Chapter 9 Jasmine
Iwas in denial. I was wrong. I’m sorry, Jasmine.
His words follow me through the rest of the day, echoing beneath everything else.
After Kane and Amon left, Kacey and I fell back into what had become a flawless routine. We made idle chat, fed the animals in the evening, checked the habitats, completed order forms, sent emails—without uttering a single word of real importance.
And when it was late enough, we flitted to Ezekial’s empty office, and prepared to flit back to her apartment.
Using Sai’s tiny marble of power was easy enough. You hold it, picture where you want to go, and flit. I used one yesterday for the first time, and again this morning. I knew exactly what to imagine. It only took a second. But…
Kacey leaves, and I linger.
Because I know what would happen if I tried to flit. I wouldn’t land in Kacey’s apartment. No.
Because I was too busy picturing dark eyes—eyes that once flashed with hatred but are now dusted with grief, speckled with grey.
I’m too consumed with what I’d learnt of Kane’s past. Imagining it. Feeling it. Becoming so sick with heavy, thick emotion that I have to clutch Ezekial’s desk and collapse into his chair.
There are thin slivers of silver clinging to the air. So tiny, so delicate, they’d be invisible to anyone else. Traces of Ezekial.
He mustn’t have left long ago, and that brings a new rush of emotion.
What happened to him? If Kane says Ezekial deserves my sadness more than he does…
I can’t even begin to imagine.
I stay a little longer, letting the silence curl around me, the darkness hold me, and try to battle the flood of thoughts that won’t stop racing.
When I finally flit to the apartment, all the lights are off and I head straight to bed.
But now it’s 2 AM, and I’m restless.
My body craves sleep, and if I closed my eyes, I know I’d succumb. But I can’t stop thinking about Kane.
And that’s why I’m currently rummaging through the piles of bags cluttering Kacey’s entryway.
When I find the small rectangular box, relief floods through me, a surprising lightness after hours of heavy thoughts. I slice it open and waste no time putting the phone on charge.
As it powers up, the display is blank. Black. A simple swirl of dark patterns. Nothing else.
No bare chest. No bright markings. No wet, dark curls or water droplets dripping down muscle…
And the contacts list is… empty. Their numbers aren’t even saved.
I sigh, slumping against the kitchen counter.
When there’s a ping.
Unknown: What has you awake at this hour?
I frown.
Me: How did you know I’ve activated this phone?
Unknown: All of our phones are on a private network. One that I control. It means I know when any of us are on or offline.
Unknown: And I may have set an alert for yours.
Unknown: Sorry.
Unknown: I can turn it off.
Ezekial.
A small smile lifts my lips at his flurry of panicked messages.
But after what I’ve learned about his past—even just a glimpse—the thought of giving him a hard time doesn’t even compute.
I save his number.
Me: And why are you awake at this hour, Ezekial?
Ezekial: Am I that obvious?
I smirk. He has no idea. I’ve known Ezekial the least amount of time, but already picked up on some of his traits. Controlling, meticulous, humble.
Ezekial: And I’m awake because Kane hasn’t returned to the house. He’s been in the Pit and I can’t convince him to leave.
My lips flatten. My chest aches. The shadows bloom.
Me: Why won’t he leave?
Ezekial: My guess? He doesn’t want to face us. He always thinks the worst of himself.
The ache grows. Just the thought of him there, alone… waiting. Sitting with those memories.
Me: Can I have his number?
*New contact added*
Ezekial: There’s no signal down there, but he’ll get it when he returns.
Even so, I still feel like I need to try and reach him, like I need to do… something.
Me: Thanks. He told me, btw. About what happened to him.
This time, there’s no immediate reply.
I use the pause to unplug the charger and drift back into the bedroom. By the time I’ve settled in bed, phone in hand, he responds.
Ezekial: That would’ve been... incredibly hard for him.
A tear drops onto the screen, blurring his words. Then another. I can’t remember when they began. I swipe them away with the back of my hand, but they keep falling.
Me: He told me a little about you, too. But he said you’d want to tell me the rest.
Me: I’m so sorry.
“Fuck,” I whisper, dragging my sleeve across my cheeks.
A few days ago, I hated these men. Couldn’t bear the sound of their names. That’s what I told myself.
Now? I’m crying over two of them. Wanting to comfort them, to heal them. Wanting to unleash unimaginable pain onto anyone who ever did them wrong—
Ezekial: It was a long time ago.
Me: Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
Ezekial: No. But I try to live in the present. That’s what she would have wanted.
I sit up. The tears are too much. My chest throbs as I re-read the words.
