Chapter 18 Evie #5
I should say we can’t keep doing this. That it’s going to hurt. That tomorrow she’ll be a poster again and I’ll be a girl with a diner job and a wrist-binding and a grandmother who doesn’t deserve demon fallout.
But we’re in a glass box in the sky, and the world is far below, and my body is already halfway to yes.
So, I nod once, sharp.
Kaia’s hand lifts—hesitates—and then she cups my jaw like I’m something fragile.
Her gaze drops to my mouth.
Mine drops to hers.
We hover there for a second, suspended, and it’s ridiculous that we’re both still scared of each other.
She leans in and kisses me.
It starts gentle, like she’s testing whether I’ll flinch.
I don’t.
I grab the front of her hoodie and pull her closer, and Kaia makes a soft sound against my mouth that goes straight through to my stomach, then lower...
The kiss deepens. Hotter. Hungrier. Like all day’s almost-glances finally got their teeth in.
Her thumb brushes my cheekbone like she’s memorizing me.
My breath breaks.
“Kaia,” I whisper against her mouth, half warning, half plea.
She answers by kissing me again, slower this time, like she’s trying to make the moment last.
My hands slide up her shoulders. I feel the tension in her muscles, the way she’s holding herself back. My heart pounds so loud it feels like it’s shaking the glass.
I pull back just enough to say. “We’re in a ferris wheel.”
Kaia’s eyes are bright, mouth swollen. “I know.”
“This is insane.”
“People kiss in ferris wheels all the time,” she says.
“Well, this is my first time,” I say.
“Mine too. But it makes sense…” And then she says, softly, like it’s the most dangerous truth in the world, “Because it’s you. It’s always been you.”
My throat tightens so hard it almost hurts.
I swallow. “Don’t say things like that.”
Kaia’s gaze holds mine. “Why not?”
“Because—” I start, then stop. Because the answer is because I’ll believe you.
Kaia leans in, forehead almost touching mine. “Evie, you’re my home.”
I laugh once, breathless and sharp. “That’s—”
“I know,” she cuts in, voice rough. “I know it sounds dramatic. I don’t care.
It’s true.” Her eyes meet mine. “Coming back here didn’t feel like a homecoming until…
you.” She swallows. “Until I was sitting at your kitchen table eating pancakes. For the first time since I got back, the word home made sense again. You’ve always been my home. ”
My chest aches so hard it feels like a bruise.
Kaia kisses me again, like she’s trying to put the truth into my mouth so I can’t spit it out.
I should stop.
I don’t.
I kiss her back, harder, because if I start thinking I’ll fall apart.
Kaia shifts closer until I’m pressed into the corner of the seat and she’s between my legs, one hand braced on the seat beside my hip like she’s holding herself back from doing anything that would scare me.
Her hair falls forward, hiding us from the window for a second like a curtain.
I hate how much it feels like last night all over again.
I hate how much I want it.
For a few minutes, the world is just this enclosed glass box and the taste of her and the hum of the Ferris wheel machinery and the way my heart is trying to break out of my body.
Then Kaia pulls back, breathing hard, and her expression shifts.
My stomach drops. “What?”
Kaia’s hand stays on my cheek like she doesn’t want to let go even while she says it. “You can’t watch the show tonight.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
Kaia’s eyes flick toward the stage in the distance, then back to me. “Promise me.”
My pulse spikes, not in a good way. “Why?”
Kaia swallows. “Because I’m scared again.”
That alone makes my throat tighten.
“Of what?” I demand.
Kaia exhales slowly. “A splinter breaking out again...”
My stomach drops. The diner. The TV glitch. The thing that came for my throat.
I stare at her. “You think it could happen at the festival?”
Kaia’s jaw tightens. “I think it might. The wards are stronger, but… the Chorus adapts. It learns. And if a piece slips—” She stops, breath shaky. “If it slips into the crowd…”
She doesn’t finish.
She doesn’t have to.
My wrist warms faintly, like it agrees with her.
I swallow hard. “So you want me… where?”
“Not there,” Kaia says, fierce and quiet. “Somewhere safe. Home. With your grandma. Anywhere else.”
My throat tightens.
Part of me wants to argue because I hate being told what to do. I hate being managed. And I hate the idea of sitting out while she goes into danger.
But another part of me—smaller, softer, terrified—remembers being pinned under a table while sound tried to drown me… and how close I came to not breathing at all.
I look at her, really look. She’s not asking because she wants control. She’s asking because she’s afraid she’ll lose me.
I hate how that makes my heart ache.
I swallow. “And what, you’re going to go sing out there like everything is fine?”
“I’m going to go do my job,” she says, and there’s steel under it now. “And then I’m going to text you the second I can.”
