I stared at Anthony Hawkins, stunned into silence. Hearing my full name roll off his tongue stirred something deep inside me—nostalgia laced with something sharp and unwelcome. The surprise hit first, but it didn't last long. Anger took its place quickly.
"Good to see you?" I echoed, narrowing my eyes. "That's it? After eight years, that's what you open with?"
Anthony's expression shifted, something soft giving way to resignation.
"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.
A large part of me wanted to slam the door in his face so hard it would rattle his teeth. But I could already feel Mom's tension rising from the living room like a wave about to break. Her silence said enough.
So I stepped aside.
Anthony walked into the foyer without hesitation and made his way into the living room. I lingered in the hall for a moment, swallowing the bitter taste rising in my throat. Their voices, hushed and serious, filtered out from the next room.
When I finally stepped in, Mom had left her usual spot by the window and was now sorting through the duffel bags. Anthony stood near the kitchen doorway, arms folded, gaze unreadable.
"So," I said, breaking the heavy silence. "Are you finally going to tell me what this is all about?"
I aimed the question at Mom, but it was Anthony who spoke up first.
"I'm taking you with me. There's a job in Seattle, and I need you there."
"Why?" I snapped. "Don't you have other kids to drag into danger?"
"Katherine," Mom said sharply, but Anthony lifted a hand to stop her.
"Your siblings are already in Seattle," he said evenly. "And they're in serious danger. If you won't do it for me, do it for them."
I scoffed. "You mean the siblings I've never met? Never seen in a photo? The ones you've spent my whole life avoiding talking about? What do they need me for? Do they even know I exist?"
Anthony looked like he was about to say something, but Mom cut in.
"We're not asking," she said flatly, pressing one of the bags into my hands. "This isn't up for debate, Katherine. You're going."
"I'm not a child anymore," I said, my voice rising. "You can't just hand me off to him like I'm some package. I have a say in this."
"Any other time, yes," she said, her voice calm but firm. "But not now. You don't understand what's coming."
"Then make me understand." I was desperate now, and that desperation bled into my voice. "Why won't either of you just tell me what's going on?"
"I wish I could," Mom said softly. "But the less you know, the safer you'll be. Now go."
"Colette," Anthony interjected, pulling the curtain aside to peek out. "We need to move. Now."
"No," I insisted. "I'm not going anywhere with him—not until one of you tells me the truth!"
Anthony turned toward me slowly, his voice low and urgent. "It's not just your siblings who are in danger, Katherine. You are too."
Mom shifted uncomfortably. "Anthony…"
"She deserves to know," he said, then faced me again. "I've been hunting something for over two decades—a demon. The one that killed my wife, Madeline. I'm getting close now. Too close. And he knows it. He's already gone after your siblings. If you stay here, alone, you're next."
I stared at him. "But… what does that have to do with me? Madeline wasn't my mom."
Anthony shook his head. "Doesn't matter to him. You're my daughter. That makes you a target. And the farther you are from us, the more vulnerable you are. But if you're with Alexandra and Williams, you'll be protected—at least until I end this."
"What about Mom?" I asked quietly. Talking about his late wife around her had always felt weird. "Isn't she at risk too?"
"I can handle myself," Mom said with a small smile. "It'll take more than some second-rate demon to take me down."
"But—"
"Katherine!" Anthony barked.
Bright headlights slashed across the windowpanes, cutting the room with sudden light. Anthony's voice was tight. "We're out of time."
"No, wait—Mom—!"
But before I could say anything else, she shoved the duffel bag into my chest, kissed my forehead, and Anthony was pulling me through the back door. A black pickup sat idling in the shadows like a silent beast.
"We can't just leave her!" I cried, trying to turn back toward the house. I could already hear car doors slamming out front.
"She's buying us time," Anthony said as he tossed my bag into the truck bed. "But she can only stall them for so long. We have to go."
He flung open the passenger door, and I climbed in, running on nothing but instinct and fear. I looked down at him, eyes pleading.
"Please. She's my mom."
Anthony paused, his dark eyes softening. For a fleeting second, I thought I saw regret behind the hardened mask.
"I know," he whispered.
And then he slammed the door shut.
He jumped into the driver's seat, engine already humming. As we pulled away, I turned back and caught one last glimpse through the living room window. Figures—tall and twisted—closed in around her. But she didn't look afraid. No, her face was lit with fierce focus.
And in her hand, a weapon gleamed bright against the lightning outside.
Then the house disappeared behind us.