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I lean over her shoulder to study the screen, mindful of giving her space. "All dormant lunar magic?"

"Every single one." A grim certainty clings to her statement. "They're collecting bloodlines like ingredients for a recipe."

The recording plays in the background—the Moon Prophet's voice chanting in an ancient dialect while masked figures drain magical essence from bound victims. Serenity pauses at specific symbols carved into the cathedral floor.

"These are advanced containment circles." She traces patterns on her screen. "They operate as absorption matrices. Every bit of the victims' power goes straight toward strengthening the central seal."

"The seal your ancestors created."

"The one they used to imprison something that should have stayed buried forever." Her hands tremble slightly as she scrolls through genealogy charts. "Darius, look at this family tree. Every missing person traces back to the original thirteen bloodlines that performed the binding ritual."

The implications trigger a sickening freefall, and the breath vanishes from my lungs. "How many bloodlines are left?"

"Counting the ones already taken?" She performs quick calculations. "Three. The Grimshaws went into hiding last week. The Ravencrests fled to Europe yesterday."

"And the Crowes."

"Just me." It embeds into the silence, an inescapable truth that rests at the base of everything. "I'm the last piece they need."

My instincts emerge protectively, but I force them down behind cold analysis. "Then we relocate immediately. Kellan has contacts in⁠—"

"No." She closes the laptop with decisive force. "We need to see the bigger picture. Their operations now encompass all the bloodlines. They are successfully collecting their targets while we limit ourselves to playing hide and seek."

"My duty is to guard you, period."

"Your job is whatever my family is paying you for. And right now, I'm paying you to help me stop a massacre."

"Serenity—"

"How many more people die while we hide in the woods? I cross-referenced the coven registries with the current missing reports, Darius. The Grimshaws have children—teenagers who don't even know their bloodline makes them targets."

The desperation in her voice cuts through my professional barriers. "It's too dangerous."

"Everything's dangerous now. At least this way, we're moving toward answers instead of running from them."

She grabs her jacket from the chair and shrugs it on. "I'm going with or without you. It’s your choice."

I exhale sharply and watch her march toward the SUV, her determined stride making arguing pointless. The woman's going to get herself killed, and apparently I'm going to help her do it.

"This is a terrible idea," I mutter, following her out into the cold morning air.

"Your professional opinion is noted and filed appropriately." She slides into the passenger seat, already finding the GPS coordinates on her phone. "The Grimshaw house is about three hours north. Rural area, minimal supernatural oversight."

I climb behind the wheel and start the engine with more force than necessary. "And if this is a trap?"

"Then we spring it on our terms instead of waiting for them to choose the battlefield."

The drive unfolds ahead in suffocating silence. For most of the drive, Serenity stares out the passenger window, her reflection ghostlike in the glass. The tension permeates the vehicle, a choking fog that leaves no room for anything else. Every few miles, I catch her scent and remember how she felt beneath my hands, how perfectly she responded to my touch.

Professional distance is exactly what this needs.

“Take the next exit,” she says quietly. The directions break the silence after two hours of nothing but engine noise and unspoken accusations.

The Grimshaw property sits isolated among towering pines, a modest farmhouse surrounded by protective wards shimmering faintly along the perimeter. The wards recognize non-threatening magic, allowing our arrival to pass without alarm. The moment I shift the SUV into park, Serenity is already out of the vehicle, and she strides toward the front porch so quickly that I cannot assess the situation properly.

"Wait—"

Ignoring me altogether, she pounds urgently on the weathered door. A middle-aged woman answers, her gaze locking onto Serenity's sharp eyes. The recognition is instant.