Chapter 7 Kaia #2
“I’m not telling you what to do,” I blurt. “I’m… suggesting.”
Her nostrils flare. “No.”
I nod once. “Okay.”
The silence stretches.
I hate it.
I clear my throat, then immediately regret it. “Don’t you have… questions?”
Evie’s laugh is sharp. “Oh, I have questions.”
I brace without meaning to.
She looks straight at me, eyes flat. “For you? No.”
The words land clean. Surgical.
Then she adds, still looking past me like she’s making sure the distance stays in place, “For your people? Yeah. I’ve got a whole list.”
I swallow hard. Of course she does. And it’s painfully clear she’s not putting me on the list of things she’s willing to deal with tonight.
Even a demon attack can’t drag us into some dramatic reconciliation. Not when the last time we talked ended in barbed words and silence that lasted years.
I don’t push.
Instead, I keep scanning the windows. The reflections look normal now, but normal doesn’t mean safe.
Evie lets out a harsh breath. “They need to hurry up,” she says. “I need to go.”
My attention snaps to her. “Where?”
She glares. “Home. I have to make sure my grandma took her meds. And check the locks. And—” Her voice wobbles, and she hardens it instantly. “And I’m not leaving her alone because some—some demon decided to—”
Guilt detonates in my gut so fast it makes me dizzy.
“You can’t leave yet,” I say, too fast.
Evie’s eyes flash. “That’s rich coming from you.”
The words aren’t about tonight.
I start to reply, but headlights wash across the diner windows. A van pulls up. Then another. Doors slam. Footsteps.
Evie stiffens, eyes snapping to the front.
“They’re here,” I say.
“Great,” she mutters.
The back door is the one that swings open, because that’s the one I came through.
Eric Cohen steps in first. His gaze lands on me and hardens with clear disapproval. To be fair, I did sprint right past him after the show.
“Kaia,” he says, clipped.
“Mr. Cohen,” I answer automatically, respectful.
Behind him comes Devin, looking like someone just handed him a liability nightmare wrapped in a bow. His suit is too crisp for midnight fog. His smile is already on, but it’s brittle at the edges.
And behind Devin—
Mr. Bane.
The Council Handler moves into the diner, gaze taking in the wreckage slowly. He carries a slim black briefcase in one gloved hand. The air tightens around him as he crosses the threshold.
Evie’s shoulders stiffen, and her chin lifts a fraction, defensive. Like her body can smell predator even if her brain doesn’t have the vocabulary yet.
Mr. Bane sets the briefcase on the counter—careful, precise—then opens it with the quiet ritual of someone unpacking tools.
He finally looks at Evie.
Not unkindly. Not warmly either. Just… assessing.
“Ma’am,” he says, voice level. “I’m Mortimer Bane. Handler.”
Evie’s head whips toward me. “Handler?”
I feel myself snap into my on-switch: leader posture, smooth voice.
“Yes,” I say, controlled. “He’s with the Council.”
Then, to Mr. Bane, because this is a disaster and gratitude is also protocol, I say, “Thank you for coming quickly.”
Mr. Bane inclines his head once. That’s all he gives anyone.
He raises two fingers and draws a short sigil in the air. The mark doesn’t glow the way my resonance glows; it darkens, like ink soaking into invisible paper. The temperature in the diner drops half a degree.
The sigil turns slowly, then snaps toward Evie like a compass finding north.
“Exposure confirmed,” Mr. Bane says, calm as a form being stamped.
Evie’s mouth tightens. “Exposure to what, exactly? The demon?”
Devin clears his throat, jumping in like he can PR his way out of this. “Eon will handle the property damage,” he says brightly. “We’ll replace anything that’s—ah—irreparably damaged.”
Mr. Bane doesn’t look at him. His gaze stays on Evie.
“The civilian witnessed an uncontained manifestation,” he says. “Standard protocol requires memory sanitation.”
Evie goes very still.
“Memory what?” she says.
“Wipe,” Devin supplies quickly, smiling like he’s softening the word. “Oh, don't worry. It sounds scarier than it is.”
Evie’s laugh is sharp. “Oh, perfect. Just delete my brain. That’s not scary at all.”
The Handler nods as if she’s confirmed a checkbox. “I’ll prepare the sanitation.”
“What?” Evie’s voice snaps up, all bite and disbelief. “No. Absolutely not. You don’t get to come into my diner and—what—wipe me like a whiteboard!”
Mr. Bane doesn’t react like a normal person would react to being yelled at. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t argue. He just opens his case another inch, calm as paperwork.
Devin’s attention is already sliding away, like Evie is an inconvenience he can file under civilian agitation. And Mr. Cohen watches her the way you watch a storm—impersonal, measuring.
They barely look at her.
And something in my chest goes hot and sharp, because this is Evie.
Not a data point, not an “exposure,” not a problem to mop up.
