Elena's POV
I stared at the photo of my dead sister until Adrian gently took the phone from my shaking hands.
"We have to go there," I whispered. "We have to see if it's real."
"Elena, if it is real, it's a crime scene. We can't—"
"She's my sister!" My voice broke. "I have to know. I have to—"
I couldn't finish. Couldn't breathe. Despite everything Céleste had done, despite her cruelty and betrayal, she was still the little girl who used to climb into my bed during thunderstorms. Still the sister who cried at our parents' funeral.
And now she might be dead.
Because of me.
"We go together," Adrian said firmly. "But carefully. If this is a trap—"
"I don't care anymore." I stood up in the darkness, my legs unsteady. "Take me to the estate. Now."
We emerged from the catacombs into the pre-dawn darkness. Paris was still asleep, the streets empty and grey. Adrian led me to a sleek black car hidden in an alley.
"You have a car?" I asked numbly.
"I have several. When you've lived 847 years, you accumulate things." He opened the passenger door for me. "Elena, are you sure about this?"
I slid into the seat without answering. My mind kept replaying that photo. Céleste's empty eyes. The blood.
Adrian drove fast through the silent city, heading toward the family estate on the outskirts of Paris. Neither of us spoke. What was there to say?
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to the iron gates. They stood open—strange, because Grandmother always kept them locked.
"Something's wrong," Adrian murmured.
We walked up the long driveway. The mansion loomed ahead, every window dark. No cars in the circular drive. No lights. No sound.
Adrian tried the front door. It swung open easily.
"Definitely wrong," he said. "Stay behind me."
We stepped inside. The entrance hall was exactly as I remembered—the grand staircase, the antique furniture, the paintings of dead ancestors watching from the walls.
But something felt different. Empty. Like the house was holding its breath.
"Céleste?" I called. My voice echoed. "Grandmother?"
No answer.
Adrian's hand found mine—we both winced at the curse's pain—and we moved deeper into the house together.
We found the room from the photo easily. The old ballroom in the east wing, the one Grandmother never used anymore.
The door was ajar.
I pushed it open, my heart hammering.
The room was empty. Clean stone floor. No blood. No body.
No Céleste.
"I don't understand," I breathed. "The photo—"
"Was fake," Adrian finished grimly. "Someone wanted us to come here."
A slow clap echoed from the shadows.
We spun around.
Grandmother Simone stepped out of the darkness, her face cold and regal. But she wasn't alone. Five figures stood behind her—the same five from the bridge.
The Society.
"Hello, Elena," Grandmother said. "Thank you for coming."
My blood turned to ice. "You're working with them. The text was right—you're working with the Society."
"I'm protecting my family," Grandmother corrected. "Something you've made very difficult."
The leader of the Society stepped forward—a woman who looked about forty but had eyes older than Adrian's. "Adrian Thorne. It's been a long time."
"Katerina," Adrian said coldly. "Still collecting curses like trading cards?"
"Only the interesting ones." Katerina smiled. "And yours is the most interesting of all. 847 years old. The first true immortality curse ever cast. If I could transfer it to myself..." Her eyes gleamed. "I'd be invincible."
"You'd be alone," Adrian said. "Forever. Trust me, it's not worth it."
"That's where you're wrong." Katerina's gaze shifted to me. "I wouldn't be alone. I'd have all the time in the world to find someone who could love me without dying. Unlike you, who's down to..." She pretended to check a watch. "Six days before this one expires?"
I felt sick.
"Here's what's going to happen," Katerina continued. "Elena is going to perform the curse-breaking ritual. But instead of freeing you, Adrian, she's going to transfer your immortality to me. It's a simple twist in the spell—her grandmother will guide her through it."
"No," I said. "I won't."
"Then I kill everyone you love." Katerina nodded to her companions. "We start with old Margot. Then we work through your former friends. Then we burn down every historical site in Paris until you cooperate."
"You're bluffing," Adrian said.
"Am I?" Katerina pulled out her phone, showed us a live video feed.
Margot, tied to a chair in her own apartment, fear in her eyes.
"No!" I lunged forward but two Society members grabbed me. Their hands were ice cold—wrong, inhuman.
"You have twenty-four hours," Katerina said. "Tomorrow night, full moon, in the ritual chamber beneath this estate. You perform the transfer, or Margot dies. Then everyone else you care about. One by one."
"Why involve my grandmother?" I struggled against the iron grip. "Why not just force me yourself?"
"Because the ritual requires a Moreau witch to guide it," Grandmother said quietly. "And I'm the only one left who knows the original spell."
I stared at her. "You'd really help them? You'd curse me to save yourself?"
Something flickered in Grandmother's eyes—regret? pain?—but her voice stayed cold. "I'm doing what I must to protect what's left of our family."
"I am your family!" I screamed. "Or did you forget that when you chose Céleste over me?"
"Céleste is safe in London," Grandmother said. "I sent her away this morning with enough money to start a new life. She's out of this mess. And you will be too, once you cooperate."
