Chapter 15 #2
His dark eyes travel over my face intently, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve gone too far.
But then, a coarse chuckle escapes him. It starts as a rumble deep in his chest, then a huff, and finally, a genuine, if reluctant, full-bellied laugh.
It’s a surprising, gravelly sound, and it makes his shoulders shake.
“A survival skill . . .” he repeats, breaking out in an actual grin.
I’ve never seen him smile like this and, wow.
It magnifies his handsomeness ten-fold. “You’re going to organize us all into oblivion, aren’t you?
” The way he says it—low and intimate, like a flirtatious challenge—sends a little frisson through me.
“Only if you don’t cooperate,” I say in mock threat, emboldened by his unexpected mirth. I reach out, intending to tap his arm lightly in a gesture of playful camaraderie.
But when my fingers brush his arm, we both freeze, the humor draining from the air.
His gaze drops to my hand, while my heart flutters in my chest like a trapped bird.
Kade’s eyes flick to mine, drawing me in, and he leans toward me almost like he can’t help it.
His lips part, and for a wild, heart-stopping second, I’m certain he’s going to kiss me.
Then that cold mask drops over his features, shutting me out, before he clears his throat and steps back.
An uncomfortable, charged quiet settles over us.
I blink rapidly, feeling exposed and foolish. The rejection stings more than it should, and the spike of disappointment is like a match to a fuse. My fingertips, the ones that touched him, tingle with magic that suddenly pushes at my control, threatening to spill out.
Gritting my teeth, I’m able to coax it down, keep my hold on it.
“Did you see that?” The words tumble out, dispelling the weird silence with an excitement that eclipses my hurt feelings. “I controlled it!”
“Well done, Librarian,” he says, a little stiffly, but I swear he looks proud.
Only later does it dawn on me that it’s only his touch that makes my magic flare. Back in the Warden library, Seb touched me and nothing happened. Why would that be . . .? When I’m back to my research, I make a note in my secret list about it.
***
Over the next few days, I notice a new, almost imperceptible shift.
The sharp edges of Kade’s solitude soften.
He proactively asks me questions about my research, about the books, with a subtle tilt to his head as he listens to my explanations.
A tentative domesticity takes root, filled with comfortable silences and shared meals, punctuated by my questions and his succinct, but increasingly informative, answers.
One day, a barista espresso machine shows up in the kitchen, and the next time I’m at my research station, I look up to see a hot hazelnut latte sitting in front of me, with Kade nowhere to be seen.
I start to actually miss him when he’s outside, doing .
. . whatever it is he does. And with some prodding, he even lets me reorganize his bookshelf, watching with a bemused expression as I hum contentedly, using a combination of magic and librarian prowess to improve his shelving system.
The warehouse begins to feel less like magical quarantine and more like a cozy cottage—what does Kade call it? His den.
***
During a lull in training, I open my phone to a string of texts from Em.
I haven’t seen her in weeks; she still thinks I’m away for work.
I’ve been checking in regularly to make sure there haven’t been any more signs of the echo-beast around her and Mom’s house.
And to respond to every “Em-ergency,” text—a frequent occurrence—like when Mom forgot to pick up the creamer Em likes, when her “fourth favorite movie of all time” left Netflix, and when her best friend had the audacity to skip last period and not invite her.
With a mix of affection and exasperation, I scroll through today’s texts. Em’s out for blood because Mom won’t let her get a third cat. So unfair. I snort, rolling my eyes and tapping back a reply, about Em being destined to follow in my footsteps and become a spinster cat lady.
Kade, who has been quietly tidying away all of the displaced training equipment, glances my way at the noise.
“It’s Em. Trying to get another cat. As if that’s ever going to happen.”
“Your sister,” Kade states with unusual solemnity, his hand pausing mid-motion for a moment before resuming.
My phone buzzes again with a new message.
Em
whatever. btw, told Dad I’d go to that Lumina Festival since u ghosted him. so u owe me
I sigh, typing back a quick “Have fun!” before putting my phone down. I really had forgotten all about that.
“Yeah,” I reply to Kade, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “She’s kind of a pain, but I love her I guess.”
