19. Cayenne
Chapter 19
Cayenne
The thing about rooftops before dawn—they’re perfect for calculating trajectories. Distance between points, force required for each jump, the exact angle needed to clear obstacles. Like debugging code, but with the added risk of gravity-induced system failure.
I’ve been up here for an hour, running the numbers in my head. Calculating parkour routes, mapping trajectories, trying to think of anything except the beta virus’s death toll. Trying not to count the hours until the next victim falls, trying not to feel helpless while we wait for a new secure location.
The emerald beanie sits heavy on my head, a constant reminder of connections I’ll have to sever. Of promises I’ll have to break.
“Can’t sleep either?” Jinx’s voice carries across the roof, but I don’t startle. Something in me knew he’d find me up here—our chaotic energies always seem to sync at the worst possible times.
“Sleep is for people who don’t have complex mathematical equations to solve.”
He moves closer, all predatory grace and barely contained energy. The pre-dawn shadows suit him, making his edges seem sharper, more dangerous.
“Equations about the best route across the maintenance shed,” his grin holds teeth, “or equations about how to end this virus without leading Sterling to more victims?”
My heart stutters, but I keep my voice steady. “Both, actually. Want to help me test the first one?”
His laugh sounds like breaking code. “Always up for a little chaos at 3AM.”
He doesn’t mention the hat. Doesn’t need to. We both feel its weight between us—this piece of him I’m wearing while plotting my escape.
I take a moment to memorize him like this—wild and beautiful in the pre-dawn light. His usual hoodie is missing, leaving him in just a black tank that shows off the controlled power in his arms. Even his ever-present baseball cap is absent, letting me see how his dark hair falls across his forehead, softening the manic light in his eyes.
Some people are art in motion. Jinx is beautiful disaster given flesh.
“See something you like?” His grin turns knowing, but there’s something else beneath it. Something protective, almost predatory in its intensity.
“Just appreciating the view.” I force lightness into my tone. “Not often I get to see you without seventeen layers of cotton armor.”
He stretches, all lean muscle and barely contained violence. A new tattoo peaks out from under his tank—something angular and sharp that probably has a story I’ll never get to hear.
“Race you to the greenhouse?” He bounces on his toes, that feral energy seeking release. “Unless you’re scared.”
“Please.” I stand, grateful for the familiar banter. “I’ve mapped every route up here. Calculated every angle.”
“Some things can’t be calculated.” He moves to the edge, moonlight catching the scars on his knuckles. More stories waiting to be uncovered when this is all over.
“Says the man who taught me that specific jump requires exactly 37 degrees of rotation.”
His laugh echoes across the roof. “Maybe I just like watching you overthink everything.”
“Maybe I just like watching you underthink everything,” I counter, moving to stand beside him. “Like that time you tried to clear the garden wall without checking the landing zone.”
“Those rose bushes came out of nowhere.” But his grin turns wicked as he eyes the greenhouse. “First one there chooses the next run?”
“You’re on.” I adjust the beanie, making sure it’s secure. “On three?”
He’s already moving. “Three!”
“Cheater!” But I’m right behind him, muscle memory taking over as we race across the rooftop.
He’s pure instinct, taking jumps that should be impossible with a grace that defies physics. I follow my calculated route, each move precise, planned—right up until he suddenly changes direction, forcing me to adapt.
“Keep up, little beta!” His laugh carries back to me as he vaults over a ventilation unit. “Or are you too busy doing math?”
“Some of us,” I call back, using his distraction to gain ground, “prefer not to face-plant into air conditioning units!”
“That was one time!”
We’re neck and neck now, the greenhouse getting closer. He has the advantage in raw power, but I know these routes better. Have spent hours mapping every possible path while fighting insomnia.
Just before the final jump, he glances at me—really looks at me—and something in his expression makes my chest ache. Like he’s seeing echoes of someone else who calculated every risk.
The final jump requires perfect timing—a fact I know because Jinx drilled it into me weeks ago. Three steps for momentum, push off at exactly the right angle, tuck and roll on impact.
We hit the greenhouse roof simultaneously, our combined landing echoing through the glass panels.
“Not bad.” He’s barely breathing hard, the show-off. “For someone who has to calculate trajectory mid-jump.”
“Says the man who counted my steps.” I adjust the beanie where it slipped during the landing. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you mouthing the numbers.”
Something flickers across his face—there and gone like corrupted data. His hand lifts like he might touch the hat, then drops.
“Emma used to do that,” he says quietly. “Count everything. Said it helped make sense of the chaos.”
The name hits like a security breach—unexpected, important. In two months, I’ve never heard him mention an Emma.
“Your...” I trail off, letting him choose what to share.
“Sister.” He moves to the edge of the greenhouse, moonlight catching the tension in his shoulders. “She is the one who taught me that jump. Said if you’re going to be crazy, might as well be crazy with style.”
The way he says is instead of was makes something in my chest crack. I stay quiet, letting him find the words.
“She’s also the one who taught me to knit.” His laugh holds broken glass. “Said my hands needed something to do besides break things.”
“Your hands needed something to do besides break things.” I echo softly, recognizing the weight of shared chaos.
“Yeah.” He traces a pattern on the glass roof, something that might be binary code or might be nothing at all. “She was good at that—finding ways to channel the crazy. Turn it into something...” He gestures at the hat. “Something useful.”
