Chapter 29
Khalee
Present
The motorcycle’s engine sputters to silence beneath us, leaving nothing but wind curling around my neck and the soft, rhythmic ticking of cooling metal. That sound alone brings a strange kind of stillness, like the world is holding its breath.
Ahead of us stands the building. Low, quiet, unremarkable from the outside, but dark and out of place, especially for this part of Stormhaven.
It’s not as remote as the one last time, since there’s no overgrown trees or endless gravel driveways.
But still wrong. Still full of that kind of energy that screams “don’t go closer. ”
My eyes scan the windows. No lights. No movement. No sign of anyone inside.
Mada has no reason to be here. None. And that alone is enough to set my pulse hammering.
I leave the bike and plant my boots on the gravel, the crunch far too loud in the silence. I force myself to breathe, to slow it all down.
At least this time, I’m not alone. I try to remind myself.
I repeat it like a mantra in my head, gripping the thought so tightly I almost miss how it feels like a lie.
Beside me, Kaze doesn’t move. He’s back in his ghost form now, all dim edges and vanishing warmth. However, the energy emanating from him is sharp. Electric. His presence flickers faintly beside mine like he’s barely holding his shape together.
I feel the tension in him like it’s part of me. Maybe because it is. Or just because it reflects my own.
My hands start to shake. I shove them deep into the pockets of my jacket, but the sensation doesn’t leave. My chest is too tight, my breaths too shallow.
Because my brain knows this isn’t the same as that night.
But my body… my body doesn’t know the difference.
Every step closer to the building feels like a step backward in time.
I can feel the past scratching to be remembered, hot breath in my ear, weight pressing down, the unbearable silence of being alone.
Why does it feel so similar?
Why does the universe keep dragging me into places like this, with windows that don’t glow and doors that don’t open unless something’s already gone wrong behind them?
I clench my jaw, dig my boots into the gravel to stay grounded.
This isn’t the same. I tell myself. Over and over.
This time, I’m not alone.
But fear is a living thing. It breathes under your skin and grows quiet in our bones until something wakes it. And right now, mine is wide awake.
“Khalee?”
Kaze’s voice breaks through the silence. It’s low, rough, like he doesn’t want to scare me more than I already am.
I glance at him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Are you… Are you afraid?”
I nod, just once. It feels like talking too much, but is that really the case?
“Yeah, ” I whisper. “I am.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him waiting for me to add to it.
“We don’t know what we’re walking into, ” I say finally. “You were right. Of course, you were right.” I admit.
“I’m here, love. And your parents will be too. Soon enough.”
See? That’s different from the last time. I say to myself, trying to regulate my emotions.
Do you know what no one tells you about trauma?
That the quiet explosions are the worst.
People expect screams. Sobs. Shattered glass and broken voices.
They expect pain to be loud. But sometimes… it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a silent war, shame clashing with regret, guilt gnawing at you in the dark, while you smile through it all because the alternative is too exhausting.
The pain I feel right now, the one that never left, is not loud. It’s silent and cold, a thick, suffocating barrier between what I feel and what I can say.
For years, my mind tried to form the words, to explain, to reach, but nothing ever seemed good enough.
Nothing ever sounds like enough.
So I stopped trying.
Even when I feel like I’ll burst. Even when I feel like I will end up talking about it. I don’t.
I can’t.
Because the worst kind of pain didn’t just break me.
It stole my voice.
Five years ago, I got trapped inside myself, behind some dark, shatterproof glass, and I’ve been screaming from behind it ever since.
But no one hears me there.
Even when I cry. Even when I laugh.
The parts of me that hurt the most stay buried. Untouched. Because I can’t bring them into the light.
I don’t know how.
Vulnerability doesn’t feel like healing for me. It feels like exposure. Like I’m peeling off my skin just to prove the wounds are real.
And God, I just wish someone could reach inside and see it.
Without me having to say it.
Without me having to ask.
I think I’m still waiting for someone to save the girl I was. For someone to come through that door and stop everything.
Like I hoped he would.
But just like then, it never happens. It never happened at all.
So I wear the mask.
I have to.
Because the idea of taking it off, of letting someone see the ruins underneath, costs more than pretending everything’s fine ever did.
And just like that, no one sees the quiet way I constantly fall apart.
“They’re here, ” Kaze murmurs beside me, his voice pulling me gently, but firmly, back into the present.
My breath catches in my throat as headlights slice through the night and a familiar car comes into view, slowing as it pulls up near the building. Near us.
