Ethan stormed into his duplex, the door slamming behind him, the sound echoing off the walls. The living room felt suffocating under the weight of his anger. “Uncle John! Uncle Mark!” he shouted, his voice raw, his shoes scuffing the rug. Silence answered, the duplex’s quiet hum mocking him. “Show yourselves, or I’ll summon you!” A bluff—summoning was beyond his skill, a ritual he’d only heard his grandfather whisper about. “Or I’ll burn your anchors!” Another empty threat; their anchors were inaccessible. John and Mark materialized instantly, their ghostly forms shimmering in the dim light of a single lamp. John’s suit was crisp, his face etched with concern. Mark’s denim jacket hung loose, his tousled hair faintly translucent, his eyes wary. “What’s wrong?” John asked, his voice low, a spectral echo in the room. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ethan demanded, his fists clenched, his chest tight with betrayal. “Tell you what?” Mark asked, glancing at John, his expression guarded. Ethan couldn’t tell if he was genuinely confused or feigning ignorance. “That my mom was a werewolf and not just any werewolf, but the one who started the war by killing my dad.” Ethan’s voice trembled, barely restrained, his words sharp enough to cut through the neighbors’ walls if he wasn’t careful. The uncles’ guilty looks held until he mentioned his dad, their faces shifting to shock. “She didn’t,” Mark insisted, his denim jacket flickering as he stepped closer, his voice firm. “I saw the S.P.A. file,” Ethan snapped, his eyes blazing, the memory of Alex’s gentle revelation burning in his mind. “Lies,” John insisted. “Propaganda. Sit down. We’ll explain.” Ethan obeyed, sinking onto the couch, more to avoid a pointless fight than because he wanted to sit. John floated to the armchair, while Mark leaned against the wall, his boots intangible on the rug. “Your mom was a werewolf,” John began, his voice steady, a storyteller’s cadence. “She was turned as a teen. She was upfront with your dad, figuring he’d handle it when he introduced her to us. She was right—he married her. They weren’t sure about kids, but then you came along.” “Like most werewolves, she locked herself up each full moon to avoid hurting anyone,” Mark added, his hands gesturing, the denim sleeves faint. “When you were old enough to talk, your parents sent you to live with your grandfather. Once you could keep her secret, they planned to tell you and bring you home.” “So why didn’t you tell me?” Ethan asked, his voice raw, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I keep you a secret.” “Your grandfather thought it best not to, after the slaughter and the war,” Mark said, his eyes softening, regret flickering. “The war my mom started by killing my dad,” Ethan said, his voice bitter, his fingers digging into his jeans. “She didn’t kill him,” Mark insisted, his form shimmering with intensity. “She loved him, never harmed him. He could sit with her on a full moon, hold her hand, and not get a scratch. She had a seizure, like the police said. Someone injected her with something, and your dad was driving her to your grandpa for help. They were on the phone.” “Your mom could control her changes somewhat,” John continued, leaning forward. “But the injection made her lose control, triggering a change during the seizure. She clawed your dad by accident. He lost control of the car. The call was on speaker—we heard it.” Ethan’s gaze flicked to Mark, his throat tight. “You had me take your anchor to the park that day.” Mark nodded, his hair swaying faintly. “We needed you out of the house. You were too young to hear your parents die.” Too young to hear their screams, the crash, the silence. Ethan’s chest ached, the memory a void he couldn’t touch. “Why not tell me later?” he asked, his voice breaking. “When I came home the other day, asking about a werewolf bite, you could’ve said something.” “We didn’t want the S.P.A. to know,” John said, his voice firm. “They didn’t know about you then. That’s why your grandpa changed your name, drilled you to leave no trace, no prints, no records, no trouble.” “Yeah, well, the group I’m with figured it out,” Ethan said, his jaw tight. “I didn’t know, so I told them my parents’ names. They said they won’t tell the S.P.A.” “Do you trust them?” John asked, his eyes narrowing, a protective edge in his voice. “Do I have a choice?” Ethan’s voice was bitter, his hands spreading in frustration. “You could leave town, start over,” Mark suggested, his tone heavy. “What about you? Getting your anchors would take work.” Ethan’s voice softened, the thought of losing them a fresh wound. “Leave us behind,” John insisted, his voice resolute. “No. I can’t lose you, too.” Ethan’s eyes burned, his family’s remnants too precious to abandon. “So you risk us losing you?” Mark asked, his form flickering, concern etching his face. “You two have each other,” Ethan said, his voice quiet but firm. “Have you seen my brother?” John stage-whispered, a hand shielding his mouth as if Mark couldn’t hear, his charm breaking the tension. “It’s better than being alone,” Ethan said, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though his heart still raced. A knock rattled the door, sharp in the quiet. Mark vanished, reappearing at the peephole, his ghostly form blending with the shadows. “Some man. Reminds me of John if he’d join this century.” Ethan bit back a retort about Mark’s outdated denim, crossing to the door. Alex stood outside, in his usual button-down white shirt and vest, his eyes tired