have gone about this the wrong way. I didn't mean to frighten you. It was simply convenient that you were last; I told them first so the focus could be on you, as this news will affect you most."

I looked around for the researchers who'd been on yesterday's mission. Some, I knew, would be well enough to attend if needed. "Where are the other researchers?" I asked, aware of Henry's round-the-clock work with his team.

"This is…" Henry hesitated, "a family matter, Ella. Those who don't know will be briefed soon. But I wanted to discuss this together, with the main parties involved." His eyes drifted to Rafe, and I tensed.

"Okay," I said, pressing my lips together. "Let's get on with it. What's wrong?"

Henry nodded at Rafe, seemingly granting him permission to participate in some pre-arranged manner. This, contrary to their intentions, made me even more nervous—they'd rehearsed telling me this news.

Was this some kind of intervention? What had I done? Sensing my tension, Rafe began to fuss. Sinclair took him, tucking the baby into the crook of his elbow and warmly draping his other arm around my shoulders. I felt calmer instantly and ridiculously wondered if Sinclair was not only a baby whisperer but an Ella whisperer as well.

"Ella," Roger began, and I focused on him completely. "Yesterday, while fighting the priest, he said something…strange."

I clenched my teeth, urging him to continue quickly.

"We had him pinned. He only managed to—I don't know—whatever magical powder allowed him to firebomb us, by accident. When he realized he could use it, I think he slipped."

"Slipped?" I asked, confused. "Like on ice?"

"No," Roger replied, sighing. "He slipped on his words. Messed up. He said, 'The master will have his boy.'"

"The master will have his boy," I repeated, glancing at Rafe, contentedly nestled in Sinclair's arm. He'd freed a hand from his swaddle and was fascinated by his own fingers. "Are we assuming the boy is Rafe?"

"We are," Henry confirmed.

"But the master," I said—knowing I should listen, but unable to stop myself—"Did the priest mean the God of Darkness?"

"That's where it gets complicated," Henry said carefully, watching my face. I was grateful for his measured pace; my panic was scattering my thoughts.

"My team worked all night trying to decipher this phrase," he continued. "We've researched the Monastic Cult of the God of Darkness extensively, and never—in centuries of materials—have we seen priests or acolytes refer to the God as 'master.' He's always called God, Father, Dark Majesty, and so on."

"Oh," I said, my eyes widening. I understood, but not fully, judging by the worried faces around the table. "What…what does that mean?"

"It means," Sinclair said, "that someone else is orchestrating this. They're not acting solely to serve their god, but are responding to a mortal."

"What?" I gasped, groaning and leaning back. It had been simpler when I thought it was just a contract between the Goddess and my birth mother, Reina—a deity and her priests. But now, a powerful priest calling someone master? Someone directing the fighting, planning the insemination?

My family gave me time to process this. When I sighed and opened my eyes, I asked, "Well? Do we know who it is?"

"We have…a lead," Henry said quietly. I remained silent, exhausted, wanting only to hear the news. "Some of our more astute men have been investigating the dark web, tracing members of the modern cult. While they couldn't pinpoint the speaker, they discovered a communication hub—a location from which many messages originated."

"Oh?" I asked, encouraged. "Where?"

Henry hesitated, taking a deep breath.

"Just tell her, Dad," Sinclair snapped, sensing my growing tension.

"It's difficult for me," Henry said, irritated and glaring at his son. "I'm not…detached from this. But," he looked at me, "Ella, the team investigated this location, and I was shocked by their discovery. The man residing there…I'd long assumed he was dead, or so removed from the world that he might as well have been. It's my fault for overlooking him."

"Who?" I asked, tense, my breath shallow. "Who lives there?"

"His name is Xander," Henry said grimly. "He was a Duke when his brother—your father, Xavier—was King."