CHAPTER 7: HALF-TRUTHS

After Winters walks away, I don't immediately head back to my apartment. Instead, I circle around the science building and catch up to him in the faculty parking lot. My mind is spinning with questions after my conversation with Maddox, and I need to test something.

"Professor," I call out, quickening my pace. "I have a few more questions."

He turns, looking mildly surprised to see me. "Lena, we should limit our interactions in public. It's safer for both of us."

"This can't wait until tonight," I insist, catching up to him beside his car—an unassuming gray sedan that looks at least ten years old. Perfect camouflage for someone who doesn't want to draw attention.

Winters sighs, checking his surroundings before nodding toward a small courtyard nearby, sheltered from view by a row of hedges. "Five minutes."

I follow him into the secluded space, and once we're out of earshot from potential passersby, I ask the question that's been bothering me since I discovered my new ability.

"How many different kinds of subs are there? What kind are you? Where are others? Are there any here at the college?"

His eyebrows rise slightly at my barrage of questions. "That's quite a lot to cover in five minutes."

"Just the basics, then."

He considers for a moment, then leans against the stone retaining wall. "There are seven primary classifications of supernaturals, though there are numerous subcategories and hybrid variations."

"Seven?" I press. "What are they?"

"The Shifters, like your father's bloodline, who can change physical form. The Elementals, who manipulate natural forces. The Psychics, who affect minds and perception. The Vitals, who control life and death energies. The Seers, who perceive beyond normal limitations—your mother's line falls partially in this category. The Crafters, who can imbue objects with power. And the Veil-walkers, who move between dimensions or states of being."

I file this information away. "And what kind are you?"

His expression remains neutral. "I'm a Psychic. Not particularly powerful, but with enough ability to shield my thoughts and sense certain emotions."

A lie. My newfound sight tells me he has no supernatural signature at all. If he were truly a Psychic, I should see something—a tell, an aura, some kind of energetic presence.

"And are there others here? At the college?" I ask, keeping my face carefully blank.

"A few," he admits. "We try to place protectors in institutions where young supernaturals might emerge. The transition can be... volatile."

"Like who?" I press.

He hesitates, then makes a decision. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you, since you'll be leaving tonight anyway. Come with me."

Winters leads me back into the main building and down a hallway toward the administrative offices. He knocks on a door labeled "Student Counseling" and enters without waiting for a response.

Behind a neat desk sits a young woman I recognize from around campus. She can't be more than a few years older than me—perhaps a graduate student working part-time. Her dark hair is pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she wears wire-rimmed glasses that give her a scholarly appearance.

But what catches my attention is her aura—a vibrant green that seems to pulse with life, small tendrils of it reaching out like vines seeking the sun. I've seen a similar signature around campus but never this strong, this vital.

"Lena, this is Thea Blackwood. She's one of us—a Vital, specialized in healing." Winters closes the door behind us. "Thea, this is Lena Hargrove. Or rather, Lena Silvermoon."

At the mention of my true name, the girl's eyes widen, her expression shifting from polite interest to something much more complex—surprise, certainly, but also what looks like apprehension, maybe even fear.

"The Convergence Child," she murmurs, standing slowly. "I thought you were just a rumor."

"Apparently not," I reply, uncomfortable with the way she's looking at me—like I'm a bomb that might detonate at any moment.

"Thea is coming with us tonight," Winters explains. "She'll help you transition to the safe house."

Thea seems to recover from her initial shock, extending a hand toward me. "It's an honor to meet you. Your parents were legends among our kind."

I hesitate before shaking her hand. When our skin connects, a jolt of energy passes between us—not painful, but intense, like static electricity amplified tenfold. Her green aura brightens momentarily, reaching toward me before retreating.

"Interesting," she says, studying me with renewed intensity. "Your energetic signature is... unusual. Not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" I ask.

She glances at Winters, who gives a slight nod. "The prophecy speaks of balance—equal parts moon and wild. But your energy leans heavily toward the lunar aspect. The wild is there, but... subdued."

"What does that mean?"

She shrugs, but her casualness seems forced. "It could mean nothing. Powers develop differently in everyone. Or it could mean the prophecy was misinterpreted."

"Or it could mean she's still emerging," Winters interjects. "The commanding voice manifested first—that's from her father's side. The second sight is from her mother's lineage. Perhaps the balance will settle as more abilities surface."

Thea doesn't look convinced, but she nods anyway. "Perhaps."

Her reaction bothers me. There's something they're not saying, some implication I'm missing.

"Can I ask how you two ended up working for the Conclave?" I say, changing the subject.

"I was born into it," Thea answers. "My mother is on the Council. Being a Vital, my path was clear from early on—heal, protect, preserve."

"And you?" I turn to Winters.

His answer comes smoothly, practiced. "I met your parents during the early days of the integration movement. Your mother was particularly persuasive about the need for cooperation between humans and supernaturals. When they formed the Conclave, joining seemed the natural choice."

Another lie, or at least not the whole truth. I'm getting better at sensing the subtle shifts in his expression, the way his eyes don't quite meet mine when he's being selective with the facts.

"We should go," Winters says, checking his watch. "Lena, remember: midnight, the foundry. Come alone."

"Why alone?" I ask. "Shouldn't I want as many allies as possible?"

"Because we don't know who might be watching you," Thea answers before Winters can. "The fewer people who know about the extraction, the safer you'll be."

It makes logical sense, but after my conversation with Maddox, I can't help wondering if there's another reason they want me isolated.

"I'll be there," I assure them, maintaining the lie.

As I turn to leave, Thea calls after me. "Lena? Be careful. Your aura... it's flaring. You're broadcasting your presence to anyone with the ability to sense it."

I nod, thanking her for the warning though I'm not sure how to control something I've only just become aware of.

Outside the office, I walk quickly through the hallways, processing the new information and the inconsistencies in Winters' story. Seven types of supernaturals. Thea's strange reaction to meeting me. And most troubling, Winters' complete lack of supernatural signature despite claiming to be a Psychic.

Maddox's warning echoes in my mind: "Ask yourself why the Conclave waited until your powers emerged to move you to safety. Why not years ago? Why take the risk at all?"

Something isn't adding up. The Conclave, my grandfather, my mysterious uncle Kieran, the prophecy—everyone seems to want a piece of me, but no one is being entirely honest about why.

As I exit the building into the late afternoon sunlight, I make a decision. I won't be going to the foundry tonight. At least, not in the way Winters and Thea expect.

If I want the truth, I need to find it for myself.