Chapter 7
Octavia
Breathe.
The word pulses in my head louder than the music.
Air scrapes down my throat in a shallow drag, not nearly enough to steady the tremor in my chest. My fingers swipe under my eyes, catching the last of the tears before they can fall any further.
Mascara smears slightly against my skin, my fingers rubbing harder than necessary, as if friction can erase what just happened in that car.
Breathe.
The party roars around me, bodies pressing shoulder to shoulder in the entryway. Bass pounds through the floorboards, shaking the walls of Kadin’s house. Someone laughs too loudly near the staircase, the scent of chlorine and cheap liquor hanging thick in the air.
“Octaviaaaaa!”
Cheyenne’s voice slices through the chaos.
She barrels toward me from the direction of the kitchen, two red SOLO cups clutched in her hands like trophies.
Maria is nowhere in sight. Cheyenne’s outfit leaves almost nothing to the imagination, her blonde hair a halo of chaos around her flushed face.
When she reaches me, she throws one arm around my shoulders, vodka heavy on her breath.
“Where the hell have you been?” she slurs, peering at me with exaggerated suspicion.
The knot in my throat threatens to close again, but a smile stretches across my face anyway.
God it feels so fake.
“Silas took forever to leave the house,” I say lightly.
“Silas,” she mumbles, glancing around dramatically. “Where is that fine piece of a murderer at?”
“Chey,” I snap, sharper than I intend.
Her expression shifts instantly.
“It’s better for everyone if no one knows about his past,” I continue, lowering my voice. “Or that he’s my… brother.”
The word still feels wrong.
“Can we just forget about him? The last thing I need right now is to hear his name. Or see him.”
Cheyenne studies my face more closely then, some of the drunken fog clearing from her eyes. She motions for me to follow her away from the center of the room, weaving us toward a quieter corner near the hallway, before shoving one of the cups into my hand.
“Did something happen?” she asks quietly, eyebrows lifting. “After we left?”
The question lands like a weight.
Tell her.
Tell her about the hand under the table. About the car. About the way he covered your mouth and for a split second you weren’t in this neighborhood anymore.
“No,” the lie comes out immediately...too fast. “He’s just… damaged.”
The word tastes strange now.
“He’s going to make it impossible to get along with him,” I continue, staring at the clear liquid sloshing in the cup. “The less time I spend around him, the better.”
Especially after handing him pieces of my past I’ve never said out loud so bluntly. Especially after watching his face change when he realized exactly what kind of currency my mother preferred when she ran out of cash.
Stupid.
So fucking stupid.
Another weapon for him to use if he ever decides to.
The vodka burns as it goes down, sharp and warm. It settles in my stomach, spreading heat outward until my cheeks flush and the tightness in my chest dulls slightly. The second cup follows just as quickly when Cheyenne offers it without hesitation.
“Is he here?” she asks again, scanning the room.
“No more questions about him,” I mutter, tossing back the rest of the drink.
“Octavia!”
Maria’s voice rings out from the kitchen doorway. She’s already halfway through refilling her cup with whatever neon-colored punch someone spiked within an inch of legality. Her eyes find me, instantly lighting up.
Cheyenne and I weave through the crowd toward her, whispers starting up behind me as we move.
“Who is that?”
“What the hell-”
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.
The energy shifts before I even see him. Conversations stutter. A few girls near the entryway straighten instinctively, eyes locking onto the tall figure stepping inside. Silas nudges the door closed behind him, scanning the room once before his gaze lands on me.
It lingers.
Just long enough to remind me he’s still there.
Women swarm him almost instantly, drawn to the sharp angles and quiet danger he wears like a second skin. Their laughter rises, no shame in any of their expressions.
Shaking my head once at him, I give him the silent warning, before looking away entirely. Whatever happened in that car stays there.
“Hey, where’s-” Maria starts.
Cheyenne shakes her head quickly, cutting her off before she can finish the question.
“Right,” Maria recovers smoothly. “Well, Octavia… you know Kadin, right?” She smiles, tugging on the sleeve of the guy standing beside her.
Kadin turns fully toward us, abandoning whatever half-drunk conversation he was having. His smile is easy, warm in a way that doesn’t feel complicated.
