Chapter 9 Kaia #3
Blaire nods once, grim. “Not just the one Kaia chased.”
My skin goes cold.
Not just the one that found Evie.
Remy’s eyes narrow. “Where?”
Bane lifts a device with readout lines and ward graphs. Fancy Council tech. “Unknown. Traces in multiple directions.”
Mina clears her throat softly. “I saw… something.”
Everyone turns to her.
Mina’s cheeks color, but she forces herself to keep going. “During the concert. When we killed the main mass of the Chorus. There was… something outside of the wards. Bigger. Like, like a shadow watching. The same one I saw yesterday.”
Devin sighs like he’s about to explain a spreadsheet to a child. “Mina, you’ve been overextended. Anxiety can—”
Mina’s eyes flash, hurt. “I’m not making it up.”
Mr. Cohen’s gaze is flat. “Perception distortions occur under high resonance.”
Blaire says, “We’ll note it,” and this time her voice doesn’t sound dismissive. It sounds like she’s storing it. Filing it. Keeping it. “Mina, if you see it again, you tell us immediately. Understood?”
Mina nods, small and grateful.
Devin pivots back to me like a heat-seeking missile. “And Kaia, no repeats of last night,” he says, crisp. “Running off-script is dangerous, and if more civilians see anything, it’s not just a containment issue. It’s a PR nightmare.”
“I stopped a demon from killing someone,” I say, voice tight. “Isn’t that our job?”
“You stopped one,” Devin counters. “You also escalated civilian exposure. You invoked a veto.” His smile turns thin. “Which is… dramatic.”
I glare at him.
Blaire’s voice snaps, sharp enough to cut. “We do not shame veto use. It’s in place for a reason.”
Devin lifts both hands in surrender, all charm and faux humility. “Of course. No shame. Just consequences we now have to manage.”
I hate him so much.
I swallow. “I accept responsibility for the escape.”
Mr. Cohen inclines his head once, satisfied. “Good. You will be present for the monitoring post calibration tonight.”
Meaning: you will see Evie again. On our terms.
My chest does a painful, stupid thing at the thought.
Jules leans toward me and whispers, barely moving her lips, “Told you we’re so going to the diner.”
Mina whispers, earnest, “We should bring her pie.”
Remy murmurs, deadpan, “We should bring her Kaia’s dignity in a box.”
“Stop,” I hiss, and it comes out like a plea.
Blaire stands, signaling the end. “Our next chance to eliminate the Chorus is Harbor Lights. The Council wants you on the main stage, and the festival committee wholeheartedly agreed.” Her eyes flick to me. “Which means we do this by the book. No freelancing.”
I nod once. “Understood.”
Blaire nods, satisfied. “We’ll reconvene at three for practice.”
Devin stands too, smoothing his suit. “And Kaia? Try to smile. We’re going for ‘homecoming warmth’.”
I incline my head, even as my cheeks burn.
Jules mutters, “I’m going to commit a crime.”
Devin walks out like he can’t hear her. Cohen follows. Bane goes with them, silent.
Blaire lingers at the door. Her gaze flicks to me, sharp but not unkind. “You alright?”
I should say yes.
I should say I’m fine.
I should say anything that doesn’t sound like my life is unraveling.
Instead I say, quiet, “She was supposed to be safe.”
Blaire’s expression tightens, and for once she looks older than she really is. “You don’t get perfect control over ‘safe,’” she says softly. “Not in this job.” A beat. “But you did the right thing last night.”
Then she’s gone too.
The door shuts.
The room feels smaller.
Jules lets out a long breath. “Well. That was fun.”
Mina looks at me with soft intensity. “You’re really worried about her.”
“I’m worried about—” I stop, because lying is exhausting. “Yes. Okay. I’m worried about Evie.”
I rub my face. “She really does hate me though.”
Jules waves a hand. “That’s a solvable problem.”
“It’s not,” I say.
Remy’s voice is quiet, deadly accurate. “It is if you stop trying to solve it like a mission.”
I stare at her.
She holds my gaze. “She’s not an objective, Kaia. She’s a person you hurt.”
The words land deep.
I nod once because there’s nothing to argue. I haven’t told them all the details—everything I’m ashamed of—but Remy knows enough. She always does.
Remy’s gaze softens slightly. “You should tell her you used your veto.”
“She was there when I did it,” I say.
“Yeah,” Jules murmurs, gentler than usual. “But does she know what it means? What you chose?”
My throat tightens. “I don’t want it to trap her,” I say quietly. “I don’t want her to feel like she owes me anything because I burned my one veto.”
Jules nods, then grins mischievous again. “Well, I, for one, can’t wait to meet her.”
Mina nods, earnest. “We’ll be careful. We won’t overwhelm her.”
I stare at them—the three women who fight beside me, who know me in ways the audience never will, who just found out my past is ten blocks away and still bleeding.
Remy’s voice is quiet. “And Kaia? If you’re relieved she’s alive…”
I freeze.
Remy’s eyes hold mine. “You’re allowed to be relieved. Even if everything is not fine.”
My chest aches. I look away before they can see how much.
“It is fine,” I lie.
Jules snorts. Mina’s smile goes sad. Remy doesn’t argue.
Outside the window, Harbor’s Edge wakes up under fog and lantern frames, the festival already building toward its next peak.
And somewhere in that town, I imagine that Evie is pretending her life isn’t tethered to mine by magic and monsters.
Tonight, we go to her diner.
Tonight, Eon calls it 'controlled visibility.'
But I know what it really is.
A second chance I didn’t earn.
And a danger I can’t afford to ignore.