Page 11 of Darkness and Deceit
The four of us slip into the Predator common room, the door swinging shut behind us with a final click that sounds far too loud in the heavy silence. The space is dimly lit, and—thank the gods—surprisingly empty. I couldn’t handle the stares. Not right now.
I lean back against the stone wall just inside the threshold and finally exhale. The adrenaline burns off fast, leaving my limbs feeling like jelly and my lungs too tight to expand properly. I want to sit. I want to scream. I want to sleep for a week and pretend none of this is happening.
Instead, I breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Again and again.
Kai stands close. Always close. Silent as ever, his cloak still torn from the fall.
I’m not angry. Not anymore.
But that doesn’t make this easier.
How the hell do you look someone in the eye when they let themselves be thrown off a building just to make sure you wereokay? When they didn’t even try to stop it—because keeping you safe mattered more?
Guilt twists in my chest like a blade.
I sink onto the edge of the battered leather couch, staring at my hands. They tremble, barely visible in the fading firelight. I dig my nails into my palms just to turn it into a different kind of pain. A manageable one.
Kai stands above me, face unreadable except for the subtle twitch of his jaw. He waits silently, like he’s waiting for permission to sit beside me.
I nod, and the couch groans under his weight. I lean into him before I can talk myself out of it. His presence is the only thing holding the pieces of me together.
“Next time you want to check on me,” I murmur, my voice cracking a little, “maybe don’t get thrown off seven stories.”
“I didn’t land on my head,” he says, calmly. Like this is a normal occurrence.
“It was theseventh floor,Kai.”
“I rolled.”
“Do youhearyourself?” I ask, jaw slack.
He just blinks at me, like he’s trying to decipher why I’m upset. Like concern is a language he understands but doesn’t speak.
“Are you hurt?” he asks instead.
I shake my head. “Not physically.”
Behind us, Simon hovers near the hearth, his jaw tight with unspoken worry.
He’s gone quiet, too, but it’s a different kind of silence than Kai’s. I can see him tracking every nuance of my breathing, of how tightly I’m holding my fists closed. But he’s holding himself in tight check, the weight of leadership pressing down on him.
Vaughn flops into a worn armchair opposite with a dramatic groan, like a wounded prince collapsing onto his throne, legssprawled across the side. His fingers drum a frenetic rhythm on his thighs until, with a curse under his breath, he digs for his cigarettes and lights up.
Smoke curls in the space between us, softening the edges of the room, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s the only shield he has.
We sit there for a long time, the four of us orbiting each other like planets too exhausted for another revolution.
Eventually, Simon breaks the silence.
“You were in there a long time,” he says.
I shrug. “They wanted me to confirm I’m some kind of monster. That I’m dangerous. But I’m not.” I swallow. “I’m just… me.”
He nods. “You held your own,” he responds and the quiet in his voice is reverent. Fierce in a way that doesn’t match the softness of his features. Like hemeansit. Like he sees something in me I’m not sure I want seen.
And just like that, I have to look away.
I can’t carry that kind of belief—not when I’m still trying to hold myself together.
