The cave haunted Maya's dreams, its ancient symbols and cryptic drawings flashing like vivid neon signs in her restless slumber. Tossing and turning, she felt the weight of the mysterious package she'd acquired from Austen pressing down on her even as she lay in bed with her back to it. The darkness in her dreams seemed alive, suffused with an eerie glow and a sense of foreboding. Maya's sleep was troubled, filled with visions of an ancient cave and the looming presence of a girl who seemed as out of place as she was familiar.

In her dream, Maya knew she was asleep but couldn’t break free from the oppressive atmosphere of the cave. A faint ball of light floated above her, casting a ghostly illumination on the walls etched with indecipherable symbols. The cave felt alive, as if it was whispering secrets she was just out of reach of understanding.

"We're sharing dreams again," a voice called softly from behind her.

Maya spun around, her heart racing. There stood the girl from her previous dream—the one with the burning house. This time, the girl’s eyes were not filled with panic but a calm determination.

"This time, it's my dream," Maya said, her voice trembling slightly.

The girl nodded, stepping closer with an air of familiarity. "So, where exactly are we?"

"In a cave beneath Miller's Bend," Maya replied, her eyes following the intricate symbol that dominated the wall. "No one else knows it’s here. I should have told someone, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to do it."

The girl looked around, her gaze thoughtful. "It's... cozy in a weird way."

Maya chuckled, glancing sideways at her. "If we’re going to keep doing this, we should probably introduce ourselves. I’m Maya Burns."

The girl’s hand extended in greeting. "Casandra Blake."

When their hands met, both girls gasped as if struck by a jolt of electricity. Images flashed in Maya's mind—scenes from different eras, linked by the same symbol that had haunted her dreams. It was like trying to grasp a fleeting shadow.

Maya pulled her hand away, stumbling back against the cave wall. She stared at the symbol, tracing it with her fingers, overwhelmed by a sense of revelation. This was the symbol she had been chasing in her dreams.

"James," Casandra murmured behind her.

Maya’s eyes widened. "What did you just say?"

Casandra pointed to the symbol. "That's the James symbol."

"What’s a James?" Maya asked urgently.

Casandra’s eyes narrowed, her curiosity piqued. "Who are you?"

"I already told you," Maya shot back. "Now tell me what a James is!"

Casandra’s expression shifted from curiosity to suspicion. "Why do you need to know?"

"What does it matter to you?" Maya’s frustration was palpable. "I’m sick of being kept in the dark. Everyone’s so tight-lipped about this."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Casandra frowned, confused. "It’s not just a word."

"Then what is it?" Maya demanded.

"It’s a name," Casandra said, her eyes piercing. "A family name."

"A family?" Maya echoed. "Whose family?"

Casandra’s eyes widened in sudden recognition. "I know who you are."

Gabe Burns was on the hunt, his gaze sharp and focused. Perched on a ledge, Clarissa watched him, contemplating her next move. If this wolf was a threat to Maya—the last James—Clarissa was determined to see it eliminated. Her coven had once been constrained, unable to enlist Austen James and his formidable dark magic. But now, with Maya awakening and drawing closer to bonding with the coven, the dynamics were shifting. Answers were needed.

With a snap of her fingers, Clarissa sent Gabe on a wild goose chase, ensuring he would be out of the way for what was to come.

Dawson couldn't shake the gnawing sense of unease that had settled in his gut since the attack. The shadows of the unknown felt menacing, making it impossible for him to rest. The ache in his temples was a constant reminder of the larger threat looming over them all. Unable to tolerate the confinement of his room, Dawson slipped out of his bedroom window, opting for his old bicycle instead of his truck to avoid waking his parents.

The wind in his hair was invigorating, providing a fleeting respite from his worries. As he pedaled aimlessly, his thoughts drifted back to the night he'd been bound to the cross, the oppressive weight of the necklace draining him. The memory was vivid and unsettling—never had he felt so vulnerable and close to giving up.

The destruction of the necklace Clarissa had reclaimed was a small comfort. The thought of wearing it for an entire week was terrifying. That night had forced him to rethink his life, his choices, and his relationships. He reflected on his friendship with Jason and Sam, how they'd drifted apart until Maya had stepped in, filling the gap and bringing them back together. But now, the group was fractured, especially regarding the coven binding.

When Dawson spotted a flashlight's beam near the Harvest Grove Cemetery, he knew it was Harper. Without hesitation, he parked his bike and approached the entrance, mindful of the cemetery's eerie silence.

He walked among the gravestones, heading towards the light, and saw Harper kneeling by two side-by-side tombstones. He stepped on a twig, causing her to look up.

"It's just me!" Dawson called out, his voice echoing through the quiet night.

Harper stood, her hands glowing instinctively. "Dawson? What are you doing here?"

"I was just out for a ride and saw your light," he said, approaching her. "You shouldn’t be out here alone at night."

"I know," she sighed, the glow from her hands fading as she resumed her seat. "But sometimes this is the only place I can be alone, at peace."

Dawson, coming from a supportive family, couldn’t fully grasp her situation. "What do you think happens after we die?" she asked, tracing her fingers over her father’s name on the gravestone.

"I’ve never really thought about it," Dawson admitted.

"Neither have I," Harper said, her voice softening. "But I like to think they’re still watching over me, proud."

"I’m sure they are," Dawson said with a reassuring smile.

"I hope so," she whispered, her shoulders slumping. "But I haven’t done anything to make them proud lately, have I?"

Dawson sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "This is about the kidnapping, isn’t it? That you had to be rescued?"

Harper flinched. "It’s not about ego. As the leader of this coven, I need to be reliable. I need to prove myself worthy of this role—to the coven, my Aunt, and to myself."

Dawson looked at her, his face shadowed by the moonlight. "If it helps, I think you’re doing great."

Harper gave him a tender smile. "Thank you."

He felt a warm glow from her gratitude. Harper then sighed, raising her lantern. "We need to do something about Jason."

Dawson blinked. "What do you mean?"

"We can’t let his parents take him to Wichita," Harper said firmly. "We need to convince them to let him stay. The coven can’t be bound without him."

Dawson nodded slowly. "His parents are dead set against this witch stuff. I’m not even allowed to see him outside of school, and we’ve been best friends since kindergarten."

"There’s got to be a way," Harper said with determination. "Mrs. Ross used to be part of the Old Coven. She knows we’re not into anything dark. That can’t be the reason."

"If not that, then what?" Dawson asked, frowning.

"I don’t know yet," Harper said resolutely. "But we’re going to find out."