Chapter 25
Trey
I didn’t sleep.
Not really. The chair by the window wasn’t built for it—too narrow, wrong angle, it looks comfortable until you actually try to exist in it for more than ten minutes. But I stayed.
No one told me to go. That’s the thing that keeps getting to me.
Kyron carried her in and they all moved around her like a choreographed disaster—blankets, water, someone checking her pulse—and I just stood in the doorway like an idiot.
Waiting to be asked to leave. Waiting for one of them to look at me and say what are you still doing here?
They didn’t.
Vaelor handed me a plate around midnight. He didn’t say anything. Just put food in my hands and walked away.
So I stayed. Ate food I don’t remember tasting. Watched them take turns sitting with her, checking on her, doing all the things people do when someone they love is unconscious and they can’t fix it.
Love.
I don’t know if that’s the right word for whatever’s happening here. I don’t know what the right word is. But they have it. Whatever it is. They have it and it’s obvious and I’m sitting in a chair that doesn’t belong to me watching something I’m not part of.
Except I couldn’t leave.
Morning comes gray and slow through the window. She hasn’t woken up, but something’s shifted. Color in her face that wasn’t there last night. The way her fingers twitched this morning when Beckett moved her blanket. She’s still out, but not gone. Not like before.
Vaelor finds me in the kitchen around seven. He’s making coffee, moving through the space like muscle memory, and I’m standing by the counter not sure if I should offer to help or get out of the way.
“You should eat before you go,” he says without looking at me.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat anyway.”
He slides a plate across the counter. Eggs, toast, bacon. More than I deserve.
I eat because arguing seems pointless.
“She’s looking better,” I say. Stupid thing to say. Obvious. But I need to say something.
“She is.” Vaelor pours two mugs of coffee, pushes one toward me. “Color’s coming back. Pulse is stronger. She’ll wake up soon.”
“And then?”
He looks at me for the first time. Really looks, like he’s taking my measure.
“And then we figure it out.”
We.
He said it like I’m included. Like it’s not a question.
I don’t know what to do with that either.
The day drags.
I sit through three classes without hearing a word. Take notes I won’t remember. Nod when people talk to me. The whole time, my head’s back at the house—wondering if she’s woken up, if something’s changed, if I should’ve stayed.
By the time Mark Theory comes around, I’m wound so tight my jaw aches from clenching it.
The classroom is half-full when I get there. Same circle of chairs. Same professor arranging papers on her little table. Same everything, except—
Her seat is empty.
I knew it would be. She’s unconscious on a couch across campus, surrounded by people who actually know how to take care of her. Of course she’s not here.
But it still pulls at me. Like she’s supposed to be there. Like some part of her still is.
I take my seat. The one across from where she usually sits. The one that lets me watch her without being obvious about it, except I’m pretty sure I’ve never been subtle about anything in my life.
Silas comes in two minutes before class starts.
He looks the same as always. Put together, calm, that particular brand of composure that comes from never having to doubt your place in the world. He sits down across the circle, one seat over from Nova’s empty chair, and doesn’t look at me.
I shouldn’t say anything. I know I shouldn’t. Whatever’s between us now is better left alone, left to rot in silence until we can both pretend it never existed.
But her chair is empty and he’s sitting there like nothing happened and I can still see Harrick’s face when they laughed at her running away.
“You’re lucky we found her.”
The words come out before I can stop them.
Silas looks up. Slow. That flat expression I’ve seen a thousand times, the one that means he’s calculating exactly how much you’re worth to him.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nova.” I keep my voice low. The professor hasn’t started yet but she’s watching. “You’re lucky we found her when we did.”
“Lucky.” He tilts his head. “Why? She was back where she belongs.”
My hands curl into fists on my thighs.
“She almost died.”
“Did she?” He shrugs. One shoulder, casual, like we’re discussing the weather. “She survived out there fifteen years. I figured she’d be fine.”
He pauses and it grates at me.
“Or maybe not. Either way—” Another shrug. “She’s not your problem.”
I’m out of my chair before I know I’m moving.
The punch connects with his jaw. Solid, satisfying, the kind of hit that sends a message even if it costs you everything. His head snaps to the side and for one perfect second he looks surprised.
Then the professor is shouting and someone’s grabbing my arm and Silas is just sitting there, hand on his jaw, watching me with something that looks almost like amusement.
