15. Lena
Lena
The next day, I feel half-dead.
I didn’t really sleep after Havoc dropped me off.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, fully clothed for a while, then changed, then sat with my back against the wall and listened for every sound outside the apartment like a crazy person.
By the time the sky started to lighten, my phone finally had enough charge for me to send the text I should have sent hours ago.
I’m home. I’m okay. Phone died.
A lie, mostly. I’m not okay. But I’m at work anyway, because rent does not care that my life went off the rails last night.
The café smells like espresso and burnt sugar and warm milk.
Usually I like it. Usually, the noise helps.
The grinder, the hiss of the steamer, the low chatter, cups knocking together.
Today every sound feels a little too loud, every voice a little too close.
My body is here, wiping down counters and ringing up orders and calling names, but my mind keeps slipping.
A man in a dark coat walks past the window and my stomach drops before I realize he’s just some random customer. Someone laughs too loudly behind me and I almost flinch.
I keep making coffee. That’s the only thing I know how to do right now.
Mara and Jess are sitting at the back table, watching me between sips of iced coffee like they’re waiting for a chance to corner me. When the line thins out, they come up to the counter together.
“Are you seriously just going to act like everything’s normal?” Mara asks.
I keep wiping the same clean spot. “I’m at work, aren’t I?”
“That’s not an answer,” Jess says.
Mara leans in. “Lena, you disappeared. After that text. Do you have any idea how scared we were?”
I swallow.
Yes. I do.
Because I was scared too.
I set the rag down and force myself to look at them. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Mara folds her arms. “Sorry? We were about to call the police.”
That makes my hand tighten on the counter.
Police. Shit. That’s the last thing I need right now. Because if I tell them what really happened, that’s where this goes. Questions. Statements. A dead man. Three others. And somewhere at the end of it, the men who got me out going to prison for murder.
I should want that.
I should. But I don’t.
Not fully.
What they did was insane. Terrifying. Violent. I still don’t understand half of it. But they also got me out, and that fact won’t leave me alone. And even if Havoc didn’t spell it out, I know for sure I’m under some kind of surveillance.
“What happened?” Jess asks, softer now. “Really.”
I open my mouth and hear myself lie. “He wasn’t who he said he was,” I say. That much is true. “Things got weird. My phone died. I just wanted to come home.”
Mara stares at me. “That’s it?”
No. Not even close.
But I nod anyway. “That’s it.”
“You sent one creepy text and then vanished for hours,” Mara says.
“I know.”
Jess studies my face. “Did he hurt you?”
Which he? The man from the date? The dead one?
Or any of the others?
And hurt is too simple a word for whatever last night was.
I look away first. “No.”
Another lie. Or maybe not. I don’t know anymore.
Mara and Jess exchange a look.
Then Jess says, very carefully, “Lena, we can still go to the police.”
There it is again. The normal answer. The sane answer.
Except nothing about this is normal, and I know with cold certainty that if I walk into a police station and start talking, I won’t be ending this. I’ll be starting something worse.
And beneath all that, there’s the part I hate most.
I don’t want to betray them.
I hate that I feel that way. Hate it so much it makes me feel sick.
“They rescued me,” I say before I can stop myself.
Both Mara and Jess go still.
Mara blinks. “Who rescued you?”
I feel the mistake right away. “I just mean… I got out,” I say quickly. “I left. I’m here. That’s all.”
Jess’s face tightens. She knows I’m hiding something. Mara does too.
“Lena,” Mara says quietly, “you’re scaring me.”
A laugh slips out of me, thin and tired. “Imagine how I feel.”
Jess reaches across the counter and closes her hand around my wrist. “Then tell us.”
I look at her hand, then at both of them.
I could. I could tell Mara and Jess about the house, the hallway, the locked feeling of every room.
I could tell them about the men with their cold eyes and dangerous voices and secrets I don’t understand.
I could tell them that one of them watched me like I was already a problem and another looked at me like he’d already decided I belonged in his hands.
Instead I say, “I can’t.”
Not won’t. Can’t.
