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“I miss him,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.“And I’m so angry at him for not telling me about Athena.For not trusting me.And then I feel guilty for being angry when he’s -- when he’s --”
“When he’s gone,” I finished for her.“You’re allowed to be angry, Karoline.Grief isn’t neat and tidy.”
She nodded, wiping quickly at her face.“I should check on Athena.She gets anxious in new places.”
I let her go, recognizing her need for space.Through the hallway, I caught a glimpse of her sitting on the edge of Athena’s bed, her hand gently stroking those copper curls as she examined the stuffed animal arrangement.The little girl leaned against her aunt’s side, still not speaking but seeking comfort in the physical contact.
Something twisted in my chest -- a sharp, unfamiliar ache at the sight of their shared grief, their vulnerability.I turned away, giving them privacy, but the image stayed with me -- two copper heads bent together, surrounded by the meager comforts I’d tried to provide; fragile and precious and now mine to safeguard.
* * *
I stood in my kitchen, staring at the contents of my refrigerator like they might rearrange themselves into a meal suitable for a traumatized child and her exhausted aunt.Cooking for myself was one thing -- steak, potatoes, whatever was quick and filling.Cooking for guests, especially these particular guests, felt loaded with significance I wasn’t prepared to analyze.From down the hall came the sound of running water and Karoline’s gentle voice as she helped Athena with her bath.The domestic sounds filled my house with an unfamiliar warmth that was both comforting and unsettling.
I settled on spaghetti -- simple, familiar, kid-friendly.As I browned the meat and chopped onions, I found myself listening to the muffled conversation from the bathroom.Karoline’s voice rose and fell in soothing cadence, occasionally asking questions that received no audible response.Was the kid talking at all?Or was she still locked in that silent observation mode I’d seen earlier?
By the time they emerged, hair damp and smelling of my soap, I had three plates on the table and garlic bread warming in the oven.Athena wore pajamas covered in cartoon dogs, her wet curls sticking up in all directions.She looked even smaller without her day clothes, more vulnerable.
“Something smells good,” Karoline said, lifting Athena onto the stack of books I’d placed on a chair.“Spaghetti?”
“Hope that works,” I replied, setting a smaller portion on Athena’s plate.“Wasn’t sure what she likes.”
“Spaghetti’s perfect.It’s one of her favorites, right, Athena?”
The little girl nodded, her eyes fixed on the plate I’d set before her.No verbal response, but at least it was acknowledgment.I wasn’t sure how Karoline knew the girl loved spaghetti.She said they’d just met, and yet, they seemed to be bonding well.
We ate in semi-awkward silence for a few minutes, the weight of our situation hanging over the table.Through the window, I could see brothers moving around the compound.
“So,” Karoline said finally, “how does security work here?Are there always people watching the entrances?”
I nodded, grateful for the practical topic.“Three shifts, rotating guards.Everyone carries at all times.Cameras on all entrances and motion sensors on the perimeter.”I took a sip of water.“No one gets in without us knowing.And everyone here would die before letting anything happen to a child.”
Her eyes moved to Athena, who was carefully twirling spaghetti around her fork with surprising dexterity for a three-year-old.“That’s… reassuring.In a terrifying sort of way.”
“You’ll be safe here,” I repeated, needing her to believe it.“Soon, I’ll introduce you to some key people -- Tempest, who’s our Sergeant-at-Arms, handles security.Savior, our President.His old lady, Dessa, is a sweetheart and is great with small kids.”
Karoline nodded, her gaze drifting to the window where she could see some of the men gathered.“They all look so…”
“Dangerous?”I supplied.
“Yes,” she admitted.“But also… I don’t know.There’s something about how they move, how they watch each other’s backs.Like soldiers.”
“Many of them are.Ex-military.They understand brotherhood, loyalty.”
She studied me for a moment.“Is that why you joined the club?The brotherhood?”
I considered my answer carefully.“Partly.After my parents died, I didn’t have family.The Reapers became that for me.”
Athena had finished eating and was now watching me with those solemn eyes, a smear of sauce on her chin.Without thinking, I reached for a napkin and handed it to her.She took it, wiping her face with careful precision.
“Good job,” I said, the praise feeling strange on my tongue.
To my surprise, her lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile before she ducked her head.
“Time for bed, sweetie,” Karoline said, noting the drooping of Athena’s eyelids.“Let’s get your teeth brushed, and we can read one of the books we brought.”
“Go ahead,” I said, standing to clear the plates.“I’ll clean up here.”
As they disappeared down the hall, I found myself moving with deliberate quiet so I could listen to their bedtime routine.Karoline’s voice drifted from the bathroom as she helped Athena brush her teeth, gentle encouragements and soft praise.Then the creak of bedsprings as they settled onto Athena’s bed.