"You mean once I'm dead," I said bitterly. "The ritual will kill me. That's what happens when you transfer a curse that powerful."
Grandmother's mask cracked for just a moment. "Not if we do it carefully. Not if I guide you properly—"
"She's lying," Adrian said flatly. "The transfer will rip Elena apart. There's no way to survive it."
"Then she'll die doing something useful," Katerina said cheerfully. "Instead of dying in six days from the love curse like she would anyway."
The Society members released me. I stumbled, and Adrian caught me—the curse's pain flared but neither of us cared anymore.
"Twenty-four hours," Katerina repeated. "Tomorrow night. Don't make us come find you, or Margot suffers."
They vanished into the shadows like smoke.
Grandmother stood alone, her face carved from stone. "Go. Run if you want. Hide if you can. But you'll come back. You always were too soft-hearted, Elena. It's your greatest weakness."
She turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the empty ballroom.
I collapsed against Adrian, my whole body shaking. "They have Margot. They're going to kill her if I don't—"
"We'll find another way," Adrian said desperately. "We'll rescue her, break the curse properly, stop the Society—"
"In twenty-four hours? That's impossible!"
"I've done impossible things before." He pulled back, looking into my eyes. "Trust me. Please."
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. Another message from the unknown number:
There's a way to save everyone. But you have to trust me. Go to Sainte-Chapelle. The old confessional on the left. There's a package waiting. Inside is everything you need to know about breaking the curse without dying. But hurry—the Society is tracking your phone. You have ten minutes before they find you again. —A Friend
I showed Adrian the message.
"It could be another trap," he said.
"Or it could be our only chance." I grabbed his hand despite the pain. "We have to risk it."
We ran.
Sainte-Chapelle rose against the dawn sky, beautiful and ancient. The doors were locked but Adrian produced a key—apparently owning historical buildings had perks.
We found the confessional. Inside, tucked behind the wooden screen, was a leather journal.
I opened it with shaking hands.
The first page read: The True History of the Thorne Curse, by Isabeau Moreau
My ancestor. The witch who'd loved Adrian 847 years ago.
"She kept a journal," I breathed. "About the curse. About how to break it."
Adrian leaned over my shoulder, reading rapidly. His breathing got faster. "Elena. Look at this."
He pointed to a passage near the end:
"Mother's curse was cruel but not absolute. She wove in a failsafe—a way to break it without death. But only if the cursed one and his true love both choose sacrifice. He must be willing to stay cursed to save her. She must be willing to die to free him. When both choices are made sincerely, when both loves are proven absolute, the curse recognizes true love and shatters. This is the secret Mother never told anyone. This is how Adrian can be freed."
I read it three times, my heart pounding. "Mutual sacrifice. We both have to be willing to give up everything for the other."
"And then the curse breaks," Adrian whispered. "Without death. Without transfer. It just... ends."
Hope flared in my chest for the first time in hours.
Then I saw the next page.
And the hope died.
"But beware: the moment both choices are voiced, the curse will test them. It will offer each person a way out—a temptation to save themselves instead. If either one takes the offered escape, both will die. There is no second chance. The curse breaks or it kills. There is no middle ground."
"Oh no," I breathed.
Adrian's face had gone white. "It's a test. The curse will try to make us betray each other."
"And if either of us fails—"
"We both die."
My phone buzzed. The unknown number again:
You have the journal. You know the truth. Tomorrow night, when they try to force the transfer, use this knowledge instead. Speak the words of mutual sacrifice. Break the curse the right way. But Elena—be strong. The curse will show you terrible things. It will lie. It will make you doubt. Don't listen. Trust your love. It's the only way. —A Friend
Another message followed immediately:
P.S. - The Society is three minutes away. Run. Now.
Adrian grabbed my hand and we ran again, the journal clutched to my chest.
Behind us, car engines roared to life.
We burst out of the chapel and into the street. Adrian's car was parked a block away—too far, we'd never make it—
A black van screeched to a stop in front of us. The door slid open.
"Get in!" a man's voice shouted. "Hurry!"
I looked at Adrian. He looked at me.
We had three seconds to decide: trust this stranger, or face the Society.
Adrian pulled me toward the van. We jumped inside.
The door slammed shut. The van peeled away just as the Society's cars rounded the corner behind us.
I turned to look at our rescuer—and my heart stopped.
The man driving looked exactly like Adrian. Same dark hair. Same grey eyes. Same face.
But older. Harder. With scars Adrian didn't have.
"Who are you?" I gasped.
The man smiled grimly. "My name is Théo Laurent. Adrian's lawyer and oldest friend." He glanced at Adrian in the rearview mirror. "And the half-immortal son of the witch who originally cursed you."
Adrian's face went white. "That's impossible. Isabeau had no children."
"No," Théo agreed. "But her mother did. One more daughter, born after Isabeau died. My mother." He met my eyes. "Which makes me your distant cousin, Elena. And the only other person alive who knows how that curse really works."
The van sped through Paris as dawn broke over the city.
And I realized our impossible situation had just gotten even more complicated.