Always Hold Onto Smallville Novels & Stories

The only thing he’s holding onto is the locket. The locket that proves Eleanor has always been a good person. He needs to believe it again, because right now, he doesn’t see it. He takes out the locket from his pocket and shows it to her. Her eyes light up in recognition. She smiles softly, despite the bad thing that happened to her.

“Our lives depend on you protecting this box, Sora.” She straightened instantly. “Right,” she said. “Of course, and I will guard it with my life.” As Trinity took it upon herself to speak some more words of encouragement, I reached into my pocket and patted it quickly to make sure Kylan’s ring was still there. Little Violet wouldn’t sabotage herself, and I believed her. If she said we would need it, I wouldn’t challenge her words. Now there were no more excuses left. My heart thudded as I placed my hand on top of the box, feeling the cold beneath my palm.

"You're walking in there with me. That's not a question." My mouth opened‚ and then closed. Because what was I going to say? No? To him? He'd carry me out of this car over his shoulder and we both knew it. "Okay… I just... I need a second." "You've had a second. You've had several." He reached over and took my hand‚ wrapping his fingers around mine and squeezed hard enough. "When that door opens‚ you hold onto me and you don't let go. That's all you have to do. Okay?”

Callum’s tiny body trembles against my chest. I hold him tighter, one arm wrapped protectively around his back, the other hand pressed to the back of his head as if I can shield him from the entire world with just my body. His golden sparks flicker weakly against my torn gown, syncing with my own fading light. He’s so small and sowarm. And yet he keeps pushing strength into me through the bond, this impossible child who should be safe in a nursery, not trapped in a nightmare built by my own uncle.

Locked in place. Following. The same way it always did. And this time— He knows for a fact— He didn’t imagine it.

I zoomed in further, my hands shaking. The scar wasn’t there. The Markston family ring Vincent always wore wasn’t on his finger either. That ring, the one he never took off. Not for meetings. Not for sleep. Not even on the day we signed our divorce papers. He never took it off. Not for one day. But in the photo, it was gone. Something shifted inside me. Hope. Small, fragile, terrifying hope. “So Alice,” Morgan said gently, watching my face closely, “whatever you need to know is today.”