Chapter 12 - Rafael
Night has fallen, blanketing the safehouse in a thick hush, and the air between Thalia and me is charged, still, heavier than usual thanks to our conversation earlier. I suspect I put my foot in my mouth. I’m too overwhelmed by the memory of her fighting that huge wolf to care much.
The moment in the snow earlier today hovers around us like an echo, drawing us close but without the warmth of daylight to soften it. Now, there’s only candlelight and shadows, a tension that fills the small kitchen like an invisible presence. I tell myself we’re supposed to be celebrating a win—one more fight won, one more threat dealt with. Traditionally, that kind of victory means drinks and revelry. So why does it feel like something altogether different is happening?
Nonetheless, we try to pretend everything is normal between us, normal in the world at large. Thalia leans across the table, smiling, that rare, faint glimmer she saves for moments like this. There’s a gentle flicker of light between us from the lit candles on the countertop, casting a golden warmth over her face, her features softened and her eyes bright. I can’t look away.
She meets my gaze, raising her glass with a slight smirk.
"To us," she says, the words laced with amusement, her tone as smooth as the whiskey in her glass. “For not getting ourselves killed. Again.”
I chuckle, lifting my glass.
“To us,” I repeat. “And for making a pretty good team, I’d say.”
The words slip out before I can think better of them. But somehow, I don’t mind, and apparently neither does she, because she clinks her glass against mine.
We drink, falling into a comfortable silence. The whisky makes me pull a face—I’m not a huge drinker—and it makes Thalia laugh raucously, a bright, bubbly sound. In her laugh, in the way her hand lingers just a second too long on her glass, even in the way her gaze dips, I see the shadow of something softer beneath the defenses she’s so carefully built. I’ve come to love those shadows more than I love the mask that hides them. God knows what that says about me, about us.
Somehow, despite it all, all the unspoken tension, all the things we refuse to acknowledge, we settle into easy conversation, laughter and teasing filling the small space. The warmth between us feels fragile, like a thread stretched thin. Neither of us pulls away from it.
I don’t know if it’s the whiskey or the quiet of the safehouse tonight, but something in me is loosening.
“Look at you,” Thalia says on her third drink, smirking as she tips her glass toward me. “A real hero, Rafael. Ready to charge headfirst into anything for the sake of… loyalty? Machismo? A paycheck?”
“Loyalty’s not so bad, you know,” I reply, my tone just as dry. “Most people still believe in it. And I, for one, still believe in a paycheck. And my machismo.”
She chuckles, her lips curving. “I’ll take your word for it. That doesn’t mean I’m convinced it’s a smart way to live. I do my job and get out. It’s kept me safe up ‘til now.”
I lean back, studying her. “I think you’re tougher than you let on, but the whole 'trust no one' act—it doesn’t fool me.” I raise my eyebrows, waiting to see if she’ll crack a little, too.
Thalia rolls her eyes, not giving an inch. “That’s your problem, Rafael. You’re idealistic. Loyalty doesn’t come naturally to everyone. Some of us do better alone.”
“Maybe,” I reply, shrugging, but there’s a weight to her words that settles over me. “But you’re not a Rogue.”
“Got a pack back in Rockford,” she says, a faint, flat smile tugging at her mouth. “I don’t visit much.”
Quiet falls between us for a sheer, shimmering moment, a thread of spiderweb-silk, gossamer thin. I tip my drink back and drain it, grimacing. I don’t pour another yet, but I know I will.
“You know,” I say, my voice quieter than usual, the words surfacing unbidden, “there was a girl once. Stella.”
Her name tastes bitter on my tongue, and it takes a second to swallow it down. Thalia’s fiddling hands have stilled around her glass as she stares at me with a look in her eye that belies that she has absolutely no idea what I’m about to say next.
“We grew up together. Part of the same pack. And I thought—” I pause, the memories surfacing with a surprising sharpness. “I thought we’d make it through anything together. She was my best friend. You know. We knew each other better than we knew ourselves. Both our mothers died when we were very young. I trusted her more than anyone else in the world.”
