Chapter 14
Noah
I'm sitting at Rika's kitchen table, staring at a mug of coffee that went cold long ago, like everything else in my life for the past two days.
Rika hasn't even glanced my way since Mitchell showed up at her house and dropped the kids like unwanted luggage. I've replayed the whole fiasco in my mind on a loop, trying to figure out what I should have done differently.
I'm still replaying it, since Rika ignored all my texts that didn't pertain to the kids. Even then, she answered in clipped, single-sentence responses.
She shut me out like a door in my face.
I scrub a hand over my face and lean back in the chair, the wood creaking under my weight.
The house is unnaturally still. I can hear Matthew in the living room, or rather, I notice the absence of Matthew's usual noise.
No robot sound effects, no video game music, no footsteps thundering across the hardwood as he races imaginary bad guys.
Just a silence that presses and oppresses.
My chest aches with it. The whole place feels like it's holding its breath under an invisible weight.
I finally push the mug away and stand, rolling my shoulders to release the tension that's taken up permanent residence there. Time to check on Matthew again.
I walk into the living room and find him exactly where I left him twenty minutes ago: curled on the window seat, knees pulled to his chest, Mr. Gears clutched in one hand, staring out at the driveway with a blank, thousand-yard stare that no seven-year-old should have.
His wings hang limp against his back, the tips dragging on the cushion. The afternoon light slants through the window, painting gold bars across his small body.
"Hey, buddy." I keep my voice gentle as I sink down beside him on the window seat. "You hungry? I could make us some grilled cheese. Extra crispy, just how you like it."
"No, thanks," Matthew says without looking at me.
I try again, shifting tactics. "Want to show me what you're working on with your robot kit? I bet we could build something cool together. Maybe a robot that shoots lasers? Or one that makes pancakes?"
"No, thanks," Matthew repeats, his gaze still fixed outside.
Time will heal this, I know, but right now, I'd give anything to make him feel safe again. Poor kid has been through too much.
I rest a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense beneath my palm. My heart cracks a little more.
My phone rings, slicing through the moment. I pick it up, see Saltford Dance Academy on the caller ID, and my stomach drops like a stone.
I answer immediately. "This is Noah Mercer."
"Mr. Mercer, there's been an incident with Zoe." Ms. Langford's voice is brisk, controlled, but I can hear the edge under it. "We need a parent or guardian here immediately."
My pulse spikes, adrenaline flooding my system. "What kind of incident? Is Zoe hurt?"
There's a pause just long enough to make my heart slam against my ribs.
"Zoe is fine, but there was an altercation with another student during class. Zoe hit the other student and will need to be removed from the class until I can sort things out with her mother."
Fuck.
I expected more outbursts from Zoe eventually, especially with how quiet she's been since the driveway incident. The girl is a pressure cooker. Sooner or later, something was going to blow. I just didn't think it would be at the one place she usually feels in control.
I'm already moving toward the door, my free hand reaching for my keys.
"I'm on my way. I'll be there in ten minutes."
I hang up and immediately text Rika with shaking hands.
Me: Emergency at dance studio. Zoe got into an altercation with another kid. Heading there now with Matthew.
I don't wait for a response. I tell a wide-eyed Matthew to put his shoes on, and we're out the door a minute later.
The drive to the studio blurs into residential streets and rising dread. I keep glancing in the rearview mirror at Matthew, who's pressed to the window, Mr. Gears clutched to his chest like a shield.
I pull into the dance studio parking lot at the same moment as Rika. She's out of her car before I can park. Our eyes meet across the pavement.
For a heartbeat, the last two days hang between us, tight and unresolved. Then Rika's gaze drops to Matthew, stepping out of my SUV, and she opens her arms as the boy runs to her.
"What happened?" Her voice is high-pitched, but she doesn’t seem panicked. The woman has nerves of steel.
I quickly fill her in as we hurry toward the entrance. Rika's breath catches, her wings fluttering against her back.
Inside the studio, the fluorescent lights are harsh and unforgiving.
Ms. Langford waits near the front desk, silver hair pulled into a severe bun, her expression set.
Another mother sits on a bench next to the desk, her arm protectively around a human girl about Zoe's age.
A girl who holds an ice pack to the left side of her face.
Her cheeks are blotchy. She's been crying.
Shit. This isn't good.
