Chapter 4: Hidden Truths

The vanilla latte sat untouched in my hands as I stared at Jake, my mind racing. The coffee was perfect—too perfect. Exactly how I ordered it every morning at Corner Cup, down to the extra foam I always requested but never mentioned to strangers.

"How long have you been watching me?" I asked quietly.

Jake's jaw tightened. "Sarah—"

"The truth. Please." I set the cup on the dresser, no longer trusting anything he'd brought me. "Rebecca said she'd been watching over me since I was born. Have you been part of that surveillance?"

He ran a hand through his dark hair, looking like he'd rather face a pack of supernatural killers than this conversation. "Three months."

The admission hit me like a physical blow. "Three months? You've been spying on me for three months?"

"Not spying. Protecting." Jake's green eyes flashed with something that might have been guilt. "Rebecca identified several women with your bloodline who were showing signs of awakening. I was assigned to monitor the ones in highest danger zones."

"Assigned by who?"

"An organization called the Guardians. We protect people like you from groups that want to exploit supernatural abilities." Jake moved closer, and I instinctively stepped back. "Sarah, I know how this sounds, but everything I've done has been to keep you safe."

"Safe?" My voice cracked with anger, and I felt something electric surge through my veins. The coffee cup on the dresser began to rattle. "You watched me fall apart after catching David cheating. You watched me cry myself to sleep in this pathetic apartment. You watched my life implode, and you did nothing!"

"Because I couldn't interfere until your abilities manifested!" Jake's composure finally cracked. "The rules are clear—no contact until awakening begins. If I'd approached you earlier, I would have been pulled off your case."

"Pulled off by who? This Guardian organization?"

"Yes."

The rattling coffee cup suddenly exploded, sending ceramic shards and scalding liquid across the room. I stared at the mess, my hands shaking.

"That's why we need to train you," Jake said softly. "Your emotions are directly connected to your abilities now. Anger, fear, even strong attraction—it all triggers manifestations."

Strong attraction. Heat flooded my cheeks as I realized he'd included that deliberately. Had he noticed the way I'd been watching him? The unwanted flutter in my stomach when he'd touched my hand during self-defense training?

"Tell me about the other women," I said, deflecting from thoughts I couldn't afford to have. "The ones who died. Were they under Guardian protection too?"

Jake's expression darkened. "They were supposed to be. We had operatives assigned to each of them, but..." He trailed off, staring at the broken ceramic on the floor.

"But what?"

"They were betrayed. Someone they trusted led them into traps." Jake finally met my eyes. "Someone close to them. That's why I haven't told you everything, Sarah. The prophecy warns of betrayal, and until we know who's compromised, I can't risk full disclosure."

"So you're protecting me by lying to me?"

"I'm protecting you by keeping you alive." His voice was hard again, the momentary vulnerability gone. "Those women died because they trusted the wrong people. I won't let that happen to you."

I sank onto the bed, overwhelmed by everything I'd learned. "The other operatives—the ones who were supposed to protect them—what happened to them?"

Jake was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Most of them died with their assignments. The few who survived were found with their memories wiped."

"Memory wiped? Is that possible?"

"Unfortunately, yes. There are supernatural entities that feed on memories, and certain spells that can remove or alter them." Jake sat on the opposite bed, careful to maintain distance between us. "That's another reason I've been cautious about trusting anyone, including other Guardians."

The weight of our situation settled over me like a heavy blanket. Not only was I being hunted by people who wanted to harvest my abilities, but the very organization designed to protect me might be compromised.

"What about Rebecca?" I asked. "Can we trust her?"

"Rebecca Stone is... complicated." Jake chose his words carefully. "She's powerful, possibly more powerful than she's let on. But her motives aren't entirely clear."

"She knew things about me that no one should know. Personal things."

"Psychic abilities can provide that kind of information. Or extensive surveillance." Jake's expression was troubled. "The problem is, I can't tell which it was."

My phone, still powered off since last night, sat on the nightstand like an accusation. I thought about all the texts from David I'd been ignoring, his sudden desperation to reconcile.

"You really think David's involved in this?" I asked.

"I think the timing is suspicious. He researches your genealogy, discovers information about your bloodline, and suddenly you're awakening abilities while being hunted by people who traffic in supernatural power." Jake stood and began pacing the small room. "Either he's the unluckiest ex-husband in history, or he's working with them."

The idea that David—weak, manipulative David—could be part of some supernatural conspiracy seemed absurd. But then again, everything about my life had become absurd in the past twenty-four hours.