I wait, letting him choose how much to share. Sometimes silence says more than any prompt could.
“She was fifteen.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “When the shooting started, she pushed me out of the way. Her and mom both just...” His hand forms a fist against the glass. “System crash. No recovery possible.”
The tech metaphor hits harder coming from him. I reach out, not quite touching. “The hat...”
“She made me one every winter.” Now his laugh holds something wet. “Said green brought out my crazy eyes. Called it her anti-chaos program—like wearing something she made could somehow keep me grounded.”
“Did it work?”
“You remind me of her. The way you try to make order out of chaos. The way you calculate every risk while pretending you’re not carrying the weight of everyone else’s safety.”
Oh.
Oh.
The hat suddenly feels heavier, weighted with meaning I didn’t understand until now. This wasn’t just Jinx giving me something warm to wear.
This was him recognizing a mirror.
“You gave me her colors,” I whisper, understanding hitting like a DDoS attack. “Her protection program.”
“Yeah.” He looks away, but not before I catch the shine in his eyes. “Figured if anyone could handle that kind of legacy...”
He breaks off, muscles coiling with barely contained emotion. Without thinking, I close the distance between us, letting my shoulder brush his. Offering an anchor.
“Tell me about her?” The request comes quiet, careful. Like approaching volatile code.
“She was...” His breath catches. “Fucking brilliant. Could do calculus in her head while painting her nails. Had this laugh that could cut through any darkness. And she never...” His voice breaks. “She never gave up on me. Even when I was at my worst.”
The parallel sits heavy between us. How many times has he pulled me back from my own edges? How many times has he matched my chaos with his own until both of us found steady ground?
“She would have liked you,” he says suddenly. “Would have appreciated how you drive Ryker crazy with your security breaches and give Finn grey hairs with your reckless coding.”
“Sounds like we would have gotten along dangerously well.”
“That’s what scares me.” He turns to face me fully, and the intensity in his eyes pins me in place. “Having someone else I can’t bear to lose. Someone else who makes me want to burn the world down to keep them safe.”
My ribs seem to compress with each breath, lungs struggling against an invisible weight that makes swallowing difficult. My heart hammers against bone like it’s trying to escape before I have to speak the words we both know are coming. “Jinx...”
“Just...” His hand lifts to the beanie, adjusting it with gentle fingers. “Promise me one thing?”
“What?”
“When you go,” because of course he knows, of course he sees it coming, “take this with you. Let it do its job.”
“Jinx...” But what can I say? What words could possibly fill this void between what I have to do and what it will cost?
“When she died,” he continues, voice dropping to something raw, “I held her. Watched the light fade while she tried to make stupid jokes about my crazy eyes. Said at least the blood matched her nail polish.” His laugh sounds like shattering. “She was still trying to make me smile, even then. Still trying to protect me.”
The parallel hits like a knife—how many times have I used humor to deflect their concern? How many times have I joked about getting shot?
“When Theo carried you in,” his hands clench at the memory, “all I could see was Emma. All that blood, the way you were so still...” He shudders. “I couldn’t... couldn’t be the one to carry you. Couldn’t hold another person I lo— another person while they bled out.”
“But I didn’t.” I step closer, letting him feel my presence, my warmth. “I’m right here.”
“For now.” His eyes meet mine, holding centuries of loss. “Until you decide it’s time to play hero. To throw yourself in front of whatever bullet you think has your name on it.”
“That’s not?—”
“It is.” He touches the beanie again, so gentle for someone capable of such violence. “And the worst part? I understand. Emma would have done the same thing. Would have made the same choice, over and over.”
Something cracks beneath my sternum at his tone—not accusation or anger, but a quiet understanding that burns worse than any rage. My throat constricts as his eyes meet mine, that same feral intelligence that once terrified me now reflecting back a truth neither of us can escape.
“I won’t let her legacy die,” I whisper, meaning both Emma and the piece of himself he’s trusted me with. “I promise.”
“Know what’s really fucked up?” His laugh holds that edge of mania I recognize too well. “Sometimes I think Emma would have loved all this. The virus, the codes, the way you turn chaos into protection. She would have been right there with you, calculating odds and finding solutions.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“She was.” He touches the beanie, a gesture so gentle it seems impossible from hands capable of such violence. “Which is why you should know something.”
“What’s that?”
His smile turns feral, that beautiful disaster I’ve come to trust showing its teeth. “The thing about chaos? It’s not just destruction. It’s also infinite possibility.” His eyes gleam with that dangerous light that earned him the name psycho squad. “And I’ve learned exactly how much destruction I’m capable of when protecting what’s mine.”
The temperature between us drops ten degrees as his voice lowers to a register that makes the hair on my arms stand at attention. Each syllable drops with precision of a predator testing the air, his pupils consuming the amber until only black remains. This isn’t Jinx being comforting. This is Jinx making a promise written in blood and violence.
“Anyone who threatens my pack,” he continues, voice dropping to that place where mania meets precision, “anyone who makes us feel helpless while betas die...” His grin turns sharp enough to draw blood. “Well, let’s just say Emma taught me how to channel chaos. But you? You’ve taught me how to weaponize it.”
The weight of his words settles like lead in my chest. Because this isn’t just Jinx being protective. This is him declaring war on anyone who would hurt his family.
And god help Sterling when Jinx finally gets his chance for vengeance.