Chapter 6
Nova
I reach for the door.
It opens before I touch it.
And my brain stops.
He fills the doorway. Tall—taller than me by almost a foot—with broad shoulders that block out the light behind him. Dark brown hair, green eyes that lock onto mine and don’t let go. There’s a bruise fading along his jaw, yellowing at the edges, and his knuckles are scraped raw.
He looks like he’s been fighting. He looks like he won.
I forget to breathe.
He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me like—
I don’t know. Like he’s been waiting.
“I’m—” I have to clear my throat. “I’m Nova.”
Something shifts in his expression. “Locke,” he steps back. Enough to let me through.
I’m suddenly very aware of how close I’ll have to pass to get inside. How much space he takes up. The way his shoulders taper down to his waist in a sharp V.
I walk through the door and don’t breathe until I’m past him.
The smell hits me first—something cooking, rich and warm, and my stomach cramps so hard I have to lock my knees.
Four days since I’ve eaten. Don’t think about it.
Then the rest registers. Warmth. Lamplight. A space that feels lived-in.
I can feel him behind me. Locke. Every inch of where he’s standing, like my body has decided to track him whether I want it to or not.
I step further into the room and there are more of them.
Four more.
My eyes catch on the one in the kitchen doorway first—impossible not to.
He’s the biggest person I’ve ever seen. Golden hair past his shoulders, arms that look like they could lift me without effort, chest straining against his shirt.
He looks like a statue someone carved out of sunshine and then supersized.
He’s holding a glass of water, and there’s a stillness to him that doesn’t match his size at all.
“She’s beautiful.”
The words come from the couch, soft, like he didn’t mean to say them out loud.
My head snaps toward him. Heat floods my face.
He’s already blushing too. Auburn hair, warm eyes, and a face that’s going red so fast I can almost watch it happen. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something else, thinks better of it, and closes again.
Someone inhales sharply. Someone else mutters something and he says “Shut up” to no one in particular.
Great. Ten seconds and we’ve both made it weird.
“He’s not wrong.”
The voice comes from the window and I turn toward it and—
My mouth goes dry.
Blue.
That’s it. That’s the only thing in my head. Eyes so blue they hurt to look at, and I can’t make myself stop. Dark hair, messy, falling into his face. Rings on his fingers. He’s looking at me like he already knows something I don’t.
I’m staring. I know I’m staring. I can’t make myself stop.
He smirks.
My face goes hot again. I look at the floor.
“Ignore Kyron.” The auburn one, still red. “He’s like that with everyone.”
“I’m not like anything.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
“There’s really not a difference.”
“There’s a significant—”
“Do you want to sit down?”
The golden one. I turn too fast, overcorrect, have to catch my balance on nothing. He’s moved closer—when did he move?—and he’s holding out the glass of water. His hands aren’t quite steady.
I notice. I don’t know why I notice.
“She just got here.” Locke, behind me. “Give her a second.”
“I’m just—”
“Vaelor.”
One word and the golden one stops. They’re having a conversation I don’t speak and I’m standing in the middle of it with my weight on the wrong foot.
“I’m fine.” Too sharp. I hear it. Can’t fix it. “I don’t need to sit. I don’t need water either.”
I take a breath trying to calm myself but it’s not working.
Nobody argues. Nobody looks away either.
Vaelor sets the water on the counter. I should say thank you or something but the words don’t come.
“I’m Rane.” The one on the couch. He’s stayed where he is, giving me space. “That’s Vaelor. Kyron’s by the window—”
“Still staring,” Kyron says.
“—still staring, and Beckett’s in the chair.”
I turn to find the last one and something in my chest goes quiet.
He’s unexpected. Silver hair fading to pink, dark at the roots. Sharp cheekbones, dark brown eyes, tattoos covering his arms and disappearing under his sleeves.
He’s the only one who isn’t looking at me like I’m something to solve.
He leans forward in his chair and I take a step toward him without meaning to.
What the fuck am I doing?
I plant my feet, not willing to let it happen again.
I can breathe when I look at him.
He meets my eyes and I realize I’ve been standing here too long, looking at him too long, and the heat is back in my face and I need to—
“You already met Locke.” Rane keeps talking like nothing happened. “He’s friendlier than he looks.”
“I’m really not,” Locke says.
“He is. He just doesn’t want anyone to know.”
Locke makes a sound that might be disagreement but doesn’t argue.
Rane’s mouth twitches like he’s won something.
“And you are…?” Rane prompts.
I blink. “What?”
“Your name.”
“Oh.” God. “Nova.”
“Are you hungry, Nova?”
Vaelor again. The smell from the kitchen is making me dizzy. I press my hands flat against my thighs.
“I don’t need anything.”
Something passes between Vaelor and Rane. A look I can’t read.
“Okay,” Rane says. “Whenever you want it, there’s always food in the fridge.”
I nod without thinking.
I keep waiting for the pressure and it’s not coming and I don’t know what to do with my hands. Every time one of them moves I track it, all five, even when I’m only looking at one. My skin feels wrong. Too tight. And the only space to breathe is looking at Beckett.
Since when? I need to get out of here.
“Where do I sleep?”
It comes out harder than I meant. Rane doesn’t react.
“Upstairs, down the hall. Third door on the left.”
“It’s been empty,” Vaelor adds. “We can get you whatever you need—”
“She doesn’t need the list right now.” Kyron, still by the window. Still watching me with those impossible eyes. “She needs to breathe.”
“I can breathe fine.”
“You’re not.”
I want to argue but I can’t because he’s right. I’ve been holding my breath and now I have to let it out and they’re all going to see.
“I’m tired.” I make myself move. One foot. “Long day.”
I walk past the couch. Past Vaelor, who steps back to let me through. Past the kitchen doorway that smells like food and makes my hands want to shake.
I glance back without meaning to.
They’re all watching me go. Locke’s hands are fists at his sides.
I walk faster.
Up the stairs, third door on the left. I close it behind me and lean back against the wood until my hands stop shaking.
What the fuck was that?
I couldn’t think out there. Couldn’t land on a single thought before the next one hit—my brain stopping at the door, staring at the one by the window, moving toward the silver-haired one like my body had its own plan.
That’s not me. I don’t do that.
This is adrenaline. It has to be.
I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars.
It doesn’t help.