Chapter 30
THIRTY
If I were a little kid seeing Kai for the first time, I’d be terrified too. Seriously. There’s just something about his… face. About his eyes.
Kai shoves his hands into his pockets and casts Lilia a look, all easy charm. “She’s all yours.”
And just like that, he turns, already heading for the door. He’s about to disappear through the doorway when a soft voice cuts through the air.
“You’re Kai Steele?”
It’s Dawn.
And she’s not behind Lilia anymore. In fact, she’s stepped out of the shadowy corner she was lurking in. Now, she’s standing in the open, her head tilted just slightly, her wide eyes on Kai.
Kai pauses, one foot still hovering over the threshold. He turns, slow and smooth, his gaze sliding toward Dawn’s face.
“I am.”
Dawn takes a step toward him.
Just one.
But it’s enough to shift the air in the room, and even Lilia looks thrown—her eyebrows raising slightly, like—huh. That’s new.
Kai tilts his head, barely perceptible, but his fingers twitch where they rest at his side. Subtle. Almost nothing. But I catch it. “You’re a friend of his?” he asks.
Dawn freezes for a second, goes bright red, then nods a little too quickly.
Kai watches her reaction with mild amusement. “He speaks highly of you.”
Dawn turns even redder, which I didn’t even think was possible. She suddenly looks like she wants to fold herself into a singularity and vanish into the floor. “H-he does?”
Kai nods, his gaze steady. “Yeah.”
Dawn’s mouth opens, like she wants to say something, but then she just—stares at him. Wide-eyed, completely at a loss.
I glance at Lilia, who is biting the inside of her cheek, staring at this all unfold in complete shock.
Dawn swallows. “Oh.”
Kai raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips, and I stare at the dimples it leaves. “That’s all?”
Dawn nods, then violently shakes her head, then just stares at her own shoes. The poor kid looks absolutely mortified.
He straightens, slipping his hands back into his pockets, and looks toward the door again. “You should get some sleep, kid.”
Dawn is still too dazed to reply.
Kai turns back once more before he leaves, eyes moving between her and the rest of us. He gives a small nod, and then just as the door swings open, Dawn manages to squeak out, “Y-you too.”
Kai pauses, just for half a second, and then he walks out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Dawn remains frozen in place, hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Lilia lets out a low whistle. “Okay. Who are you?”
Dawn blinks, looking up at her. Her face still red as a tomato, but she seems confused by the question. “What?”
“That!” Lilia gestures wildly at where Kai just was. “Who are you and what have you done to my sister?”
Dawn’s brow furrows. “He seemed nice,” she says.
Lilia leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Blink twice if you’ve been replaced by an alien.”
Dawn lets out a tiny, flustered squeak, her face getting redder. “Stop it.” Then, suddenly, without warning, she whimpers—a tiny, overwhelmed sound—and bolts for the stairs.
Lilia turns to me, still looking utterly dumbfounded. “Did that just happen?”
I nod slowly, stunned. “I think so.”
Lilia stares at the stairs, then exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Dawn. Dawn of all people. I can’t—I just—” She lets out a hollow laugh. “I need to sit down.”
“You are sitting down,” I point out.
“I need to sit down harder.”
I lean back against the wall, rubbing my face. “Lilia, maybe we could—”
Lilia interrupts, nods solemnly. “The world isn’t ready for a bold Dawn.” Lilia exhales dramatically, still shaking her head. “Come on,” she says, reaching for my hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I hesitate. My fingers twitch, but I don’t move.
Lilia tilts her head, waiting.
“I don’t have any of my things,” I murmur, barely loud enough to hear myself. “They’re all at home.”
Except home is a word I stopped believing in a long time ago. Of course, it’s easy to say the word. Easy to describe. A building, a structure, four walls and a roof. Right? Except home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.
And I lost that feeling before I even got a chance to hold it. After a while, you learn not to accept it back.
Because hope when you have nothing is a dangerous thing. Keeps you dreaming of open doors and soft voices calling you inside—when deep down, you know better.
You know doors don’t open for you.
You know softness has never had your name in its mouth.
And you know that if you let yourself hope, even just a little, it’ll only take one sharp wind to knock it all down again.
So you stop hoping. You stop wanting.
You stop calling anywhere home.
And eventually, you start to forget what it was supposed to feel like in the first place.
Lilia stares at me for a second. For a brief moment, she almost looks sorry. Then, just as quickly, she smiles. A little softer than usual. “We’ll get them tomorrow,” she says easily. “For now, you can use my things.”