"There's something else," Jake said, stopping his pacing to look at me directly. "The symbols carved into those women's bodies—they weren't random. They were a specific type of harvesting mark used by a group called the Collectors."

"Collectors?"

"Think supernatural organ dealers, but instead of kidneys, they traffic in abilities. They identify people with latent powers, trigger their awakening through trauma, then harvest the energy through ritual murder." Jake's voice was clinical, but I could see the fury burning in his eyes. "The symbols focus and contain the power so it can be transferred to buyers."

My stomach lurched. "They want to kill me and steal my abilities?"

"Not just yours. They want to build an army of artificially enhanced operatives by harvesting abilities from natural carriers like you." Jake sat back down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Sarah, we're not just talking about your life anymore. If they succeed in collecting enough power, they could tip the balance between the natural and supernatural worlds."

"Balance?"

"Most humans don't know about the supernatural community because there are rules, boundaries that keep the two worlds separate. Groups like the Collectors want to tear down those boundaries and create a new world order with supernatural powers ruling over normal humans."

The scope of what he was describing made my head spin. I'd gone from worrying about grading papers and divorce proceedings to being a potential casualty in some kind of supernatural war.

"This is insane," I whispered. "I'm just a high school English teacher."

"You're a high school English teacher with the genetic potential to move objects with your mind, influence electronics, and possibly develop precognitive abilities." Jake's tone was gentle but firm. "That makes you incredibly valuable to the right buyers."

"Or the wrong ones."

"Exactly."

I looked around the dingy motel room that had become my sanctuary, thinking about my small apartment, my students, my normal life that seemed impossibly far away now.

"What happens next?" I asked.

"Now we train. I teach you to control your abilities and defend yourself, while we try to figure out who we can trust and who's trying to kill you." Jake stood, retrieving his laptop from the dresser. "Starting with advanced lessons in psychokinesis."

"Is that the fancy word for moving things with my mind?"

"Among other things. Your bloodline carries markers for multiple abilities—telekinesis, electronic manipulation, enhanced intuition, possibly even limited precognition." Jake opened the laptop and showed me a complex genetic chart. "Most carriers only develop one or two abilities, but your readings suggest you could be capable of more."

"Readings? When did you take readings?"

Jake's expression became carefully neutral. "During surveillance. Long-range bio-scans are part of standard monitoring protocol."

I wanted to be angry about the continued invasion of my privacy, but I was too exhausted to fight anymore. Besides, if genetic readings could help me understand what was happening to me, maybe the violation was worth it.

"Show me," I said.

For the next two hours, Jake guided me through exercises designed to help me focus and control my emerging abilities. We started with simple object manipulation—moving a pen across the table, stopping a rolling ball, lifting a water glass without touching it.

At first, nothing I did was intentional. The pen would fly across the room when I wanted it to slide gently, or it wouldn't move at all despite my intense concentration. But gradually, with Jake's patient coaching, I began to find the mental switch that connected intention to manifestation.

"Feel the energy," he instructed as I struggled to lift a paperweight. "Don't force it—guide it. Your abilities respond to emotional clarity, not emotional intensity."

I took a deep breath and imagined the paperweight as an extension of my own hand. Instead of trying to grab it with my mind, I simply thought about it rising. Slowly, almost gracefully, it floated up from the table.

"Perfect," Jake said, and the genuine pride in his voice sent an unwanted warmth through my chest.

I held the paperweight suspended for nearly thirty seconds before exhaustion forced me to set it down. My head was pounding, and I felt drained in a way that went beyond physical tiredness.

"That's enough for now," Jake said, closing his laptop. "Psychokinetic exercises are mentally exhausting until you build up endurance."

"How long will it take to develop real control?"

"Depends on the person and the circumstances. Some people train for years before achieving mastery. Others develop abilities rapidly under pressure." Jake's expression was grim. "Unfortunately, you'll probably be in the second category."

"Because people are trying to kill me."

"Because people are definitely trying to kill you, and they're not going to wait for you to complete a leisurely training program."

I lay back on the bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling. Everything about this situation felt surreal, like I was living in someone else's life.

"Jake?" I said without looking at him.

"What happens if I can't learn fast enough? What if I'm not strong enough to fight these Collectors?"

He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a promise that made my heart race.

"Then I'll die before I let them take you."

The certainty in his words should have been comforting. Instead, it terrified me more than anything else that had happened.

Because somewhere between the coffee shop prophecy and this dingy motel room, Jake Sullivan had become someone I couldn't bear to lose.

And according to the prophecy, that made him either my salvation or my destruction.