Chapter 33 #3
Time stops making sense. Minutes, hours… it all blurs together, the world narrowing down to one thought: don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.
And then I see it.
The curve of a road I know. The sharp rise of a driveway, pale gravel crunching beneath my steps, and at the end of it, tall black gates.
For a second, I almost sob in relief. The sight knocks the air out of me harder than the running does. My chest squeezes tight, my throat burns, and I could cry if I wasn’t so focused on moving.
Just a little closer.
But my body is shutting down. My vision smears at the edges, everything tilting sideways like the ground is trying to throw me down. The gates blur into nothing more than a smudge of black against white.
Come on. Just a little closer. A little closer, Adeline.
“You are not dying today,” I whisper through clenched teeth, forcing the words out.
I stumble. Catch myself. Push harder.
My feet slap against the gravel, and every step feels like the last I can manage. But I reach the gates.
My hands shake so badly I can barely hit the numbers on the keypad.
Once, twice, wrong.
I smack my palm against it and try again, my fingers trembling too much to land steady.
2108
Come on.
The keypad clicks. The gates shudder.
And then, slowly, blessedly, they start to open.
The moment the gates drag wide enough for me to squeeze through, I slip inside and slam them shut behind me.
I should feel safe. I should feel relieved.
But somehow, I’m not.
Not even a little.
My chest still heaves like he’s right there on the other side, waiting. My hands won’t stop shaking.
The relief never comes.
I use what’s left of me to stumble up the long driveway, as the ground tilts beneath my feet, my vision breaking apart into black flecks and white haze. The house looms above me, blurred, and I’m not sure if I’m running toward it or falling into it.
Don’t stop. Just a little more. Don’t stop now.
I pound on the door with both fists, every hit weaker than the last. It feels like forever. Too long.
My body sways.
The door swings open.
Kai.
Wide-eyed. Shock etched into every line of his face.
I catch it for just a second. Just long enough to know he’s there.
Then the world caves in, and I finally let go, collapsing into his arms.
***
“Is she going to be okay?” a voice asks.
Young. Familiar.
“Of course she will,” another deeper voice replies.
I stir, eyelids heavy, lashes sticking together. When I finally manage to peel my eyes open, the first thing I notice is the glow. A fire, flickering low in the fireplace. The couch beneath me is soft, a blanket pulled up to my chin.
I don’t remember lying down.
I shift my gaze and see Kai.
Sitting close, one arm draped along the back of the couch, his posture casual, his face anything but. And for a moment, I don’t move. I just watch him.
The firelight casts him in gold and rust, but it can’t quite touch his face. It flickers and bends, but his outline eats the light. His shadow stretches the farthest, and curls long across the rug, reaching up the walls, spreading faintly over the other figures in the room… and over me.
I don’t know why I notice that—only that I do.
And maybe I should look away. But with Kai, it always feels far easier to close my eyes and follow the dark.
His eyes are fixed on me, sharp and unreadable, though there’s something else, too. Something dangerously close to worry.
It both unsettles me and intrigues me at the same time.
“Look!” Elliot blurts, scrambling forward from the chair beside him, his face lighting up. “She’s waking up!”
The sound is too loud, too bright, but I don’t mind.
That’s when I notice the man standing near the fire—mid-forties maybe, in a dark jacket, bag at his feet. A doctor.
“You collapsed from shock and exhaustion,” he says. “Your feet are badly cut from running barefoot, so I disinfected and dressed the wounds. Your knees are bruised and scraped—I’ve cleaned those as well. You’ll be sore for a while, but nothing permanent.”
I blink, trying to process. My head still spins, my body still aches.
“You’ve also strained the muscles in your chest and throat from overexertion.
Running while screaming,” he adds gently.
“That’s why breathing still hurts. I gave you fluids to rehydrate you, and a mild sedative to calm your system.
You’ll feel weak, but it’s temporary.” He pauses, studying my face. “Does that make sense?”
I nod faintly, though my throat is tight. “So… I’ll be okay?”
His mouth tips into something like reassurance. “Physically, yes. But you’ll need rest.”
I let out a shaky breath, sinking further into the couch, the blanket pulled higher around me.
Out of the corner of my eye, Kai still hasn’t moved. He leans back, arms folded, expression carved into calm, but his eyes don’t leave me. The firelight catches on the faint curve of his mouth.
I can’t tell if it’s comfort, or if it’s calculation.
Maybe both.
Maybe something else entirely.
“Thank you, doctor,” Kai says suddenly, his voice cutting clean through the silence.
Then his gaze flicks to Elliot. “Show him out.”
Elliot nods quickly, almost too eagerly, before turning back to me. His eyes are wide, soft with relief, and he gives me a smile that’s so earnest it almost hurts.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says.
I force a smile in return, because what else can I do? I don’t have the heart to tell him he might be wrong. That okay is still miles away from here.
So, I just hold the smile until he looks away, until he follows the doctor out, and the sound of footsteps fades down the hall.
And then it’s just me. And Kai.
The fire cracks again, sharp, and it’s the only sound for a long moment.
Then Kai leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on me. “So,” he says lightly, “do you want to tell me what happened, or should I guess?”
His tone is smooth, almost teasing, but underneath it there’s steel.
I swallow hard, my throat aching. My fingers tighten around the blanket until my knuckles ache. “Someone was there,” I manage, voice thin. “He… he texted me first. Said things about my mum. About me. Like he could see me. And then—”
My eyes sting, but I force myself to keep going. “He followed me. I ran. Through the field. I thought maybe I could get here before he caught me.”
Kai’s expression doesn’t change much. Still calm, still hard to read. But his jaw shifts, the faintest tick of muscle.
“He grabbed me,” I say, my voice dropping lower. “Dragged me down. I thought—I thought I was going to—”
The air catches in my chest. For a second, I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t want to.
