Chapter 16 – Secrets of Blood and Shadow

Saturday morning arrived in golden silence, sunlight spilling across Jean's floor just five minutes before his alarm could shriek to life.

{Ding!}

Daily Quest Completed — "Wake Up Before Alarm Like a Robot."

Reward: A Fresh Start and a Confused Alarm Clock.

"Do you ever run out of weird quests?" Jean groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

{Never. I am a machine built for sarcasm and suffering.}

Jean smirked, pulling on a black T-shirt, dark jeans, and his favorite bomber jacket. His dad had promised to take him along today.

And with the fight against James Quinn scheduled for 3 PM, he had plenty of time to dive into whatever secrets the Holland family was hiding.

Downstairs, Tyler Holland waited in the foyer—dressed to kill in a steel-grey suit, posture straight as a blade. Yet his stern features softened a little when Jean appeared.

"You ready?" Tyler asked, scanning him with a nod of approval.

Jean grinned. "Born ready."

And reborn, technically, he added mentally.

Tyler arched an eyebrow but let it slide. "Let's go."

The drive to the Holland Family Headquarters was mostly quiet. Tyler wasn't big on small talk, and Jean didn't mind. He watched the city scroll past—glass towers, storefronts, families crossing intersections—all hiding truths he now knew too well.

Soon, they passed through encrypted checkpoints and towering gates. The HQ loomed ahead like a fortress—stone, steel, and shadow. Inside, the halls thrummed with quiet authority. Men and women in suits or tactical gear moved like clockwork, each one nodding respectfully to Tyler.

Jean tried not to stare at the black lion emblem stamped on the walls.

They reached the main hall—an expansive chamber with oil portraits, ancient blades, and subtle symbols that hummed with dormant power. Jean's footsteps slowed as the weight of the place settled on him.

Then came the voice.

"You brought the boy," said a man whose presence filled the room before his footsteps did.

Jean turned. "Grandpa!"

Malcom Holland strode toward him, silver-haired but broad-shouldered, his voice a rough blend of gravel and bourbon. "Come here, Jean. Give your old man a hug."

Jean leapt into his grandfather's arms, grinning like a kid again.

"Hoh! That's my boy." Malcom chuckled, lifting him briefly before setting him down with a satisfied nod. Then his gaze sharpened, scanning Jean as if confirming something he'd always suspected.

Tyler cleared his throat. "He doesn't know."

Jean blinked, then caught on. Oh, we're pretending. Alright, cool.

{Nice improv. I'd hand you an Oscar, but I melted it down for a quest reward.}

You'd give me a used trophy, huh?

Malcom folded his hands. "Doesn't know about the powers?"

Jean put on his best confused face.

{Wow. That was… disturbingly convincing.}

Malcom leaned back. "Then it's time he learned. The Hollands have worn many faces—kingpins, CEOs, warlords—but behind closed doors, we are something more."

He walked to a display case and pulled out an old, curved blade with a faint shimmer.

"We are Hunters."

Jean blinked. "Like... monster hunters?"

Malcom smirked. "Not quite. The monsters wear better clothes now. Suits. Lab coats. Military pins. Some even run for office."

Jean's mind jumped to Mira. Her fox-like eyes. That eerie moment of stillness. "I've… seen something like that."

"Of course you have," Malcom said. "The world is not what it seems. And neither is your place in it."

Tyler stepped forward, quieter now. "We hid this from you to keep you safe. But you're already walking that path. You're not just my son anymore—you're one of us."

Malcom placed a heavy hand on Jean's shoulder. "When the veil lifts, you don't get to look away. You become part of the story. Welcome to the hunt."

Later, Jean leaned on the hallway railing outside the war room, watching agents bustle below.

Hunters. Supernaturals. Mafia legacy.

"Cool." He whispered. "Heavy, but cool."

{Want a joke to ease the tension?}

"Lay it on me."

{Your family kills monsters. You kill it gaming. Is in the blood.}

Jean chuckled—then felt his phone buzz.

Text from: James Quinn

3 PM. Old factory. Don't be late.

Jean exhaled. "Right. That."

{Worried? Or just lazy?}

"Neither. But if you've got that trick you mentioned—"

{Already queued.}

"What is it? I forgot to ask."

{A clone, it'll move like you, talk like you, do everything like you. Nobody'll know you're doing double duty.}

Jean nodded. "Thanks."

He turned back toward the meeting rooms, taking one last look at the lion banners above.

"Let's see how deep this world goes."

{Just don't act like a saint. It's creepy.}

Jean grinned. "No promises."