I open my mouth, but she’s already turning toward the stairs, tossing a grin over her shoulder. “I have plenty.”
And then she takes off, bounding up the steps two at a time.
I don’t follow immediately. I just stand there for a second, staring after her.
She says it so casually, so simply. It makes me wonder how much longer it will take for her to see what everyone else has seen. That I’m a burden. A disappointment.
Something she’ll get tired of holding.
It’s true no matter how many times I’ve told myself otherwise. That people don’t keep things that are too hard to carry.
***
Lilia’s room is exactly what I should have expected. Bigger, perhaps.
Lived-in, but not messy. Warm, somewhat cluttered, but cozy. The walls are covered in a mix of posters, photos, and random scribbled notes pinned up with washi tape, and there’s a long string of fairy lights trailing across the ceiling.
Against one wall, there’s a massive vanity, the kind that looks like it belongs in an old Hollywood dressing room or something.
The entire surface is covered in a scattered, disorganized collection of makeup palettes, brushes, tubes of lipstick, and bottles of foundation in varying shades.
There are rings, earrings, a pair of sunglasses tossed to the side, and a half-empty mug of something that’s probably been sitting there for days.
On the opposite end of the room, there’s a nightstand. There’s a picture frame sitting there too, just slightly off-centre. In it, Lilia is grinning, and Bea poses behind her, mid-laugh.
I don’t know why, but I take a step closer.
There are other pictures too.
One of Lilia and Dawn, bundled up in oversized jackets, Dawn’s small hand curled around Lilia’s sleeve. Next to it, there’s one of them seemingly younger, holding up a trophy, tennis racket clutched in both of their hands.
Lilia plays tennis?
There’s one more—of her parents standing in front of what looks like a campsite, while her mum flashes a peace sign at the camera.
I don’t touch any of them, but I find myself staring a little longer than I meant to.
Lilia must notice, because she plops down on the bed and grins. “Pretty cute, isn’t it?”
I blink, snapping out of it. “What?”
She gestures vaguely to the photos. “Now I just need one with you,” she says, flopping onto the bed and stretching her arms behind her head.
I blink. “Oh, that’s fine. You don’t have to.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” she frowns, looking at me strangely.
I open my mouth, then close it. Because I don’t know how to answer that in a way that makes sense.
She sits up properly now, crossing her legs, expression serious but not heavy. “We’re friends, Addie,” she says simply. “I want you to be.”
I nod, slowly. And then, before I can second-guess myself, I smile. Just… a small, quiet, real one.
Lilia grins and gestures toward the room. “You can sit down, you know.”
I let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Right. Yeah.”
Lilia leans back against her headboard, kicking her legs out in front of her and without looking at me says, “Addie, I was meaning to ask.” She says it lightly, but I can hear the hesitation tucked beneath it. “If you want to talk about anything—anything at all—you can talk to me.”
Wow.
I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to nod. “Thank you,” I say honesty, and with the most sincerity. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
Lilia watches me for a second longer before offering a small, lopsided smile. Then, after a beat, she shifts slightly, her gaze flicking toward my leg.
“Is… your leg better?”
I sigh, adjusting my position and crossing my legs. “Definitely better than it was before.”
Lilia doesn’t look fully convinced, but she lets it slide. Instead, she tilts her head, studying me. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell the police?”
I hesitate, then shrug. “Aren’t Will’s family involved with that?”
Something flickers across Lilia’s face—just for a second—before she lets out a slow breath. “They’re crazy,” she admits, “but they’re brilliant.”
I press my lips together, thinking. “I just have this bad feeling.”
Lilia’s eyebrows pull together slightly. “About what?”
I stare down at my hands, fiddling with my sleeve. “It’s just… they’ve been warning me to stop looking. If the police start meddling, well…” I exhale slowly. “It might get worse.”
Lilia leans forward now, resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes don’t leave mine. “But we’re meddling.” She lifts a brow, voice firm but not unkind. “You think Kai or any of the others are just gonna let this go? Because they won’t.”
I let out a breath, because that’s exactly what I’m worried about. “I guess you’re right.”
Lilia studies me for a moment, not saying anything. Then she makes a face. “I still can’t believe Kai took you to the hospital.”
I shake my head. “I know. I was shocked too.”
Because Kai is unpredictable. And the moment you think you understand him, he proves you wrong.
But he’s just so easy to like.