Chapter 37 #2
We shot to our feet so fast, you’d think we were about to be chased down by a horde of Radicals, laughing like a pair of evil masterminds as we set the plan into motion. It started small—some of his documents mysteriously signed by ‘Walter McGrath,’ an official-looking plaque outside his room.
But then we kind of…escalated.
By morning, every single piece of Sean’s clothing was labeled with a neatly embroidered “Walter M.”
His Offensive gear? Walter. His casual wear? Walter. Even his damn socks.
And then, for the final touch, we spread the word. People started calling him Walter like it was second nature. Passing greetings. Friendly nods. No hesitation. Just pure, seamless execution.
When Sean finally stormed into the breakfast room, gripping a shirt which now sported a perfectly stitched ‘Property of Walter McGrath’ across the collar, he looked ready to murder someone.
"WHO THE FUCK IS WALTER?!"
Emma barely glanced up. "You, obviously."
I sipped my coffee, stone-faced. "Yeah, Walter. You should really embrace it."
Sean sputtered, his gaze darting between us like he couldn’t decide which one of us to throttle first.
"This is—this is insanity! Do you have any idea how many people greeted me as Walter today?!"
Emma sighed dramatically. "The people have spoken."
Sean groaned, rubbing his temples, but I didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed when someone called out, ‘Walter!’ from the hall.
He turned, ready to correct them, but then he hesitated. Only for a second, as if a part of him was starting to accept his fate.
Which was the real fucking victory.
Later that night, I stood outside alone, savoring the quiet—which was rare, almost foreign in my world.
I’d quit smoking a while ago. Not that it did much damage—Healers could translate all that shit out of our bodies in seconds. But the idea of depending on something as insignificant as a fucking cigarette bugged me.
So, I quit.
Except on nights like this, when sleep felt impossible. When something inside me was restless, itching beneath my skin.
Which is why I was standing outside at one a.m., my eyes drifting over the darkened grounds surrounding my home.
Which is also why I saw a small figure slipping out of the manor like they had something to hide.
My brow furrowed. Who the hell needed to sneak around out here? I wasn’t anyone’s fucking father. If they wanted to take a midnight stroll, by all means. But the secrecy of it bothered me.
I took one last drag before pressing the cigarette out between my fingers, then trailed after them, silent, and unseen.
The grounds at night were as familiar to me as they were in daylight, my steps instinctive, guided more by memory than sight.
They moved with purpose, their pace steady but unhurried, as if they knew exactly where they were going. No hesitation, no second-guessing. That alone told me this wasn’t the first time they’d done this.
I tracked them through the shadows of the estate, weaving between trees and stone pathways, my footsteps muffled by the damp earth.
It looked to be a woman, judging by the way she moved.
The perimeter lights cast long, eerie streaks of silver, flickering over her as she made her way toward the border—toward the Human World.
And then, in the faint silver glow of the night, I finally got a good look at her face.
Emma. Of course.
Something in my chest went tight, and I wasn’t sure if it was irritation, curiosity, or something else entirely.
What the hell was she doing sneaking out alone?
I picked up my pace, staying far enough back so she wouldn’t notice me, but close enough to intervene if I had to.
And then—she crossed the border. She didn’t even pause, didn’t check over her shoulder. She simply crossed.
I cursed under my breath but didn’t stop. Did she do this often? Slip out into night like it was nothing?
I stopped at the edge, watching as she put ten feet of space between herself and the boundary, until she reached a small clearing. Then she stilled, her gaze locking onto the vast, untamed wilderness of the Highlands.
She didn’t fidget. Didn’t pace. She just stood there. Staring into the night like it held answers she hadn’t found yet.
For a second, I considered letting her have her moment, but such wasn’t exactly my style.
So I stepped forward.
She must have felt me approach, because her shoulders stiffened slightly before she exhaled, her eyes locked on the nothingness front of her.
“You followed me.”
Not a question.
I took a slow step closer, shoving my hands into my pockets. “You snuck out.”
“Didn’t know I needed permission to leave.”
“You don’t.”
She finally turned around, all warmth stripped from her face. “Then why follow me?”
I shrugged. “Call it morbid curiosity. Or boredom.”
She snorted softly, but it faded quickly as she swallowed hard, her attention shifting back on the horizon.
She hadn’t invited me to stay, but she hadn’t asked me to leave either. So I sat my ass down on a nearby branch, elbows on my knees, my focus fixed on her.
She stood perfectly still, arms folded loosely, her fingers tucked beneath her elbows. The wind tugged at her hair, teasing strands free from whatever attempt she’d made to tie them back. The rest cascaded over her shoulders in an unruly mess, shifting like dark silk against her white coat.
Her expression was unreadable, but her lips were slightly parted, and I could see the faint crease in her brow—enough to make me wonder what she was thinking.
She looked out over the Highlands, her posture rigid but tired. Like she was bracing for something or maybe trying to hold herself together.
Fuck me, that girl was stunning.
Not in a way that made heads turn—but in a way that made it feel dangerous to breathe. There was something inside her—untamed, coiled tight beneath the surface—but hidden from the rest of the world. As if the one who caught a glimpse, was privileged to the secret of her existence.
A quiet fire lived behind her eyes—sharp, knowing, and far too bright to ever burn unseen. And I was the lucky bastard, trapped in its blaze.
She must’ve felt my stare, because she turned—slowly—her gaze drifting over my face, then down my body.
Her breath hitched, just barely, and I noticed the faint flutter of her pulse at her neck.
She was checking me out and I let her. I let her take her time.
Because fuck, that felt good.
Then, right as her eyes swept back up, they landed on my neck. “How did you get the scar?”
I clenched my jaw, unwilling to tell the story. “Fight.”
She nodded, but didn’t push, instantly respecting my boundary.
My voice was quieter when I spoke next. “Why come out here?”
She hesitated, then turned toward the Highlands again, her gaze sweeping over the open stretch of land like she wasn’t really seeing it.
“Because I can.”
I pushed to my feet and stepped up beside her, close enough the chill in the air didn’t feel so cold. Close enough I could hear the quiet tremor in her breath.
“You couldn’t before?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t allowed to leave Cyclos.”
I stilled. Wasn’t allowed?
I studied her profile, waiting for a smirk, a flicker of amusement—something to tell me she was messing with me. But she wasn’t.
“What do you mean, you weren’t allowed?”
A dry laugh slipped from her lips. “I couldn’t leave the Collective. They said I endangered the political climate or whatever.”
Oh wow, Cyclos really did win the award for bullshit of the year.
Anger curled hot in my chest, a slow, simmering burn. “Are you fucking kidding me? And James, what? Let them keep you locked in?”
His name was out before I could stop myself, but I didn’t regret it. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. James—the same guy who would raze cities to the ground if someone touched what was his—had let the Council shove her into a box?
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and for a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer.
Then, finally, her voice came, softer but firm. “He helped me see my parents once. And gave me portal lessons.”
Oh well, give the guy a fucking medal.
I let out a slow, sharp breath, shaking my head. “That’s all he did?”
Her gaze snapped to me, and for the first time, there was something hard in her expression.
“That’s all I’m saying.”
Her tone was final, a wall slamming down between us. A boundary I needed to respect as much as she respected mine, but something about it twisted inside me.
I realized I wanted her to trust me. I wanted more than clipped answers and careful restraint.
But trust wasn’t a one-way street. If I wanted her to let me in, I had to be willing to do the same.
Which was exactly what I planned to do.