“You shouldn’t take her for granted like that,” he says, barely audible.
My smile falters at the seriousness in his tone, and the rigidity of his shoulders.
He won’t look at me. “Trust me, that’s impossible,” I say, trying for a teasing tone to lighten the mood.
“She texts me every five minutes to make sure I don’t forget she exists.
If anything, I think she’s the one taking me for granted as her personal crisis hotline. ”
He finally faces me, and the casualness in my voice shrivels. Something profound has shifted in his expression—a shadow hanging over his features like a cloud blocking the sun. His eyes, usually just dark umber and gold edges, are haunted.
“Right. A crisis hotline,” he parrots hollowly.
The silence that follows feels tense, heavy with something I don’t understand. Kade turns away from me entirely now, his spine stiffening as he resumes what he was doing with mechanical precision.
“Kade?” I venture, my stomach plummeting as I realize I’ve somehow stepped on a landmine I didn’t know was there. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” The words come out clipped, too sharp. He still doesn’t look at me. “Just . . . go back to your texting.”
But it’s clearly not fine. The easy atmosphere has evaporated, replaced by something brittle. I can practically feel him pulling away, rebuilding walls I didn’t even realize he’d let down. I can’t bear to think that I’ve somehow wounded him, even unintentionally.
Dropping my phone, I carefully approach him. Up close, I can see the way his hands shake with the barest tremors.
“What is it? You can talk to me, you know.”
There’s a moment where I think he’s simply going to ignore me.
“She used to do that,” he says, almost to himself. His hands have stopped moving entirely now, gripping the edge of the table. “Come to me for everything. Stupid things. Important things. Didn’t matter. Sometimes . . . I thought it was annoying.” His voice cracks on the last word.
The raw pain in his voice makes my chest ache. I can see it now—the rigid set of his shoulders isn’t anger, it’s someone trying desperately to hold it together.
“I’d give anything for another one of those interruptions,” he whispers, thick with grief.
My chest clenches. Here I was, going on about how irritating my sister is, like a total oblivious idiot, and Kade is reliving the absence of his. I may not know what he’s grappling with, but I can see that he’s hurting. Deeply.
Without thinking, driven by an overwhelming need to offer solace, I reach out. “What happened to her?” I whisper. My hand finds his forearm, gripping it gently, a bridge across the lonely chasm that separates us.
But as soon as my palm makes full contact, a shockwave hits me. Not physical—worse. Pure grief, oppressive and potent, floods through me like poison. My body goes strange and distant. The warehouse fades, its dim light replaced by darkness.
Voices are screaming around me, but not here. Everywhere. Nowhere. I’m falling.
I’m not falling. I’m in a huge rustic lodge that is alive with firelight and the mouthwatering scent of simmering stew. There’s laughter and music. People are dancing.
Then, I see Kade. A younger Kade, who watches from the side.
He looks—fuck, he looks happy. Relaxed. His whole face is different without that hardness carved into it.
A woman twirls past him, dark hair flying, bright eyes lively and mischievous.
She looks like him—the same cheekbones, the same strong nose, the same coloring. Her name comes to me: Maia.
Grabbing Kade’s hand, she tugs him toward the dancers.
“Come on! Even big serious Hunters need to loosen up.” Kade shakes his head with an exasperated smile, but lets her pull him into the revelry.
Before long, a tall attractive man with a mop of sandy curls sweeps in, turning Maia in a spin that makes her squeal with delight before wrapping his arm possessively around her waist. She leans into him, adoration written all through her body.
“Freedom at last, thanks man,” Kade says playfully, using the opportunity to attempt an escape.
“Oh no you don’t,” Maia retorts. “I insist.”
Kade rolls his eyes but that grin splitting his face gives him away.
The scene flickers, the edges blurring like an old photograph.
The music fades, replaced by the sound of a summer breeze.
Now Kade is even younger, a teenager, and Maia is just a little girl with scraped knees and a missing front tooth.
She solemnly pushes something into his hand—a simple braid of dark leather, with a wooden bead of a sleeping wolf pup freshly carved.
“I made it for you,” she says with a child’s seriousness. “Do you like it?”
Then everything lurches sideways, giving me whiplash.