“I think we have intro to psych together,” he says, his eyes meeting mine with recognition. “Maria’s been telling me all about you.”
His attention stays on me.
No sharp edges.
No calculated tension.
Just uncomplicated interest.
For the first time all night, my lungs feel like they might actually work the way they’re supposed to.
Maria’s eyes flick between me and Kadin like she’s lining up chess pieces.
“Chey,” she says suddenly, clearing her throat with exaggerated importance. “Can you help me with something in the bathroom?”
Cheyenne blinks at her, already halfway to grabbing another drink from someone passing by. “Now?” she groans dramatically.
“Now,” Maria insists, her fingers wrapping around Cheyenne’s wrist before she can protest again. As they retreat into the crowd, Maria throws me a wink that’s anything but subtle.
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head as they disappear down the hallway.
Kadin laughs softly beside me. “I can’t say your friend was subtle about wanting us to properly meet,” he says, topping off my cup without asking. “But I’m glad she pushed it. I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you.”
The statement catches me off guard.
“Me?” The word slips out in a quiet laugh.
“Yes, you.” His smile deepens, but it’s not cocky. It’s genuine. “You’re the only other person in that class who ever speaks up. Half the time it feels like it’s just you and me arguing with the professor.”
The memory draws a small smile from me. Intro to Psych is usually a sea of blank faces and half-hearted participation. I’d noticed him too, the way he challenged ideas without sounding like he was trying to impress anyone.
Sipping from his own cup, Kadin lets his eyes drift briefly, taking me in without making it obvious. The glance is warm, curious rather than possessive.
“Weird to see me in something other than a sweater?” I laugh, gesturing toward my outfit.
He shakes his head slowly, a faint grin tugging at his mouth as he licks a stray drop from the rim of his cup.
“Weird isn’t the word I’d use.”
“What word would you use?” I ask, letting the question linger between us.
Kadin studies me for a second longer, his expression softening into something thoughtful rather than crude. The music thunders through the walls, bass pulsing under our feet, but his focus doesn’t waver.
“Unexpected,” he says finally. “Not in a bad way. Just… different.”
The way he says it doesn’t feel rehearsed. His eyes dip briefly, tracing the lines of my outfit before returning to my face, not greedy, just appreciative.
“In class, you’re intense,” he continues. “You argue like you actually care about the material. You don’t just talk to hear yourself talk. It’s kind of refreshing.”
I can’t help the small laugh that slips out. “That’s not usually the word people use.”
“Most people are intimidated,” he shrugs lightly. “I’m not.”
The warmth from the vodka spreads further, smoothing the raw edges left behind from earlier. Being looked at like this, without calculation, without threat, feels almost foreign.
“And here?” I ask, tilting my head slightly.
“Here,” he says, stepping just a fraction closer so he doesn’t have to raise his voice over the music, “you look like you’re trying not to let anyone see what you’re thinking.”
The comment catches me off guard.
Before I can respond, he smiles again, softening the weight of it. “Which just makes me more curious.”
My fingers tighten slightly around my cup.
“Maybe I just don’t give things away for free,” I say, surprising myself with the steadiness in my tone.
Kadin’s grin widens. “Good. Makes it more interesting.”
The air between us shifts, not charged with danger, but with something... calming.
Then a body moves between us.
Not subtle.
Not accidental.
Silas wedges himself directly into the space, reaching across Kadin to grab a bottle from the counter, his shoulder brushing Kadin’s chest hard enough to make it clear he isn’t just passing through.
“Watch it, man,” Kadin says, irritation flashing across his face.
Not looking at him immediately, Silas twists the cap off the bottle with slow precision before finally glancing sideways.
“My bad,” he says, though the faint curve of his mouth makes it clear he doesn’t mean it.
His gaze shifts to me, lingering long enough to make me nervous.
What is he planning-
“Who’s your friend, baby sister?” he asks.
The nickname lands wrong, my whole body flinching.
Kadin frowns slightly. “Baby sister? I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I don’t,” I say quickly, the answer sharp enough to cut.
Silas tips the bottle back, taking a slow swallow before lowering it, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Lying to the boy toy?” he murmurs.
Kadin straightens, subtly stepping closer to my side without crowding me. “You got something you want to say?”
Silas studies him for a moment, then looks back at me as if Kadin barely exists.
