Chapter 9 Kaia
Kaia
Morning in the hotel tastes like stale coffee and consequences.
The blackout curtains in the common area of our shared suit are fighting for their lives, but sunlight still finds the seams and stabs through in thin, accusing lines. My head throbs in that post-show way: too much adrenaline, not enough sleep, nerves still buzzing like a live wire under my skin.
Somewhere down the hall, someone laughs too loudly. A cart rattles. The building hums with the soft chaos of a tour morning.
I’m sitting on the edge of the sofa in yesterday’s sweatpants and a hoodie that says MIDNIGHT HALO—TOUR CREW, and I’m trying to drink hotel coffee like it’s medicine.
It isn’t working.
Mina sits cross-legged on the carpet with a bowl of cereal balanced in her lap, eating like she’s still half asleep. Her eyes keep drifting toward me in little sideways glances, thoughtful and quiet in the way that always makes me nervous.
Remy is at the vanity, carefully lining her eyes like she’s preparing for war. Her posture is calm, her movements precise. She’s the only one who looks like she got more than three hours of sleep, which is rude.
Jules is sprawled across the armchair like she fell out of a music video and didn’t bother to get up. Her hair is in a messy bun again, her face scrubbed clean for the phone that is held in front of it. Onscreen: a tiny dog.
Blaire is due in twenty minutes for the debrief. Council. Devin. The whole bit. And Jules is FaceTiming her dog.
“Hi, my baby!” Jules wails, voice cracking like she’s in a tragic drama. “Hi, my perfect angel! Do you remember me? Do you remember your mother??”
The dog sneezes directly into the camera and immediately tries to eat it.
“YES,” Jules sobs. “Yes, eat the phone, show them who’s boss!”
Mina glares up at her. “Jules,” she croaks. “It’s… eight-thirty.”
“It’s dog o’clock,” Jules says with the ferocity of someone defending a sacred ritual. She tips her phone toward us. “LOOK. Look at Kiki. She’s literally aging without me.”
The dog’s temporary caretaker—Jules’s sister—laughs from the other side of the call. “She’s fine. She just destroyed her stuffed kitty and is now emotionally blackmailing you for treats.”
“She takes after me,” Jules says proudly. “My chaotic daughter.”
The dog barks—high and sharp—like it’s agreeing.
Jules makes a strangled noise. “She’s talking to me! She’s literally saying, ‘Mother, where have you been? I’ve been abandoned in this cruel world.’”
“Jules,” Mina says gently, voice still sleepy, “she’s barking because she wants the treat bag.”
The dog launches itself at the caretaker’s shoulder, trying to climb into the phone. Chaos, affection, and teeth in a tiny package.
Jules clutches the phone closer to her chest like she’s about to weep into it. “I miss youuu. I’m going to come home and give you lots of treats.”
I should find it funny. I do, a little. It’s absurd and normal and so Jules it hurts.
But my chest is still tight.
My mind is still ten blocks away in a diner with a shattered booth and a girl whose throat wouldn’t work. My guilt keeps trying to crawl up the back of my spine and take control of my face.
Jules keeps talking to her dog as if nothing in the world is wrong.
“Okay, listen,” Jules says, stern now, like she’s giving a mission briefing. “No biting anyone you love. That is a rule. And no eating socks. And—”
The dog barks again, sharp and defiant.
“That’s my girl,” Jules says, immediately proud of the rebellion. “Mama’s going to come get you soon, okay?”
Another happy yip from the dog, and Jules ends the call.
Meanwhile, my mind keeps replaying last night in ugly little flashes: Evie under the table, the taste of ozone, the way my veto sounded out loud.
Blaire barely spoke to me after. Beyond a clipped Are you alright?
and a sharper We’ll discuss this in the morning, she didn’t ask for details about my post-concert solo mission.
I should be using this time to rehearse my “I take full responsibility” speech.
Instead, I’m watching a coffee stir stick spin in a paper cup and wondering if Evie slept at all.
I hate that I’m wondering.
“Okay,” Jules says, suddenly sitting up like she’s had a revelation. “I’m sorry, but I’m not letting this go.”
I keep my eyes on my coffee. “Letting what go?”
“The fact,” she says, leaning forward with both elbows on her knees, “that Kaia Rhee—our fearless captain, professional mission-first, ‘everyone hydrate and hit your marks’ leader of the century—ran out of a stadium like she was in a romance drama and then heroically rescued a mysterious diner girl at midnight.”
Mina’s spoon pauses halfway to her mouth. Remy’s eyeliner wing stops mid-flick.
I close my eyes for one long second.
“I did not,” I say.
Jules grins like she can taste blood. “Oh, I think you did.”
“It wasn’t heroic,” I mutter. “It was… damage control.”
“Damage control?” Mina repeats softly, starry-eyed. “You crashed into a diner to save her. I overheard Blaire say it was trashed.”
Remy’s eyes flick to mine in the mirror. “And then you didn’t come back.”
“I did come back.”
