Chapter Fifteen
Lia
The onions are sizzling when Leo strolls in, holding up a small Bluetooth speaker with a crooked smile.
He plugs it in and claps. “Alright, Chef. Put me to work.”
“Where’d you find that?”
“The meditation room. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
We move around the kitchen like pros. Mom used to let us help with dinner when we were little—stirring, seasoning, sneaking bites. The rhythm comes back easily, like muscle memory steeped in years of sauce and spice.
The first heavy bass line drops, and we’re off. Having a twin means never arguing over the playlist. I know every beat, every bridge, every high note.
We belt out the lyrics, our voices clashing in a beautiful, off-key wreck that bounces off the tile walls.
I’m mid-chorus, waving a wooden spoon like a microphone, when a glob of red sauce flies from my spoon and smacks him right in the face.
I lose the lyric, doubling over as a wheezing laugh takes over my body.
We dance, our sneakers sliding across the floor as we bump hips and crash into cabinets.
When the food’s ready, I head to the dining room to set up. The back door is slightly ajar. I push it open and step outside.
The patio is tucked behind a curtain of lush, emerald leaves. The sunset peeks through the branches in long streaks of gold that pool on the flagstone floor.
Why haven’t we eaten out here before?
I polish the silver until it gleams in the fading light, then adjust a fork by a fraction of an inch, only to move it back.
“Leo, bring the salad!” I call out.
I stand at the side of the table with my hands in my pockets to stop myself from fussing with the napkins.
Against the grittiness of the compound and the scars we carry, the white plates and fresh basil look like a lie. I bite the inside of my cheek, watching the steam rise from the pasta and vanish into the trees.
Is this too much?
What if they hate the food?
“Food smells incredible, Lia,” Carter says. “What’s the occasion?”
“Leo and I made our mom’s chicken parmesan, creamy risotto, fresh caprese, and garlic bread. It’s the least we could do after everything you’ve done for us.”
“While I appreciate the gesture, you don’t owe us anything.”
Zayne chimes in. “Looks great. Thanks for dinner.”
Leo leads the rest of the pack out, Marco and Kylo trailing behind.
Kylo stops at the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the table as if taking a mental snapshot of the transformation. His eyes find mine, and his dimple appears.
“You made this?” Marco asks, incredulous, as he stares at the mountain of food.
“Leo and I did.”
“Huh. And you actually invited me?”
“You’re here, asshole. Sit down and eat,” Zayne grumbles. He kicks out the chair beside him in a rough but clear invitation.
The wine Kylo picked out pours into glasses with a rich, dark crimson glug, and the steam from the chicken parmesan mingles with the scent of the damp evening. It’s a symphony of clinking silver, the scrape of chairs, and bursts of deep, male laughter.
Every time Marco’s grin flashes in my direction, the oily sensation of him prying at my thoughts resurfaces, dragging up memories I never gave him permission to see.
I don’t remember standing up. I don’t remember leaving the table.
I stand at the sink, the towel bunched in my fist. The counters are already spotless, reflecting the dim kitchen lights, but I scrub in small circles anyway—over and over—until the surface shines like a dark mirror.
“Lia.”
My towel drops as my hand flies to my sternum.
“Tell me why you’re in here scrubbing the same spot.” Kylo points toward the door. “When you should be out there eating the food you made.”
He closes the distance until my back hits the counter. He leans down, his shoulder brushing mine as he retrieves the fallen towel and tosses it onto the counter.
“I thought I could do it.”
“Do what?”
“Eat with Marco there.”
A line etches between his brows. “Why invite him?”
“To ease the tension I caused?” I shrug, the movement stiff and jerky. “I don’t know. I thought a meal would bridge the gap. I thought—”
“You didn’t cause a damn thing. Marco crossed a line he can’t uncross. You don’t owe him a seat at your table, and you sure as hell shouldn’t hide in the kitchen while he eats your food.”
“I’m not hiding.”
He raises a skeptical brow and extends his hand. “Come eat.”
When I still don’t move, his hand dives into his pocket. The metallic snick of a folding blade opening echoes against the kitchen tile.
He lifts it between us. “If Marco even thinks about touching you again, I’ll remind him who he’s dealing with.”
A knot tightens in my throat.
I’ve spent so long bracing myself that I don’t know what to do when someone other than Leo steps in first.
Heat blooms in my chest, like stepping from a dark room into sudden light. I search his face for any sign of the same spark. If his pulse is racing like mine, he buries it beneath cold, practiced restraint.
He gestures toward the patio, and we head back outside.
Kylo pulls out a chair—the one wedged securely between his own seat and Carter’s. He takes over before I reach for the serving spoon, filling my plate with generous portions of food.
“Remember when that hunter tried to gut you with his machete?” Zayne says to Carter, grinning. “You slipped behind him, ripped the weapon out of his hand, and had him face-down in—what—three seconds? The look on his face was fucking priceless.”
Carter chuckles. “Amateurs always think they’re faster than they are.”
Leo leans forward, his eyes bright with a hunger that has nothing to do with the food. “Carter’s speed is on another level.” He looks at Zayne. “We should spar sometime. I’d love to see that blade work up close.”
