Page 126 of Jayson
I meet his gaze.
“I know.”
He nods once. That’s enough.
We sit for a few more minutes, sipping quietly. The sun breaks through the clouds outside, splashing gold across the floor. The day’s starting. More things will need fixing. More blood will be spilled. But for now, there’s this—two men who’ve been broken and built back again, trying to figure out what to protect next.
And maybe, just maybe, who they want to become when the killing stops.
Kanyan leans forward again, bracing his elbows on the table. His coffee cup is nearly empty, but he doesn’t reach for a refill.His voice drops a notch, quiet but firm—the tone he uses when it’s not just business. When it’s personal.
“There’s something wrong,” he says.
I stiffen. “With what?”
“Not what. Who.” He locks eyes with me. “Keira.”
The name alone has me straightening in my chair, every muscle in my back going taut. “What about her?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches me. Measuring the way I react. Then he speaks carefully, deliberately. “I’ve seen trauma, Jayson. Enough to know when someone’s walking around with a minefield inside them. And she’s got layers we haven’t even scratched yet.”
I clench my jaw, but I don’t interrupt. He’s not wrong. I’ve seen it too—those glassy-eyed silences. The way she tenses at sudden noise. The way her hands shake when she thinks no one’s watching.
“She’s holding something in,” he continues. “Something big. And I don’t think she even knows it’s there. That’s the part that worries me.”
I nod slowly. I’ve felt it. The ghost of something still festering inside her.
“She talks in riddles sometimes,” I admit. “About memories that don’t add up. She flinches at names she doesn’t recognize but reacts to like they’re fire.”
Kanyan leans back, arms folding across his chest, his expression unreadable but no less intense. “What if she’s been conditioned not to remember? Or worse—what if someone’s made her forget?”
The air in the room shifts. It’s colder now.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” I say.
“This isn’t about hurting her,” Kanyan replies. “It’s about helping her heal. And sometimes that means ripping the bandage off. Letting the wound breathe.”
I look away. Out the window. The sun’s creeping over the treetops now, soft gold spilling over the grass. It should be beautiful. But my chest aches.
“She’s just starting to feel safe,” I say. “I don’t want to take that from her.”
“You won’t,” he says. “Not if you’re honest. Not if you’re present.”
A beat passes.
Then he adds, “There’s one more thing.”
I brace.
“I think we should show her a picture of Maddox.”
The words hit like a gut punch. I set my cup down too hard. The ceramic clinks against the saucer.
“No,” I say immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Kanyan doesn’t move. “She might know him. She might remember something.”
“She might fall apart,” I snap. “You didn’t see her after the nightmares. After she woke up shaking and couldn’t say why. She’s on the edge, Kanyan. I’m not pushing her over it.”