My chest tightens. “Promise?”
Kaia nods quickly. “Yes. I swear.”
I stare at her, anger and fear and longing all tangled together.
But I also… don’t want to die tonight. I don’t want Grandma alone. I don’t want to be bait in a crowd.
So I swallow hard and say the words anyway…
“Okay,” I whisper. “I won’t watch. I’ll go home.”
Kaia’s breath breaks.
She cups my face with both hands like she can’t help it. “Promise.”
“I promise,” I say, and it tastes like surrender.
Kaia kisses me hard—relief and fear and love all shoved into my mouth.
When she pulls back, her forehead rests against mine. “After,” she whispers. “After… can we meet?”
My heart hurts because the question is can we steal another piece of time?
I nod anyway. “Yeah.”
Kaia’s smile flickers, bright and fragile. “Where?”
I swallow. “Text me. We’ll figure it out.”
Kaia laughs softly, then sobers. “I will.”
The Ferris wheel lurches.
The operator unpauses the cycle. The car starts moving again, carrying us back down toward the noise.
Kaia squeezes my hand once, quick and private, like she’s trying to anchor herself.
I squeeze back, even though my chest is already bracing for the moment she steps away and becomes the world’s property again.
When the car reaches the platform, Kaia stands first, then turns and offers me her hand like she’s a person and not a headline.
I take it.
Because I’m weak.
Because I’m human.
Because when she looks at me like that, I remember how it used to feel to be chosen.
Kaia leans in one last time, mouth close to my ear, voice barely there over the festival noise.
“Don’t watch,” she repeats. “Just… be safe.”
My throat tightens. “Go do your job.”
Kaia’s eyes soften. Her hand squeezes mine, and I don’t say anything else. If I open my mouth again, I might beg, and I refuse to beg. Kaia lets go and steps into the crowd, swallowed immediately by security and schedules and the pull of the stage.
I step out too, legs slightly shaky, lips bruised, heart pounding like I’m sixteen again and stupid.
Then I turn away from the lights, because I promised.
And because promises are the only thing holding me together.
***
I keep my promise.
I walk away from the Ferris wheel with my lips swollen, my heart in my throat, and my brain screaming that I’m an idiot for thinking any of this can exist outside a glass box in the sky.
I don’t look back toward the stage. I don’t follow the tide of bodies flowing toward the main grounds. I do the responsible thing and head home.
Like I’m not already breaking inside and filled with worry.
The closer I get to my street, the quieter everything becomes. Most of the festival noise fades into a distant roar. The lanterns on our porch sway gently in the wind like they’re greeting me.
The front door is unlocked. That’s the first wrong thing.
I never leave the door unlocked. Grandma doesn’t either. Not since the storm two years ago knocked out the power, and a neighbor tried to check on her, and she chased them off with a broom.
“Gran?” I call, stepping inside.
The house is dim. Quiet. Too quiet. No TV murmuring. No kettle whistling. No shuffle of slippers.
My stomach drops.
“Grandma?” I say again, louder.
Nothing.
I move fast, checking rooms like I’m looking for a missing child. Living room. Kitchen. Bathroom.
Her chair is empty.
Her cardigan is gone.
Her purse is gone.
My heart slams so hard it makes my vision pulse.
“Shit,” I whisper.
I whip back to the kitchen counter where her pill organizer sits. Today’s compartment is empty. She took her meds, and then she left.
The floor tilts under me.
Even worse than her going on her own is that she doesn't know just how dangerous it is. She doesn't know about the demons. My wrist flares hot under my skin.
My hands shake as I grab my phone and call Grandma.
Straight to voicemail.
“Grandma,” I say into it, voice already cracking. “Pick up. Please call me back.”
I hang up and call again.
Voicemail.
I jam my feet back into shoes without tying them properly and bolt out the door. The porch lanterns rattle as I slam the screen behind me.
“Grandma!” I shout into the evening.
The street is alive with festival foot traffic. People walking in groups, laughing, carrying glow sticks and drinks and cotton candy.
No one looks like they belong in my panic.
“Grandma!” I yell again, louder, throat already raw.
A neighbor—Mrs. Delaney from two houses down—steps out onto her porch holding a red plastic cup.
She squints at me. “Evie?”
“Have you seen my grandma?” I blurt.
Mrs. Delaney’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, honey, yeah. She just walked by. Fifteen minutes ago.”
My stomach drops. “Where?”
Mrs. Delaney points down the street, casual as if she’s talking about the mail. “Toward the festival. Said she wasn’t missing the opening.”
My blood turns to ice.
“No,” I whisper.
Mrs. Delaney smiles like this is cute. “She was very determined.”
I take off running before I can say anything else. My lungs burn, but that doesn't slow me down.