And that, finally, seems honest enough to stop them.
For a moment, none of us speaks. The espresso machine screams behind me. Somebody near the register asks for oat milk. A chair scrapes across the floor. Real life keeps moving, rude and ordinary, while mine feels split in two.
Jess lets go of my wrist slowly.
“Okay,” Mara says at last. “Then promise us something.”
“What?”
“No more disappearing,” Jess says.
“And no more mystery dates,” Mara adds.
That almost makes me smile.
Almost.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I can promise that. Especially since going on the date was your idea.”
“Well, no more of that,” Jess says. “At least not online.”
“No shit,” I say. “I’m just done with men in general.”
I focus on the coffee because it gives my hands something to do. Grind. Tamp. Lock the portafilter in place. Steam the milk. Pour. Wipe. Repeat.
Simple. Mechanical. Safe.
Except my brain won’t stay with me.
I’m stirring a drink when it hits me again, sudden and ugly, not like a thought so much as a flash. Hands. Mouths. Heat. The sound of my own breathing gone unsteady. The press of bodies too close, too much, too confusing now that I’m standing under warm café lights with a spoon in my hand.
My grip tightens. The spoon taps too hard against the side of the cup.
I clear my throat and force myself to keep moving.
I tried looking up the Brotherhood this morning, sitting on my bed with my phone plugged into the wall, thumb shaking every time I typed. Brotherhood. Apostles. Andrew.
Nothing useful.
Just forums, a fantasy book series, some stupid Reddit thread, a church group in Ohio, and one very earnest blog post about spiritual brotherhood that made me want to throw my phone.
No secret organization. No trail. No proof that last night was anything other than some insane fever dream with too many good-looking psychopaths in it.
And it’s been bothering me all day. Because what if I overreacted? Not to the dead body. Not to the house. Not to the fear. But to everything Havoc told me after.
What if half of it was him screwing with my head because that’s what he does? What if he saw I was scared and just kept pushing because he liked the reaction?
They did save me. That part is true no matter how many times I turn it around in my mind.
The bell over the café door chimes.
“Next,” I call automatically. A man steps up to the counter. I barely look at him at first, just grab a cup and marker, the routine carrying me through it. “What can I get started for you?”
“Black coffee.”
“Size?”
“Medium.”
I nod, reaching for the cup. “Name?”
A beat.
Then, calm and low, “Knox.”
Everything in me stops.
The paper cup slips straight out of my hand. It hits the floor and rolls away.
I look up too fast. It’s him.
Actually him. Not my imagination. Not a stranger with the same name. Knox, standing on the other side of the counter like he belongs there, dark eyes on me, expression unreadable.
For a second I can’t breathe.
“Lena?” Jess is at my side first.
Then Mara, already rounding the counter. “What happened?”
I take a step back, but my legs feel wrong, weak and buzzing at the same time. “I—” My voice catches.
Jess follows my line of sight to the man at the counter and then back to me. Her face changes immediately. “Do you know him?”
Knox doesn’t say anything. That somehow makes it worse.
Mara looks between us, alarm rising fast now. “Lena?”
I swallow, but my throat feels dry. “I’m fine.” It comes out thin and unconvincing.
“No, you’re not,” Jess says.
People are staring. Another customer shifts awkwardly in line. The whole café feels too bright all of a sudden, too public and exposed, and Knox is still just standing there, not moving, not helping, his very presence dragging last night right back over my skin.
Mara’s hand lands on my arm. “Who is that?”
I don’t answer. Because I don’t know what answer to give.
Because if I say his name out loud like it means something, then all of this becomes more real than I’ve been letting myself believe.
Knox finally speaks. “Can we talk?”
That’s it.
Quiet. Controlled. Like he isn’t the reason my pulse is going wild because hearing his name felt like being dropped back into the worst part of the night.
Jess steps slightly in front of me before I can react. “She’s working.”
Knox looks at her, then at Mara, then back at me. “I won’t take long,” he says.
Mara’s voice goes hard. “She said she’s working.”