"Ms. Everdeen." Ms. Langford's tone is clipped as she greets Rika. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"What happened?" Rika asks as her eyes trail from Ms. Langford to the other mother, who stares accusingly at Rika from the bench.
"Your devil of a daughter assaulted mine, that's what," the mother interjects. "What kind of child are you raising, to punch another girl in the face like that?"
Rika stares at the human woman, her mouth hanging open. She blinks repeatedly before turning back to Ms. Langford.
"You've known Zoe since she was four years old." Rika shakes her head. "She's never done anything like that before. There must have been a reason for this."
Ms. Langford draws herself up. "I'm sorry, Ms. Everdeen, but I do have a zero-tolerance policy on violence in my establishment. I’m afraid Zoe needs to leave."
Rika goes pale so fast it's almost frightening.
"You're expelling Zoe?" Her voice comes out strained, like she's forcing the air through her throat. "For one incident? Do you even know what happened?"
My eyes go to the girl, who holds the ice pack to her cheek and bites her lower lip. I remember her. She's Zoe's understudy. The one who didn't get the solo.
"Your name is Madison, isn't it?" I kneel in front of the girl and ignore her mother as she glares at me.
The girl nods but refuses to make eye contact.
"You're a friend of Zoe's, aren't you? I remember seeing you two laugh together the other day after class," I say with a soft, muted tone. "Do you want to tell us what happened, in your own words?"
Everyone watches as the girl slowly turns her gaze to me, then to her mother, and finally to Rika.
"I'm so sorry." The girl's face crumples and she turns pleading eyes to her mom. "I didn't mean for it to go this far."
Her mother stills and looks at her, then nods for her to continue.
"I told Zoe that she may have won the solo, but at least my dad was there at the recital, not some nanny."
The girl's eyes fill again, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry."
Rika's wings snap shut behind her. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. For a second, she looks like she might shatter right there on the dance studio floor.
The girl starts crying harder. She scrubs at her face with the back of her hand, voice wobbling.
"I was jealous that she got the solo and I didn’t and I just… said something awful."
"Oh my God." The girl's mother shakes her head and looks at Rika with big, apologetic eyes.
Even Ms. Langford stifles a gasp. Rika swallows like it hurts, her small, dainty fingers closing around her throat.
Then she turns to Ms. Langford. "Where is Zoe now?"
"In the changing room," Ms. Langford says. "I told her to wait there until you arrived."
Rika turns and strides down the hall so fast her cardigan flutters behind her.
Seconds drag. Then Rika comes back into the lobby like she's been launched.
"She's not there." Her voice comes out too sharp and high-pitched. Her eyes are wide and glassy, panic pouring off her in waves. "Zoe isn't in the changing room."
Ms. Langford's mask cracks. "What? She was there a few minutes ago."
Rika doesn't hear her. She looks straight at me, raw fear in her face.
"Noah," she says, voice shaking. "Do you think she ran away?"
All heat drains from my face.
"She can't be far," I say, glad to hear my voice strong and steady. "We need to split up. You take Matthew and drive the routes she might walk. Home, the park near your house, anywhere she'd feel safe. I'll go on foot around the studio."
Rika looks at me with wide eyes, then nods. Her hands close around Matthew's shoulders.
"Okay. Yes. Okay." Her voice shakes. "That's a good plan. Let's do that."
We leave after Ms. Langford promises to call both of us if she or anyone at the studio hears from Zoe. We separate in the parking lot. Rika drives off with Matthew, and I take off down the sidewalk, casting wide glances around the empty town square.
My mind maps the area automatically. If I were a thirteen-year-old girl, hurt, angry, and humiliated, where would I go?
Somewhere familiar. Somewhere safe. Somewhere she could be alone.
I cut through the town square, scanning benches and corners and the gaps between buildings. Saltford Bay is small, but in this moment it feels endless. Worst-case scenarios try to claw up my spine and I shove them back down.
Then I see it: a flash of sapphire blue near the playground across the square.
My chest loosens slightly as I change direction, forcing my pace to slow. Zoe is curled on a weathered wooden bench, hoodie pulled over her head despite the mild weather. Her sapphire wings are tucked close, wrapped around her shoulders. She stares at the ground like she can will herself invisible.
I don't announce myself. I just sit on the far end of the bench, leaving space between us.
Then I wait.
The silence stretches. A bird calls from somewhere in the trees. A car passes behind us. The faint smell of cut grass and playground mulch drifts on the breeze.