“Just making conversation,” he replies.
But he doesn’t move away.
The music swells, bodies pressing in and out of the kitchen, the small triangle between the three of us feeling isolated from the rest of the party.
Kadin’s hand settles lightly at the small of my back, protective but not possessive.
Silas notices.
The faintest shift in his jaw gives it away.
Silas doesn’t storm off.
He drifts.
That’s worse.
After dropping that deliberate nickname into the air like a match and watching it flare, he shifts away from the counter with unhurried ease. The bottle remains loose in his grip as he moves through the kitchen, bodies parting around him without him asking them to. He doesn’t look back immediately.
That would be too obvious.
Instead, he takes his time reaching the sliding doors that lead out to the backyard. Once there, he leans, one shoulder braced against the frame, pool lights flashing across his face in restless streaks of blue and pink.
“So,” Kadin says, shifting a little closer so I can hear him over the music, “Maria briefly mentioned he is a foreign exchange student, what country specializes in brooding and shoulder-checking strangers?”
A laugh slips out of me despite my anger.
“I think it’s somewhere cold,” I reply. “Emotionally and geographically.”
He grins. “That explains the frostbite personality.”
The banter steadies me. It’s easy. Effortless in a way nothing involving Silas ever is.
“And here I thought you were the intimidating one in psych,” Kadin continues. “Turns out you’re harboring the real threat at home.”
“Please,” I scoff. “If he’s a threat, it’s only to basic social etiquette.”
Kadin’s eyes soften when he looks at me again. “You don’t seem rattled.”
“Why would I be?” I shrug.
He studies my face like he’s checking for cracks in the porcelain. The music shifts songs, bass deepening, bodies pressing closer as the living room fills. His hand brushes mine again, this time intentionally, fingertips grazing along my knuckles before settling loosely around my wrist.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re unshakeable,” he says quietly. “Most people are.”
The warmth of that, of being offered softness instead of a challenge, does something strange inside my chest.
“Maybe I just don’t like giving people the satisfaction,” I reply.
A flicker of approval crosses his face. “That I believe.”
From across the room, a burst of laughter erupts near the coffee table. Someone shouts for more cups. The energy shifts suddenly when a guy near the center of the living room climbs onto the couch cushions.
“Alright, alright!” he yells over the music. “We’re playing spin the bottle. Get over here!”
A chorus of cheers follows. People surge inward toward the cleared space on the rug, the coffee table shoved aside with scraping legs and careless force.
Kadin glances down at me with raised brows. “You look like someone who wins at games.”
A strange chill slides through me at the word 'games'.
Across the room, near the doorway to the backyard, Silas straightens fully now. He no longer leans. He no longer blends.
He watches.
The bottle is set in the center of the circle as people begin dropping to the floor, knees bumping, laughter spilling. Someone grabs Kadin’s arm, pulling him toward the forming group.
“Come on Anderson!”
He looks at me again. “You in?”
The safe answer would be no.
The right answer would be absolutely not.
But the alcohol hums warm in my veins, the tension from earlier still coiling tight beneath my skin.
“Why not,” I say.
We move toward the circle together, bodies shifting to make room. Lowering myself onto the rug opposite the bottle, I smooth my jeans over my knees.
Silas steps inside last.
No one invites him.
No one has to.
He drops down across from me with slow precision, legs stretching out carelessly, one arm draped over his knee, the bottle siting between us like a loaded weapon.
The room grows louder as someone explains the rules unnecessarily. Couples laugh. Strangers scoot closer.
Silas doesn’t look at the bottle.
He looks at me.
Not the playful glance he wore earlier.
Not the mocking smirk.
His eyes narrow slightly, darkening in a way that makes breathing feel like a chore.
Not jealousy.
Strategy.
Something about the way he studies me makes my pulse stutter.
This isn’t him reacting anymore.
This is him deciding.
The bottle spins for the first round, clattering softly as it rotates. People cheer when it lands, a kiss breaking out somewhere to my left, laughter following.
Through it all, his gaze never leaves mine.
In that moment, even before the bottle comes near us, I understand something with unsettling clarity.
Whatever happened in the car was impulse.
This?
This is calculated.
The way his eyes hold me tells me everything I need to know.
His games have just begun.