Thalia’s gaze darkens, something serious and weighty in her stare that makes it easier to keep going.
“I was nineteen. We had just started combat training together. We wanted to join our pack’s protector. Keep our town safe, you know. Shifter communities back down in California were rough. We were determined. I would have done anything to protect her,” I say, my voice low, as if the shadows in the room might steal the words away. “But turns out, Stella was… working with our enemies. The whole time. She lured me into a trap, left me there to die.” The words are thin, like air running out of an open window. “And I barely made it out.”
Thalia watches me, unmoving, her hand resting inches from mine on the table. For a long moment, the room feels impossibly still.
I try to chuckle, but the sound comes out hollow. “I know it sounds stupid. I should’ve seen it coming. But you know how it is. When you’re young, you think people are… better than they are.”
“It doesn’t sound stupid,” Thalia murmurs. Her voice is soft, and something in her tone makes the air feel thin, fragile. She sounds so horribly sad. She reaches out, almost touching my hand, then hesitates, pulling back. She opens her mouth as if to say more, but all that comes out is air and silence.
“Yeah.” I nod in the absence of any further words, staring down at the table, at the flickering candle between us, the way it casts an amber glow over her face. “Ever since then, I’ve had a hard time… trusting.” I look at her, and something passes between us, a quiet understanding. “I don’t let people in easily, but—”
Her gaze holds mine, and the air thickens. It seems to pull us closer, a gravitational force.
I don’t know if it’s the whiskey, the warmth of her presence, or maybe both, but I feel myself leaning forward, my hand instinctively reaching for hers, then halting just before it.
Thalia goes perfectly still. But she doesn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry, Rafael,” she whispers, quietly devastated, almost inaudible.
Her dark brown eyes are glossy, dark with an unspoken ache. Sympathy, perhaps, or empathy. Perhaps regret. Perhaps loss. All of them at once, at war.
I feel something inside me shift, a forceful urge to bridge the space between us. To tell her that I see her, that I know what it is to live with a shadow over you that you can never shake.
Without thinking, I reach out, brushing a stray curl from her face. The tips of my fingers linger on her cheek. Her gaze doesn’t move from my face, her eyes wide, vulnerable. There’s a tremor in her hand as she lifts it, and I feel her touch on my jaw, warm and light, a connection I never expected but can’t seem to pull away from.
“Thalia,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper.
I’m closer now, close enough to feel her breath. I see every detail in her eyes, yet only the merest glimpse of what lies behind them.
As if there’s no other choice, I lean in, closing the distance between us.
My lips meet hers, soft and warm. Thalia melts into me, her hands tangling in my hair as she kisses me back. It’s hesitant at first, but as the seconds pass, it deepens, a quiet urgency growing between us as our kiss deepens. I cup her face in one hand and lean into her like I might die without it. It feels like I could.
For a moment, it’s just us, wrapped in warmth and silence and the faint crackle of candlelight. Thalia breaks away briefly, only to round the table; I stand, and we meet again, kissing harder, more insistently. I feel her hands on my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her as if she’s the one constant I’ve been waiting for. The world fades, the shadows disappear, and all that exists is the feel of her lips against mine, her breath mingling with mine.
But then, just as quickly as it started, Thalia seems to come back to herself. She pulls back, her hands trembling as she wipes a tear from her cheek. I didn’t know she was crying.
I’m stunned, unable to process the sudden shift in her demeanor.
“Thalia, I—”
But Thalia doesn’t let me finish. She shakes her head, retreating to the far side of the room, toward the door, her face drawn tight, emotion warring on her fine, tormented features.
“I can’t,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, her gaze darting anywhere but toward me. “I just… I can’t do this.”
She chokes back a sob, pressing her hand to her mouth as if she’s trying to hold herself together. And before I can say anything, before I can ask her what she means, she slips out of the room, leaving me alone with the fading warmth of the candlelight and the aching emptiness she’s left behind in my chest.