She’s standing in her own ruined diner, throat still red from the thing that tried to crawl inside her, and they’re treating her like she’s a problem they've already resolved.
My heart slams once, hard.
“Wait,” I say.
The word comes out louder than I mean it to.
Then I move.
I take one step—just one—so I’m between her and them. I don’t touch her. I don’t crowd her. I just… place myself like a barricade.
Evie stops speaking. She looks startled for half a second, like she didn’t expect that from me.
It hurts, how surprised she is that I would protect her.
“Wait a moment,” I say.
Mr. Bane looks up, expressionless. “Ms. Rhee. You understand the security implications and protocols.”
“I understand,” I say, voice even. “And I’m invoking my veto.”
Silence.
Even the neon sign seems to hesitate, buzzing softer for half a heartbeat.
Evie’s head snaps toward me. “Your what?”
Devin’s smile drops into something annoyed. “You can’t just—”
“Yes, I actually can,” I say, and for once I don’t care how I sound. “Contact Blaire if you need to. I am using my veto. On her.”
Evie stares at me like she can’t decide whether to be furious or suspicious or both.
“Kaia,” Devin says, tone warning now. “This is going to complicate things.”
“Good,” I say, without looking at him.
This isn’t like me. I don’t like complicated things. I like contained outcomes and following protocol. But Devin is pissing me off, and Evie is standing behind me, about to be erased, and my patience for anyone’s convenience is gone.
Mr. Bane’s gaze flicks to the wreckage again, then back to Evie. “You’re certain?”
No, but it’s Evie. I left her. I don’t get to erase her night because it’s convenient.
I don’t say any of that. I say the truth that fits in their language.
“Yes, besides, her diner is now marked,” I say. “You wipe her and it doesn’t change what happened here. It doesn’t change that the Chorus can find this place again. It just makes her blind.”
Evie’s breathing goes shallow. She looks down at the broken stools, the shattered mugs, like she’s seeing the room differently now.
“She’s involved,” I add, voice steady. “Whether you like it or not.”
Mr. Cohen shifts his weight, arms folded. He’s watching the Handler, not me.
Finally, he says, “Very well. Minimal briefing. Secrecy binding. NDA. Warding reinforcement on the structure. And this place becomes a monitoring point.”
Evie’s head snaps up. “A monitoring point? What’s that mean?”
I glance at her, and the words are gentler than my posture. “Evie—”
“No,” she says again. “No. I’m not signing a—an NDA with— with people who walked in here and tried to erase me like I’m a messy problem!"
Mr. Bane tilts his head, unreadable. “You are not a problem.”
Evie’s laugh is bitter. “Then why were you about to wipe me?”
Devin steps forward, palms up like he’s calming a crowd. “Evie, right? We understand you’re upset, but this is for your safety.”
“My safety was under a table while she—” Evie’s gaze snaps to me, “—almost got thrown through a counter!”
Devin’s smile tightens. “Kaia is trained. That’s why she handled it.”
“Yeah,” Evie says, and her eyes flick to me again. “Trained.”
My throat tightens.
Mr. Bane raises a hand slightly. “The binding will not erase anything. It will prevent disclosure. If you attempt to speak of what you witnessed to an unauthorized party, the words will not form. You will be… redirected.”
Evie’s mouth twists. “Redirected.”
“Prevented,” Bane corrects, tone unchanged.
Evie’s hands curl into fists. “So you’re going to—what? Magically gag me?”
“No,” I cut in, too fast. “It won’t hurt you.”
Evie’s voice shakes. “This is insane.”
“It is,” I say quietly. “And I’m sorry. But it’s real.”
Her glare says she hates that I’m the one saying it.
Bane removes a thin strip of pale material from his suitcase. It looks like a ribbon at first glance, but when it moves it wafts cold through the air. Fine runes shimmer along its length when the fluorescent lights catch them.
Evie recoils, but doesn’t object. She looks at the ribbon, then at me, then away again, jaw working like she’s chewing through rage.
Devin clears his throat, eyes flicking between my face and Cohen’s like he’s watching a budget line item catch fire.
“Kaia,” he says carefully, “are you certain you want to veto here?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Because I can’t stand the idea of Evie losing this night, even the ugly parts.
Bane steps toward Evie with the ribbon, unhurried. Unemotional. Like he’s approaching a form that needs signing, not a person.
“Fine,” Evie spits. “Fine. Whatever. Just—make it quick.”
Bane lifts his eyes. “Name.”
Evie snaps, “You know my name.”
Bane’s voice stays calm. “Speak it. Binding requires consent through declaration.”
Evie glares at the ribbon. “Evelyn Calder.”
The ribbon lifts from the tech’s hands and delicately curls through the air. It circles Evie’s wrist without touching at first, hovering like a question.
Evie’s throat bobs.
“Do you consent to secrecy binding?” Bane asks.
Evie’s eyes cut to me. “Like I have a choice.”