but alert. “He’s the wizard I’m working with,” Ethan said, and both uncles vanished, their forms dissolving like mist. Ethan opened the door, stepping aside without inviting Alex in—his grandfather’s rule, drilled deep, not just for vampires but for any stranger. “Problem?” he asked, his voice guarded. Alex frowned, stepping inside. “I wanted to check on you. Are you okay?” His voice was soft, concern softening his fatigue. “I’m fine. That’s not the first bad news I’ve gotten. I just needed some air.” Ethan’s tone was clipped, his arms crossing, the revelation about his mother still raw. “You left your phone.” Alex held it out, the screen glinting in the light. “And I thought I’d ward your place, but it feels protected already.” “My grandpa dabbled in magic, nothing like you,” Ethan said, taking the phone, its weight familiar. “He taught me sigils to protect a place.” “Can I see them? If he only dabbled, they might be weak.” Alex’s voice was cautious, his eyes scanning the room. Ethan shrugged, removing two paintings from the wall, revealing intricate sigils painted on the walls, their lines glowing faintly under the lamplight. “Clever disguise,” Alex said, leaning closer, his fingers tracing the air above them. “You included one for werewolves?” “Being thorough. Good thing I’m immune.” Ethan’s voice was dry, his mother’s legacy a fresh sting. “No ghost ward,” Alex noted, his brow furrowing. “The S.P.A. checked the place. Ghosts don’t just infest, and most are harmless.” Ethan’s tone was dismissive. He wasn’t going to reveal his uncles. “What about your bedroom?” Alex asked, his voice insistent. Ethan led him down the hall, the wood floors creaking, and revealed more sigils behind a framed poster, their patterns base, pulsing faintly. Alex frowned, his eyes narrowing. “These aren’t a dabbler’s work.” “Maybe he knew someone,” Ethan said, shrugging, his grandfather’s secrets a familiar weight. “This one—I don’t recognize it.” Alex pointed to a sprawling, intricate ward, its lines weaving like a labyrinth. “What is it?” “An all-purpose ward, I think. Grandpa said to start with it. If I could only do one, this was it.” Ethan’s voice was casual, but the ward’s power hummed against Alex’s skin. “It’s powerful. Mind if I take a picture to research it?” Alex asked, his phone half-raised. “Don’t. Grandpa said never to make copies, only paint it for warding.” Ethan’s voice was firm, his grandfather’s warnings echoing. Alex nodded, his frown deepening, suspicion flickering in his eyes. Mark entered through the door, holding a sparking electronic device, its wires frayed. “I believe you dropped this.” John floated through a wall and picked up another one. It crackled with electricity as contact with him shorted it out. Alex cringed, his shoulders tensing. “Sorry. Winters ordered it. The feed goes to our place—we filter what we report.” “It wouldn’t work,” John said, his voice smug. “Even without us interfering, that ward you admired would block it.” “Meet my uncles, John and Mark,” Ethan said, his voice dry, gesturing to the ghosts. “This is Alex Tormane, the wizard heading the S.P.A. team I’m with.” Alex raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between them. “The S.P.A. checked the place?” “They did. I brought the anchors after,” Ethan said, shrugging, his uncles’ anchors a secret he’d never share. “None of this gets reported to the S.P.A., nor who Ethan’s mother was,” Mark warned, his voice hard. Alex shook his head, his expression earnest. “We need Ethan. If the S.P.A. knew about him, they’d take him for tests. That’s enough for us to keep his secret. None of us loves the S.P.A. We work for them because we have to. And you’ve nothing to worry about. S.P.A. policy leaves harmless ghosts alone. There are no complaints in this area, nor were there any from the house where Ethan grew up. I don’t know why they burned it. Were there other ghosts causing trouble?” “No one troubles our family,” John said, his voice protective. “Ethan’s our nephew, distantly.” “There were no other ghosts,” Ethan assured Alex, glaring at John. “Grandpa had wards. I had to remove some for the S.P.A. to burn it.” “We don’t usually handle ghosts,” Alex said, his voice calm. “They’re easily dealt with. Stay quiet, and you’re fine. I need to get back. Nick’s in the sunroom.” “Sunroom?” Mark asked, his mullet swaying, curiosity in his eyes. “A containment room, inside another room flooded with full-spectrum lights. Nick would die before escaping. The only risk is a blackout if the generator fails.” Alex’s voice was grim, Nick’s feral state a fresh concern. He tugged the cuffs down. “Need my help?” Ethan offered, his voice steady, though his mother’s truth still churned inside him. “No, better stay away until the caffeine’s out of his system. He’s too feral.” Alex turned to leave. “Alex, take the other bug,” John said. “You don’t want to hear what he does in here.” “Stay out of my private life,” Ethan told his uncle for the millionth time since he started dating. Alex held out his hand to reveal the bug. “You said it wouldn’t work. I’d rather not have it destroyed. I didn’t know the place was haunted. Even without you catching me, it wouldn’t last a month with your uncles here.” He pocketed the bug and left, the door clicking shut, the duplex’s silence settling like dust. Ethan turned to his uncles, their ghostly forms flickering in the lamplight, the weight of his mother’s secret and the S.P.A.’s shadow pressing closer, his duplex no longer a refuge but a battleground of truths unspoken.