I realize then that I’m gripping the edge of the counter so hard my fingers ache. I drag in a breath that doesn’t help much and stare at him, trying to understand why he came instead of Havoc, and why that somehow feels even more dangerous.
“I need a minute,” I say, though I’m not sure who I’m saying it to.
Jess turns to me at once. “Lena, you don’t have to?—”
“I know.” My eyes never leave Knox. “I know,” I say again, quieter this time.
Jess is still half in front of me, protective and tense, and Mara looks about two seconds away from throwing Knox out herself. It would almost be sweet if it weren’t making this harder.
I don’t know why he’s here. I don’t know what he wants. But I do know that if I start acting too weird, too scared, too obviously connected to him, Mara and Jess are going to know this is bigger than some bad date story. And once they know that, they’ll push. I can’t have that.
“I’m fine,” I say, steadier this time.
Jess turns to me. “Lena?—”
“It’s okay.” I force a tiny, false smile. “I know him.”
That’s the wrong thing to say, judging by the look on both their faces, but it’s too late to take it back.
Mara lowers her voice. “From where?”
I don’t answer that. I just unhook myself from behind the counter, trying to look like this is normal, like a man from the worst night of my life showing up at my café is just an awkward inconvenience.
My arms fold across my chest before I even think about it. Not because I’m cold. Because I need something between us.
Knox waits while I come over. Of course he does. Calm as ever. Dark clothes, unreadable face, not a hair out of place. He looks like he belongs nowhere and everywhere at once, and I hate how much he changes the air around him just by standing there.
I stop near the front window, far enough from the register that we won’t be overheard easily, close enough that Mara and Jess can still see me if they’re watching.
Which they absolutely are.
“I don’t want you at my work,” I say under my breath.
His expression doesn’t change. “Noted.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
“No,” he says. “It wasn’t.”
I glare at him. “Then why are you here?”
“To talk.”
“That tells me nothing.”
He looks past me for half a second, probably checking the room, then back at me. “How much did you say?”
My stomach tightens. “Excuse me?”
“To your friends.”
“Nothing.”
He studies my face like he’s weighing the answer, and that annoys me more than it scares me.
I tilt my chin up. “How did you find me?”
That gets the smallest shift out of him. Almost a smile. Not quite. “I’m the best tracker in the city,” he says. “Nobody escapes me.”
I stare at him. “That’s not as charming as you think it is.”
“I wasn’t trying to be charming.”
“No?”
“No.”
There’s a beat. Then he says, “You shouldn’t be scared if you have nothing to hide.”
My brows go up. “So you think I’m hiding something?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, which is answer enough.
I let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “You people are unbelievable.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“That’s because I don’t owe you one.”
His eyes stay on mine, steady, impossible to read. Around us, the café keeps moving. Milk steaming. Cups clinking. A muted conversation near the pastry case. Traffic sliding by outside. Normal life, still pretending it belongs to me.
“I’m here because things changed,” he says.
“What things?”
“Things I’m not explaining in front of a window.”
I almost snap back, but then I catch Mara in my peripheral vision, watching us while pretending to wipe down a table. Jess is near the espresso machine, doing the same thing.
They know something is wrong.
I lower my voice further. “Then you shouldn’t have come here.”
His jaw shifts once. “Probably.”
“So leave.”
“Not yet.”
I’m about to tell him exactly where he can go when the first gunshot cracks through the air. For one blank second, my brain doesn’t understand it.
Then the front window beside us erupts. Glass punches inward with a deafening burst, spiderwebbing and blowing across the floor as two, three, four more shots slam into it in brutal succession.
I duck on instinct, my hands flying over my head as the café explodes into chaos around us. Cups crash. A chair goes over. Mara shouts my name.
Knox moves fast. One second he’s standing in front of me, the next his hand is on my arm, shoving me down hard behind the nearest wall as more rounds hit the glass, spraying the window with fresh cracks and sending glittering shards skidding across the floor.
My heart is pounding so hard I can’t hear right.
All I know is the gunfire, the screaming, Knox’s grip on me, and the horrible certainty that whatever found me?—
It found me here.