CHAPTER 119: DELIBERATIONS.

Jonathan pressed send. The message delivered immediately, a small checkmark appearing on the screen. They waited in tense silence.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Jonathan’s broken ribs throbbed with each breath, but he ignored the pain, his eyes fixed on the phone.

At the fifteen-minute mark, the phone buzzed. A response appeared: ’Why should I believe you?’

Jonathan’s fingers moved quickly: *You shouldn’t. But you need information about Bella, and I have it. I’m risking everything sending you this. Maren’s people extracted me from the hospital an hour ago. I’m supposed to be helping them hunt you down right now. Instead I’m reaching out to you. That has to count for something.*

Another pause, longer this time. Jonathan could imagine Angela on the other end, probably with Marcus looking over her shoulder, debating whether this was genuine or an obvious trap.

The phone buzzed again: *If this is a trap, you’ll regret it.*

Jonathan smiled grimly and typed: ’If this is a trap, we’re both dead. Maren doesn’t tolerate failure. 6am at the textile mill. I’ll be there alone. Please show up.’

He sent it and waited. No response came, but the message showed as read. That was enough.

Mallory closed the laptop with a decisive snap. "Whether she shows or not, we need to be ready. I’ll have six enforcers positioned around the mill by 5:30am, the rooftops, alleys, inside the warehouse across the street. If Angela comes alone, we take her quietly. If she brings backup, we engage and eliminate them."

"What about the evidence?" Mrs. Hendricks asked. "The USB drive and journal. If we capture Angela but don’t recover those, we’ve only solved half the problem."

"She won’t bring them to the meeting," Jonathan agreed. "But if we capture her alive, we make her tell us where they are."

Mrs. Hendricks looked distinctly uncomfortable now, but she still didn’t voice an objection. "And if Marcus comes instead of Angela? Or if he comes with her?"

"Even better," Mallory said, her expression predatory. "Marcus has been a thorn on our side for years. Capturing the leader of the Moonblood resistance would be a massive victory, possibly even more valuable than recovering the evidence. With Marcus in custody, the resistance would crumble."

Jonathan struggled to his feet, using the couch arm for support. His vision swam briefly, but he steadied himself through sheer will. "I need to be at that mill tomorrow. I’m the bait. If I’m not there, she won’t show up."

"You can barely stand," Mallory observed without sympathy.

"I’ll manage. Give me painkillers, something for the concussion, adrenaline if you have it. I’ll be functional enough for six hours." Jonathan’s voice was steel wrapped in determination. "This is my chance to prove my loyalty to Maren, to make up for the disaster at the bridge. I’m not missing it."

Mallory studied him for a long moment, her golden eyes assessing whether he was genuinely capable or just stubborn. Finally, she nodded. "Fine. But you wear a wire so we can hear everything. You follow our tactical lead exactly. And if the fight starts, you get down and stay down. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Jonathan confirmed.

"Good. Mrs. Hendricks will get you the medical supplies you need. Thorne and I will coordinate with the enforcers." Mallory picked up the laptop and burner phones. "Get some rest if you can. Tomorrow’s going to be demanding."

They left, the apartment door closing with a solid click. Jonathan was alone in the sparse room, the silence pressing in around him. He lowered himself back onto the couch carefully, every movement a calculated effort to minimize pain.

He stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying the day’s events. The crash, Marcus’s visit, the plan taking shape. He thought about Carla, not the sacrificing wife and devoted mother, but the woman who chose her Moonblood heritage over their marriage, who made it look like he was an outsider in his own family.

He’d loved her once, or thought he had. But that love had curdled into resentment years before her death. She’d never truly been his, unconsciously preparing their daughter to be the strongest Moonblood descendant. Jonathan had known he had to act.

Maren had understood. Maren had given him purpose, had shown him that the Moonbloods were a threat to order and stability. That Carla’s death had been necessary, that Bella needed to be controlled before she became as dangerous as her mother.

And now Angela, self-righteous and meddling, was trying to undo everything. Gathering evidence, threatening him, playing the hero. She’d be the perfect example, proof that anyone who stood against Maren and of course him, faced consequences.

His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. Another message from Angela: ’I’ll be there. But Jonathan, if you’re lying, if this is Maren’s trap, I’ll make sure the Moonbloods wipe you out before you can say jack.’