Jules makes a sound like a buzzer. “Not right away, babe. You were out for a while~”
I glare at her. “Can we not?”
“No,” Jules says immediately. “We can’t.”
Mina tilts her head. “Was she pretty?”
I choke on my coffee.
Remy’s mouth twitches. Jules cackles.
“I’m not answering that,” I say, wiping my mouth on my sleeve.
Jules points at me like she’s caught a criminal. “That is a yes. That is absolutely a yes.”
“It’s not—” I inhale sharply. “She was a civilian. She was in danger. That’s it.”
“Mm-hmm,” Jules says, utterly unconvinced. “And your jaw is doing the thing again.”
Mina’s brows knit as she studies me.
“The Kaia Jaw Thing,” Jules adds, breezy. “Which means I’m hitting a nerve. It’s very cute.”
“I’m going to throw you off this balcony,” I say.
Jules beams. “That’s the affection talking.”
Remy caps her eyeliner and finally turns, gaze sharp. “Kaia.”
I sigh. “What?”
Remy’s voice is calm. “Who was she?”
Silence drops into the room like a curtain. Mina’s spoon lowers slowly. Jules’s grin fades just a notch, not gone, but attentive now.
Leave it to Remy to piece things together. Remy is perceptive like that.
I stare at my coffee like it might give me a new past.
It doesn’t.
My fingers tighten around the paper cup until it creases. I can still feel last night in my bones—the sprint, the fog, the diner door giving way, Evie’s eyes when she realized it was me.
If I say her name out loud, it makes it real in a way I can’t take back. I force the word through anyway.
“Evie,” I say, carefully.
Jules goes still for half a second, then her mouth opens in delighted horror. “Oh my god.”
Remy’s expression doesn’t change, but something in her gaze sharpens. “That Evie?”
Heat climbs up my neck.
“It’s not a big deal,” I say too fast, which is how everyone in this room knows it’s a huge deal.
Mina leans forward, eyes bright like she’s looking at a storybook illustration. “The same Evie you told us stories about?”
“I didn’t tell stories,” I snap, sharper than I mean to.
Jules blinks. Mina’s expression flickers, hurt and surprised. I regret it immediately. Jules’ eyes narrow at me, protective of Mina on instinct.
“Hey,” she snaps back, “she’s not attacking you.”
I exhale and force my voice back down into something controlled as I drag a hand down my face, exhausted.
“Sorry.” I look at Mina, apologetically, “I—didn’t sleep well.”
Jules, because she is allergic to solemnity, pounces on the opening. “No kidding, but Mina’s right. You told stories. You absolutely told stories.”
Remy’s tone is dry. “You once described her laugh as ‘a match striking in a dark room.’”
My heart drops straight through the floor.
Jules’ eyes go huge. “You did not.”
I look at Remy like she betrayed me.
Remy shrugs. “Well, you did.”
Mina whispers, reverent, “That’s so romantic.”
“It’s not romantic,” I say, voice strangled. “She hates me.”
Jules tilts her head, grin returning slowly. “Oh, she hates you? That’s even more romantic.”
“It’s not,” I repeat.
Mina’s gaze is soft. “Why would she hate you?”
Because I broke her heart, I think. Because I said our kiss was stupid. Because I made our friendship sound like a joke. Because I left without a goodbye and then showed up again with a sword and a contract and literal demons.
I shrug instead, the motion too tight. “Because I left.”
Remy watches me for a beat, then says quietly, “You chased the splinter because you knew where it would go.”
I don’t answer, but it’s true. I felt the drop and the direction and the pull like the universe was pointing at one person on purpose.
Jules whistles. “Okay, wow.”
Mina’s voice is tentative. “Is she okay?”
My throat tightens in a way that has nothing to do with sleep deprivation. “Yeah, she’s fine now. She’s alive.”
Mina nods slowly. “Good. I’m glad.”
Jules is quiet for a second—genuinely quiet, which is alarming. Then she says, softer, “So… she saw everything?”
I nod once.
Remy’s gaze sharpens, and my stomach clenches because I know that look. Remy always asks the questions I’m hoping to avoid.
“And they wiped her memory,” she says calmly, “so now she doesn’t even know you saved her?”
My stomach drops. Jules’ head snaps toward me. Mina’s eyes widen. I look away, because my face always betrays me around them.
“Kaia,” Remy says, voice still calm but edged. “They didn’t wipe her?”
I exhale. “No.”
Jules sits up straighter. “How?”
Mina sets her bowl down carefully like she’s about to be sick. “Wait. Kaia—how?”
I rub my forehead, and the next words come out small. “I used my veto.”
Silence. The kind that feels like being underwater.
Jules’ mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “You—Kaia?!”
Mina stares at me like I’ve sprouted wings. “You used your one veto?”
Remy’s gaze doesn’t waver. “On Evie.”
I nod, jaw tight, as my gaze jumps between them sheepishly. “Yes.”
Jules stands up so fast the chair squeaks. “Are you insane?”