Page 83 of Dark Rebel's Reckoning

"Look deeper than what she projects to the world," Max advised. "Fenella is hurting on the inside. She needs someone she can trust not to hurt her emotionally or in any other way."

"When did you get so insightful?" Din asked.

"Five hundred years of pissing people off and ruining relationships teaches you a thing or two. I'm still an asshole, but I'm trying harder not to be. Just don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to maintain."

Din laughed. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Thank you. I'll tell Fenella that you are going to check on her brother and his family. Her parents passed away, naturally."

"Thank you for saving her. I owe you."

Max let out a breath, the gratitude in his old friend's voice making something in his chest loosen—a knot of tension he'd been carrying for fifty years. "You don't owe me. I just corrected a wrong and I hope that we can be friends again. I've missed you, bro."

"Can't say that I missed you, but maybe we can start over."

Ouch, that hurt. "I'd like that."

"I'll call you after checking on Fenella's brother."

"Thanks. See you in the village."

"Yeah." Din ended the call.

Max leaned his elbows on the railing and took a moment to process. The conversation had gone better than he could have hoped. Not only had Din not hung up on him, but they'd managed to navigate the complicated minefield of their shared past without reigniting old hostilities.

Best news was that Din was coming for Fenella. Hopefully, he wouldn't be disappointed.

Max headed back inside with a lighter heart than he'd had in years. The living room was a flurry of activity, with shopping bags and boxes strewn across every surface. The girls were nowhere to be seen, likely in their rooms trying on their new wardrobes, but Fenella and Jasmine and Ell-rom were there.

"Well?" she demanded as soon as he closed the sliding door behind him. "Did he hang up on you?"

Max couldn't suppress his triumphant grin. "Not only did he not hang up, but he's checking on your brother and his family, and then he's flying out here to see you."

For a moment, Fenella just stared at him, and then, to his astonishment, her face lit up with genuine pleasure—not the sardonic smile he'd grown accustomed to, but something brighter and more vulnerable.

"Really? You're not shitting me?"

"I'm not," Max confirmed. "He sounded quite eager."

Fenella rose to her feet and before Max could react, she threw her arms around him in a fierce hug that nearly knocked him back a step.

"Thank you," she said, her voice was muffled against his chest.

Touched by her uncharacteristic display of emotion, Max returned the hug, awkwardly patting her back before she pulled away, looking almost embarrassed by her reaction.

50

KYRA

Kyra smoothed her hand over the soft fabric of the tactical pants she'd just folded into the closet drawer. The material was unlike anything she'd worn during her years with the resistance—lightweight yet durable, with reinforced knees and a multitude of cleverly designed pockets. No more makeshift gear cobbled together from whatever they could scavenge or buy on the black market. This was top-of-the-line stuff, far too fine to be military gear. Perhaps some Hollywood stars enjoyed the style, and an enterprising designer had created items that looked like they belonged on soldiers but felt like they belonged on royalty.

The personal shopper had thought of everything. High-performance base layers, a selection of tops in various weights, and boots that fit like they'd been custom-made for her feet.

After arranging the last of her new possessions, Kyra closed the drawer with a small sense of satisfaction. Having proper clothing felt like another step toward reclaiming her identity.

Heading out of her room, she intended to check on the girls and see how they were doing with their new wardrobes, butsomething—or rather someone—drew her toward the living room.

Was Max back inside, or was Fenella out on the terrace with him and were they sharing passionate kisses that should belong to Kyra?

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