He doesn’t swing back. Doesn’t even stand up.
That’s worse somehow.
“Both of you. Out. Now.”
The professor’s voice cuts through the chaos. I’m breathing hard, knuckles throbbing, and Silas is already rising from his chair like this is all mildly inconvenient.
We end up in the hallway. The door shuts behind us and it’s just the two of us now, no witnesses, no buffer.
Silas brushes off his shirt. Straightens his collar. Doesn’t touch his jaw even though I know it’s going to bruise.
“That’s it, Trey. We’re done.”
“We were done the second you made her cry.”
“No. We were done the second you decided she mattered more than your future.” He straightens his collar. “My father was disappointed, by the way. When I told him you weren’t interested anymore. He had such high hopes for you.”
I don’t say anything. I made my choice three days ago.
“And when he comes for her,” Silas says, softer now, almost gentle, “I’ll be the one helping him.”
The world narrows.
“When he what?”
“You didn’t think this was just about you, did you?” He takes a step back. Smiling now. “She’s an anomaly, Trey. An unmarked adult who slipped through the system for fifteen years. My father’s very interested in understanding how that happened.”
“You stay the fuck away from her.”
“Or what? You’ll hit me again?” He laughs. Short, sharp. “Pathetic.”
I lunge.
And then there are hands on me—two sets, grabbing my arms, hauling me back. I’m fighting them without thinking, still trying to reach Silas, still trying to—
“Trey. Trey. Stop.”
Locke’s voice. Low and hard in my ear. His grip is iron on my arm.
Rane’s got my other side, pushing himself between me and Silas. “Walk away,” he says to Silas. “Now.”
Silas doesn’t move. He’s looking at all three of us with an expression I can’t read.
“You’re the ones running out of time,” he says. “Remember that.”
Then he turns and walks away. Unhurried. Like he didn’t just say he was going to help his father.
Locke doesn’t let go until Silas rounds the corner.
“What the fuck was that?” Rane’s voice is tight. “What did he mean, when he comes for her?”
I’m still shaking. Still trying to breathe through the rage that’s sitting in my chest like its trying to claw its way out.
“He wasn’t talking,” I manage. “That was a promise.”
Rane’s face goes pale. “We knew his father was watching. Gathering information. But this—”
“This is different.” Locke’s jaw is tight.
We stand there for a second, the three of us, the hallway empty and too quiet.
“Can we leave?” The question comes out before I think it through. “If the system’s actually coming for her—can we just go?”
“Go where?” Rane shakes his head. “The Houses control everything. Every territory, every border. You can’t just disappear.”
“She did. For fifteen years.”
“And look what it cost her.”
Silence.
“What does ‘coming for her’ even mean?” I ask. “Containment? Testing? What are we actually dealing with?”
“We don’t know.” Locke starts walking. We follow. “That’s the problem. We don’t know what his father wants, what the Nightmare Order’s interest is, or how much time we have.”
“So we figure it out,” Rane says. “We keep her close. We don’t let her out of our sight.”
“And if we can’t figure it out in time?” I ask.
Neither of them answers.
The house comes into view. From the outside, everything looks peaceful. But I know better.
“We don’t let her out of our sight,” I say again. Quieter now. “Not again.”
Locke glances at me. Something shifts in his expression—not quite acceptance, but close.
“Agreed.”
As we walk inside, Vaelor’s coming down the stairs. He stops when he sees us. Kyron’s leaning against the kitchen doorway with a mug, and Beckett’s on the couch next to—
She’s sitting up.
Blanket pooled around her waist, pale hair tangled, shadows still under her eyes. Beckett’s saying something to her, low enough that I can’t hear it. She’s nodding along, but then the door closes behind us and her head turns.
She sees me.
Those pale blue eyes lock onto mine and don’t let go.
And then she smiles—small, almost nothing—and looks away like she didn’t mean to do it.
I grip the doorframe without meaning to. Just to keep from falling forward. Or maybe just to keep my shit together.
Everything I’ve been carrying for three days—the guilt, the anger, the pull I couldn’t explain—it all goes quiet. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to understand what I’ve been trying not to know.
I’m not fighting this anymore.
I don’t know what I am to her. I don’t know what I am to any of them. But I know I’m not leaving.
Not now. Not ever.
She’s awake. She’s looking at me.
And I can’t pretend I don’t feel it anymore.