Both doors open in sync, and I see my parents.
They came here as quickly as they could, not even bothering to change out of their pajamas, my mother in an oversized hoodie and slippers and my father in joggers and a t-shirt that clings to the worry in his frame.
Even under the poor lighting, I can see the panic on their faces.
My mother doesn’t hesitate. She rushes toward me without a word, her arms wrapping around me so tight it almost knocks the breath from my lungs.
“What happened, dear?” my mother asks, her voice already cracking at the edges. “Why are you here… alone?”
She pulls back just enough to look me over, eyes flicking across my face, searching for something, an answer, a wound, an explanation. Then she glances past my shoulder, scanning the darkness around us.
She’s not just looking for context.
She’s looking for him.
The ghost she knows exists.
I let out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. It’s not bitter. Not quite.
“I’m not alone, ” I whisper.
Her eyes widen at that. Not fear, not quite disbelief. Just a moment of flickering awareness.
It’s strange. But it’s light.
My father arrives next, slower than my mother, but just as worn down by worry. He places a firm but careful hand on my shoulder, his brow is furrowed deep, a crease I’ve only seen a few times in my life.
“You scared the hell out of us, baby girl, ” he says quietly. “Your call… where’s your sister?”
Right.
So we’re going straight to it.
“I think she’s inside.” My voice wavers, but I manage to hold his gaze.
He looks past me toward the building, and my mother does the same, her expression shifting from concern to disbelief.
“Inside that?” she asks, her tone edged with shock and something close to disgust.
“Yeah, ” I breathe. “I… I didn’t want to bother you, but… I also didn’t have it in me to do it alone this time.” I confess, but I know it’s not enough for any of them to understand the meaning of it.
Because they know me as the one who always takes care of Mada.
The fixer. The protector. The one who cleans up the messes and smooths out the damage.
So they’re probably thinking this is just another day taking care of her, just one I’m too tired to deal with alone.
But it’s not that.
It’s so much more than that.
“That girl…” my father mutters, shaking his head. “She never learns.”
There’s no anger in his voice. Just… disappointment. Exhaustion.
And that’s when it hits me, a different kind of fear.
Fuck.
She’s going to kill me for this.
For bringing our parents into her chaos.
For breaking whatever fragile barrier she’s built between them and the version of herself she doesn’t want them to see.
She’s going to scream. She’s going to hate me.
Because I didn’t just cross a line tonight, I dragged them over it with me.
And for a second, I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake.
I feel Kaze’s presence beside me, quiet, observant. Solid in a way that has nothing to do with form.
“Stop it, ” he says gently. His voice is low, like it’s meant for me alone. “Stop thinking about it, ” he repeats. “I can feel you turning on your fight-or-flight mode, love.”
And I am.
I can feel it coiling inside me. That tightening in my chest. The part of me that wants to run. To undo this. To take it all back.
“She needs you all, ” Kaze says again, his voice steady. “And you need them too.”
I nod slowly, swallowing the fear although it’s against my nature to do so.
Then, before I even realize the words are forming, before I can stop myself, they’re already out:
“Maybe we should call the police.”
The second I say it, I feel the weight of it drop like a stone in the middle of the silence.
Fuck.
“The police?” my mother echoes, her tone shifting instantly. She looks at me with wide eyes, sharp and alert now. “Khalee… what’s really going on?”
Her voice is too calm for the panic that rises in her eyes.
“Yes, ” I say, forcing myself to keep breathing. “We don’t know what we’re going to find inside. It might be nothing, but…” I trail off, my throat tightening around the truth I still can’t say.
“Go on, love. Push for it. You can do it, ” Kaze murmurs beside me.
I feel his hand on mine, not cold, not warm, just there. Just anchoring, and I grip it like it’s the only thing holding me upright.
“It’s better to be safe than sorry, right?” I finish, and my voice doesn’t shake this time.
My father doesn’t argue. Don’t hesitate.
He steps away, pulling out his phone, already dialing. It only takes a few short minutes.
But we don’t get the luxury of waiting.
Because out of nowhere, I hear a scream.
It cuts through the night like a blade, and all the composure I’ve managed to hold crumbles in a single heartbeat.
Before I know it, my legs are moving. My lungs are burning. I hear my mother and Kaze shouting something behind me, but they’re too far away already.
I’m running towards the building with no lights on, up cracked stairs and through rusted doors.
Because my sister is in there.
And she needs me.