Kai leans back then, studying me through the firelight. His gaze flicks down, then back up. “But you didn’t,” he says. His tone is softer this time, quieter. “You’re here.”
I blink at him, heat rising unbidden to my face.
“Addie,” he says after a beat, voice gentler but still edged. “Did you see anything? Anything that could tell me who he was?”
Brown eyes flash in my memory. Brown eyes behind a mask.
“I…” I hesitate, shaking my head slowly. “Just his eyes. They were brown.”
Kai tilts his head, like he’s weighing the answer. “Brown eyes,” he repeats softly.
Then his mouth curves, the faintest, most unreadable smile. “Narrowing it down.”
I give him the smallest smile I can manage, then drop my gaze to the blanket pooled in my lap. My fingers pick at a loose thread, anything to avoid his eyes.
But a single finger hooks under my chin, gentle but firm, tipping my face back up until I’m forced to meet his.
“You’re really brave, you know,” he says softly.
I shake my head, just barely, and nod instead because it’s easier. Easier than arguing, easier than admitting I don’t believe it.
He notices. Of course he does.
“What?” His smile widens a fraction, something almost playful in it. “You don’t think so?”
A sigh slips out of me before I can stop it. “I don’t know.”
His thumb lingers for a moment before he lets go. “You ran barefoot, bleeding, half-dead, and you made it here. Most people wouldn’t have.”
“That doesn’t make me brave,” I mutter. “It makes me desperate.”
Kai’s mouth quirks, not quite a smile. “Sometimes they’re the same thing.”
I let out a soft laugh, though it comes out bitter around the edges. “That’s depressing.”
“Or realistic,” he counters smoothly.
I nod faintly, pulling the blanket tighter around me. “Yeah. Desperate. That part I can agree with.”
Kai studies me, eyes glinting in the firelight. “Desperate, sure,” he says, almost thoughtful. “But you’re also selfless. Too selfless, actually. Always thinking about everyone else first. And you’re kind. Genuinely kind. Do you know how rare that is?”
I stare at him, stunned into silence.
“If someone can’t see the power in a soft heart,” Kai says, his voice quiet but sure, “then they’ve misunderstood strength entirely. If someone can’t recognize that, then they’re not seeing clearly. And that’s not your flaw, Adeline. It’s theirs.”
The fire pops, a sharp crack that echoes in the silence. Still, he doesn’t look away.
“It’s a small, sad thing,” he adds, “to only value what’s loud or obvious. If they dismiss you for not acting the way they expect, that’s not a reflection of you, it’s a limit in them.”
The blanket feels suddenly suffocating around my shoulders, heat crawling up the back of my neck.
“You don’t really mean that,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Kai laughs then. A quiet, low sound that doesn’t quite match the sharpness in his eyes. He leans forward just slightly, elbows on his knees, studying me like I’m a puzzle he hasn’t finished solving.
“You know…” he begins, his voice measured, “you confused me when I first met you. You are… very consistent in your effect on me.”
My brows knit together, but I don’t interrupt.
He exhales slowly, gaze drifting for a moment toward the fire before finding me again.
“I always thought people could only care when they were comfortable. When they were safe. Strip all that away, put someone in survival mode, and empathy disappears. People are kind when they can afford to be. That’s what I believed. ”
“And then that day on the bus,” Kai lets out a low laugh, shaking his head like he still can’t quite believe it. “You looked wrecked. Like you hadn’t slept in days. And anyone else, anyone normal, would’ve told me to get lost. Or ignored me.”
He pauses, his mouth twitching into something that’s not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. “But you didn’t. I walked over, and you smiled at me.”
The laugh slips out of him again, softer this time. “You were ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And you managed to care anyway.”
My throat tightens. I want to look away, but I can’t.
He shakes his head, almost like he’s scolding me, though his voice stays soft. “You were ridiculous. And you were extraordinary.”
“I—” My voice falters, but I force the words out anyway. “Thank you.”
I look at him, watching him nod. And I think—not for the first time—how easy it is to fall under Kai Steele’s gaze.
Being with him, I’ve always found, feels a lot like a soft blindness. Like falling asleep with someone’s hand resting lightly over your eyes.
It’s a peaceful thing.
Because the world feels quieter when he’s near. He knows exactly how to make you feel like the only person alive.
No one has ever spoken about me like this. Not once. Not like I mattered.
Even I had never considered myself any of those things. In fact, the exact opposite, really.
I don’t remember a time when I actually liked myself.
I suppose if I were more confident, things like that would come more naturally to me. But truthfully, I’ve never been that kind of person. Not even a little. I don’t have that thing in me: the spark, the voice. Whatever it is that makes people stand out in rooms.
I shrink. Automatically. Like my body already knows I don’t belong.
That’s why I will always admire people like Kai.
His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer. Then, almost too serious, he says, “You don’t even realize it, do you, Soreya?”
The word slips out so naturally it takes me a second to register it. My brows knit. “What did you just call me?”
But he doesn’t get the chance to answer (not that he would have) because the door creaks open.
“Here is the food, as you requested,” Sue announces as she steps inside, Elliot trailing behind her with a plate balanced carefully in both hands. “And I have Sterling waiting to talk to you over the phone. I told him what happened, as you told me to, and he’s getting quite impatient.”
Sue sets a tray down on the low table, her sharp eyes flicking between me and Kai. There’s something different in her gaze when it lands on me, though. There’s almost a glimmer of sympathy softening the edges.
“Thanks, Sue,” Kai says politely, though he doesn’t look away from me.
Elliot shuffles closer, perching on the couch beside me. The plate lands in my lap before I can even protest, steam curling upward.
“Eat up,” he says, and this time I don’t protest.