That’s what she would have wanted.
I rub small circles over the tender spot above my heart, trying to quiet the ache.
Ezekial: And she would’ve been so mad at me for not going with them that night. To The Inferno.
Me: Arrogant to assume you being there would’ve made everything better.
Ezekial: Oh, I’m not saying it would. I probably would’ve kidnapped you.
I blurt out a loud laugh that shocks me, like I’m not in control of my own body.
Me: I’m sorry?!
Ezekial: Kane would’ve tried to dissuade me, but Sai and Julien would’ve been on board pretty quick.
Me: Wow. Hm. Maybe it’s a good thing we met later.
Ezekial: Well, the only pro of that is I’ve had less time to make mistakes.
Ezekial: But it also means I never got to kidnap you. Which, in my opinion, is a massive con.
Why am I laughing at this? At him casually suggesting my abduction? Why is the room hotter now that I’m picturing him storming into the club, throwing me over his shoulder—
Me: You think it’d be that easy? Getting close enough to grab me and take me? So many flaws in this plan…
Ezekial: You think I couldn’t pull it off?
Ezekial: You’re turning this into a challenge and I’m very competitive.
Me: No! This isn’t a challenge! You’re not kidnapping me!
Ezekial: But you wouldn’t know… that’s the whole point of a kidnapping ;)
This lord did not just send a winky face.
Me: I’d have a better chance at kidnapping you.
Why did I say that?! I squeal in frustration and lightly smack the phone against my forehead. How does he do this? Disarm me like that? I can already picture the grin on his stupid, perfect face.
Ezekial: Well… I don’t think it’s kidnapping when the victim is willing. But please do.
Ezekial: I’m sharing my location with you.
Me: Are… are you ASKING me to kidnap you?
Ezekial: We both know you haven’t got a chance. Let’s face it, you’re not built to be a kidnapper. Haven’t got the skills for it. Me, on the other hand…
Is he winding me up? And is it working? No. Absolutely not.
I imagine the surprise on his face when I do pull it off. No skills, huh? Please. I can render them all unconscious without even touching them. I could bring them to their knees. Again.
It’d be so easy. He wouldn’t even see me coming.
Me: I see. Well, I better get some rest. Need to read up on ‘kidnapping 101’. Got a lot of plotting to do.
Ezekial: Good night, Jasmine… And again, I’m sorry. We all are. And I mean all of us.
I brush my thumb over the words.
It’s hard to sense honesty through text, especially when I can’t feel him. But just thinking about him conjures an image instantly.
I remember how Ezekial looked when he realised I wasn’t just an empath, but a mind melder. That flash of silver fury, the helpless grief tightening his expression when he understood what I must’ve endured because he had too.
He cared. He wanted revenge for me. I remind myself of that, because you can’t fake that kind of emotion. It was real.
Just when I think we’re done, another message lights the screen.
Ezekial: And may the best kidnapper win.
I’m losing my mind. I must be. That’s the only reasonable explanation for why I’m sitting here, smiling at a phone.
When I finally close our chat, the only other contact lingers on the screen. I tap his name. Write the same sentence ten times. Delete it. Write it again. Until I finally settle a few words.
Me: It wasn’t your fault.
***
Kane never replies.
I don’t expect him to, not really. What exactly do you say to a vague message about your traumatic past?
Since then, I’ve spent every waking moment thinking over everything he’s told me. Replaying those horrific memories in my mind, painting them until I feel like I’m there too—a passenger who sat back and did nothing.
Then there’s the immortality.
How am I even supposed to comprehend it? Do I want to live forever? Could I even stop it, if I didn’t?
And the part about not having children… I don’t really know how I feel about that. Because when Alexis realised I didn’t have periods, I researched what it might mean, and I’d already assumed it wasn’t a possibility for me.
Again, I hardly sleep. I stare at the ceiling, at the silent phone, back to the ceiling, until the first light filters in.
Mentally, I’m a mess. Murky.
When I’m not reliving Kane’s past, I’m trying—again—to prepare questions.
After drying my hair, I even type some notes into my phone, determined not to get sidetracked today. No. There are things I want to know. Need to hear.
If Kane’s behaviour yesterday is going to continue, if he really is ready to share the truth—I want all of it.
I glance down at my notes:
Contacting my family? My mark? Green Cloaks/The Order? Girl in cell? Prospero? Immortal timeline?
What a list.
My fingers hover over the word family. Maybe I couldn’t trust them, and maybe they had lied to me. But you couldn’t just switch off emotions. I still care about them, miss them, think about them when my mind isn’t screaming at me to sleep or eat or go to… them.