Jonathan read the message and allowed himself a cold smile. He typed back: ’See you at 6am Come ready to hear the truth about what Maren’s planning.’

He sent it and set the phone on the table beside him. Tomorrow morning, Angela Rivers would walk into that textile mill thinking she might save her niece. Instead, she’d learn the same lesson Carla had learned: you don’t fight Maren and survive.

And after Angela was dealt with, after they’d extracted the location of the evidence and eliminated the immediate threat, Bella would be next. Three weeks until her eighteenth birthday, three weeks for Maren to prepare the ritual in the chamber beneath Whitethorn Academy.

Jonathan closed his eyes, his broken body demanding rest even as his mind continued planning. The pain in his ribs was distant now, irrelevant compared to the satisfaction of knowing he was back in Maren’s good graces, back in the game.

Tomorrow would begin Angela’s end. And Bella’s would follow soon after.

***

Across the city, in a cramped safe house in a different neighborhood, Angela sat at a small table with Marcus beside her. Her phone lay between them, Jonathan’s messages glowing on the screen.

"It’s obviously a trap," Marcus said quietly, his weathered face grim in the dim light.

"I know," Angela replied, but her voice held uncertainty. "But what if he’s telling the truth? What if the crash really did change something in him? What if he actually does have information about those counseling sessions with Bella, about Maren’s plans for her birthday?"

Marcus shook his head. "I was there, Angela. I saw his face when I tried to reach him. There was no remorse, no doubt, just hatred. He called Carla a traitor. He said Bella needs to be eliminated. A car crash and a few hours don’t erase that kind of commitment to Maren’s cause."

"But you planted doubts," Angela said, reading through the messages again. "You said things about Carla that he couldn’t immediately dismiss. Maybe they’re festering now, maybe the crash gave him time to actually think about what he’s been doing."

"Or maybe Maren is using him as bait because she knows you’re desperate enough to hope for his redemption." Marcus leaned back in his chair. "This is manipulation, Angela. They’re exploiting your emotional connection to Bella, your need to protect her. Jonathan knows you’ll risk almost anything to get information that might save your niece."

Angela’s hands trembled slightly as she picked up the phone. "Then what do we do? Ignore it? What if he’s genuine and we miss a chance to learn what Maren’s planning?"

"Then we spring his trap right back on him," Marcus said, his voice hard. "But we do it smart. We bring reinforcements, we control the terrain as much as possible, and we don’t trust a single word out of Jonathan’s mouth until we’ve verified it independently."

"How many can you bring?"

"Four, maybe five of my people. Moonbloods who survived Maren’s purges, who’ve been in hiding but are willing to fight if the cause is right." Marcus’s expression darkened. "But understand, Angela, if this goes wrong, if Maren has a dozen enforcers waiting at that mill, some of us won’t be walking away."

Angela met his gaze steadily. "I understand. But Bella’s worth the risk. Getting information about what Maren’s planning for her eighteenth birthday, that’s worth the risk."

Marcus nodded slowly. "Then we prepare. I’ll contact my people tonight, position them around the mill before Jonathan arrives. We’ll have eyes on every approach, every exit. And Angela?" He reached across the table, gripping her hand. "You stay back. You’re human, you’re vulnerable. If fighting starts, you run. Promise me."

"I promise," Angela lied, knowing she’d do no such thing if Bella’s safety was at stake.

Marcus studied her face, clearly recognizing the lie, but he didn’t press. Instead, he stood and pulled out his own phone. "I need to make some calls. Try to rest. Tomorrow’s going to test all of us."

Angela watched him walk to the other room, then looked down at Jonathan’s messages again. I just want to make this right, he’d written. This is about saving my daughter before it’s too late.

She wanted to believe it. Desperately. Because if Jonathan could be redeemed, if he could turn against Maren and help them save Bella, then maybe Carla’s death hadn’t been entirely in vain. Maybe some part of the man her sister had loved still existed beneath the layers of corruption and loyalty to a monster.

But Marcus’s words echoed in her mind: I saw his face. There was no remorse.

Angela set the phone down and closed her eyes. Tomorrow at 6am, at the old textile mill, they’d find out the truth. Whether Jonathan Rivers was genuinely seeking redemption, or whether he was leading them into an ambush that could destroy any chance of saving Bella.

Either way, Angela would be there. Because that’s what family did. They showed up, even when it was probably a trap.

For Bella. Always for Bella.