Carter nods toward Zayne, his expression relaxed, his eyes ever watchful. “He’s your guy for steel. Hand-to-hand is more my speed.”
“Just give me a Glock and a clear line of sight.” Marco gestures with a piece of garlic bread as if it were a barrel. “I’m good to go.”
“Talk all you want about guns,” Zayne says. “Real fighters rely on their hands. That’s where the skill lives. It’s how you fight when you’ve got nothing.”
Marco shrugs. “I’ll take a gun over a fistfight any day. I’d rather pull the trigger first than gamble on whether the other guy is faster.”
Kylo leans back in his chair, his tone flat but cutting. “Until someone with telekinesis catches that lead and sends it back through your skull.” He stares at Marco, unblinking. “Guns are loud, messy, and too easy to hit the wrong target. In a crossfire, a bullet doesn’t care who it hits.”
“I’ll just have to move faster,” Marco says. “Never slowed me down before.” His gaze slides to me. “Study my footwork. You clearly haven’t figured out how to do more than watch us fight.”
“Drop it, Marco,” Leo snaps. “Unlike you, Lia didn’t spend her entire life in combat simulations.”
Marco sneers. “Pity.”
Carter rests his forearms on the table, his presence reclaiming the head of the table. “I’ve heard you’ve been making progress, Lia. How about we take it to the floor tomorrow? No sparring, just a session to share skills.” He looks around the circle. “Thoughts?”
“I’m in,” Zayne says. “We can learn something from each other.”
“If I get to put this asshole on his back, then count me in,” Kylo says. The words are razor-edged, a promise wrapped in a challenge.
Marco doesn’t back down. “Bring it on, Radshaw. Let’s see how long you’re standing when I’m done with you.”
“Friendly training,” Carter says. “Everyone will share a technique. It’s time the twins pick up some of our more… specialized skills.”
Leo folds his arms over his chest. “We’ll show you a few things you won’t see coming.”
“That’s how we all learned—from each other,” Zayne says, nodding to Leo. “Guess we’ll see what you’ve got.”
Leo’s leaning into the conversation, his hands moving as he discusses tactical angles with Zayne. He doesn’t look like the college football player who’d taken too many vodka shots on Halloween, only to spend the next morning pale and miserable on the dorm steps, swearing he’d never drink again.
I watch the ice cubes float through my drink, envy and pride simmering together.
I want to belong the way he does.
The rest of dinner passes without more talk of training or any attempts by Marco to one-up everyone.
Zayne shifts the conversation to missions and the growing threat of Aether Hunters.
“We move north next. Most of the surrounding cities are cleared, and there haven’t been any new sightings.
If the coast is clear, that’s good news.
It means they’ve moved on. That buys us more time to prepare. Elijah’s team included.”
“Good idea,” Carter agrees. “I’ll send you with Leo and Marco this time around.
We’ll go over the details tomorrow.” He drops his napkin onto his plate and stands.
“Dinner was fantastic. Well done, Lia and Leo. Let’s meet tomorrow morning, six a.m. sharp, for training. ” He leaves the patio with his trash.
Zayne and Marco rise shortly after.
Zayne clears his place. Marco does not.
“This was fun,” Leo says. “Zayne’s coming around.”
“I couldn’t have done it without your help,” I reply, glancing at Kylo. “Or yours.”
Leo looks between us. “What did he do?”
“Bought the food,” Kylo answers with a smirk.
“Right.” Leo scratches the back of his neck. “Well, thanks.” He gathers our plates. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I watch him go for a beat too long before forcing myself to move, clearing the rest of the table. Kylo moves with me, his presence shadowing mine.
“I got this.” I carry the trash to the kitchen.
“You handled dinner. I’ll take care of the rest,” he replies, following me inside.
After discarding the trash, I lean against the counter and glance up at him.
He stands across from me, a few feet away, ankles crossed as he leans against the kitchen island. “You and Leo are pretty close, huh?”
We used to be.
Before we came here.
“We’ve been inseparable since we were born,” I tell him. “Our upbringing was far from perfect, but at the end of the day, I had Leo, and he had me.”
“Blair and I were close once. Leo keeps a close eye on you. I should’ve been there when Blair needed me.”
His words strike deeper than I expect. I keep my hands at my sides to stop myself from touching him.
“You did everything you could. I saw how hard you fought for her.”
If anything happened to Leo, I’d fall apart.
His jaw clenches, working back and forth as he swallows. I catch the bob of his Adam’s apple. “Carter’s pushed Leo, and he’s kept up. He’s capable.”
I’ve never doubted Leo’s strength. That’s not what scares me. I fear the emptiness in his eyes after a vision, the way the brother I knew is being replaced by the soldier Kylo is praising.
His eyes slide toward me, keen and searching. “Get some sleep.”
My fingers catch on the hem of my shirt, twisting the fabric tight.
What if I spiral tomorrow?
What if I freeze in front of everyone and prove I’m not fit for this life?
I let go, smoothing the wrinkles I made.
I have improved.
What if I don’t spiral?
What if I prove them wrong?