Chapter 17 – Jenny’s back

The flight home from Italy was a blur of darkness and cold, one Anastasia wished she could blink away and forget. Bastian had managed to arrange Matt's remains to be held in a cold storage container in the plane's cargo—there hadn't been much choice if they wanted to get him back to the family. The hum of the plane's engines droned around her, thickening the air with a steady, unrelenting sadness. Every second felt like another lifetime without him, and she'd clutched her hands tightly together just to keep from screaming. She could feel Bastian's silent presence next to her, his body slumped against the window, jaw clenched. He hadn't said a word. Neither of them had. There were no words that could've made any sense of this.

When they'd finally touched down, the ride back home was heavy, an unspoken pain settled around them like fog. Anastasia had dreaded the moment they'd arrive, the moment they would face her father and Sean—she'd thought about the words over and over, tried to find the right ones, but none felt like they could explain the horror they'd endured. The shock, the anger, the helplessness, every brutal second.

As they stepped through the front door, Wyatt and Sean were there, just waiting. Wyatt's face was hopeful, expectant—until he caught sight of her expression. He staggered back a step, his face going pale, and the room filled with a silence so thick she could hardly breathe.

"Where's Matt?" he asked, his voice trembling.

She'd opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. How could she tell him?

"We…we were attacked," she finally managed, swallowing hard. "There was an angel…Elijah. He was guarding this weapon, something ancient and powerful. He didn't want to let us leave with it, and he…he…"

Sean's face turned ashen, eyes widening as he caught the gravity in her words. He didn't wait—he bolted past her, out to the balcony, fists clenched, pacing back and forth as if he could outrun the nightmare she'd just laid bare.

Anastasia felt her father's hand grip her shoulder, his touch both steady and fragile. "Tell me what happened," he whispered, his voice barely a thread. "All of it."

Taking a deep breath, she recounted every awful detail—the duel, the fight for the weapon, Elijah's smirk, the way Matt had fought so fiercely by her side. And then, finally, the awful moment when she'd seen the sword pierce him, the blood seeping through his shirt as he fell to the ground. She couldn't even remember the rest, only that she'd held him, his eyes dimming with every second.

"I couldn't save him," she said, voice breaking. "His last words…he told me he loved me, that he'd always be with us. And then he…he asked Bastian to look after us, after you." She choked on the memory, clutching the edge of the counter for support.

Wyatt's face crumpled, and for the first time, she saw the man she'd known as the pillar of their family crack, his strength dissolving into a raw, silent grief. Sean stood by the door, fists red and bleeding from where he'd punched the wall, his face twisted in a silent scream. She'd known they would break, but seeing it now, it tore her open even further. It wasn't fair—it would never be fair.

Finally, the day of the funeral arrived, the whole family moving as if in a trance. The sky that morning had dawned a somber, muted blue, the clouds stretching across like a thin veil, as if they were holding back their own sorrow. Birds chirped occasionally, but they seemed hushed as if they, too, sensed the gravity of the day. The whole family graveyard was blanketed in a thin, chilly mist that clung to the grass, a backdrop of trees swaying lightly in the breeze. The sunlight dappled through the branches, casting fleeting, uneven shadows over the gathered mourners.

The small, rough-hewn coffin lay in the middle of it all, simple and unadorned, like Matt would've wanted. He'd never liked fuss, never been one for negative attention. The sight of it brought a fresh wave of anguish, the finality of it so harsh and undeniable. His university friends had come, faces pale, clustered together for support. Anastasia could see their quiet sorrow, how they shifted uncomfortably, unused to such intimate pain.

But it was Wyatt and Sean who drew her gaze, both standing just behind the coffin. Sean looked shattered, his fists balled up so tightly that his knuckles were bone-white, jaw clenched to keep from breaking down entirely. Wyatt's face was frozen, as if he couldn't bear to let his grief show, his gaze fixed on the casket as though he could will it to open, to make everything go back to the way it was.

Anastasia stood rooted in place, unable to move, the weight of it all pressing down on her until she thought she might break under it. Every memory, every laugh, every stupid argument with Matt flashed through her mind, swirling together until she could hardly breathe. She'd come back, but he hadn't. The question kept spinning around her mind: why didn't he get a second chance? Why did we have all this power and not be able to use them to save the ones we love? Why?

And then she saw it—a sleek black car creeping up the winding path leading to the graveyard. She squinted, the tears blurring her vision as the car came to a slow stop just at the edge of the gathering. Her breath caught as she recognized the figure that stepped out. Jenny. Matt's ex. The girl who'd broken his heart, the girl he never stopped missing.

Jenny lingered by the car, standing at a distance, her face pale and eyes red-rimmed. She looked as though she might fall apart right there. But to Anastasia, her presence only brought anger bubbling up. How dare she show up now, after all this time, when Matt was gone?

She barely felt herself moving, but soon enough, she was stalking across the graveyard, her fists tight, her body thrumming with fury.

"You're here now?" she hissed, stopping just in front of Jenny. "After all this time, now you decide to show up?"

Jenny flinched, but she didn't move back, her eyes glistening. "I…I had to come. I couldn't just—"

"Couldn't just what?" Anastasia cut her off, voice breaking. "Where were you when he needed you? When he was alive, Jenny! I watched him fall apart because of you, and now you're here, when it doesn't matter anymore?"

Jenny's lips trembled, but she looked down, unable to respond. The silence stretched between them, thick and painful. Anastasia's fury felt like it might consume her whole, until Jenny's next words shattered it in an instant.

"I know how to bring him back."

Anastasia froze, her heart slamming against her ribcage as the words sank in. She stared at Jenny, every muscle tense, every breath suddenly razor-sharp. "What did you just say?"

Jenny swallowed, her gaze shifting nervously before she met Anastasia's eyes with a desperate intensity. "I know… I know how to bring Matt back."