Chapter Ten Kade
It’s morning. Yet, I didn’t sleep. Again.
The communicator sits on the table. Silent.
Mocking. Nineteen hours until the next check-in.
Nineteen hours of this. I’m pacing. Can’t stop.
Can’t sit. Can’t think about anything except the clock.
The seconds. The minutes. The hours stretching ahead like an eternity.
A knock at the door. I freeze. My hand goes to the knife at my belt. Instinct. Always instinct.
“It’s me," a voice calls through the wood. The Raven’s husband.
I exhale. Force my hand away from the knife. Open the door. He’s standing there. Calm. Assessing. His eyes sweep over me. Take in everything. The shadows under my eyes. The tension in my shoulders. The way my hand is still hovering near the knife.
“You look like shit," he says.
“Thanks." I say as I roll my eyes.
He steps inside without waiting for an invitation. Closes the door behind him. Moves to the kitchen. Starts making coffee like he owns the place. He probably does.
I watch him. Don’t move. Don’t know what to say.
“When’s the last time you slept?" he asks.
“I’m fine."
“That’s not an answer."
I don’t respond. He pours two cups. Hands me one. I take it. Don’t drink. Just hold it. Feel the heat against my palms.
“She checked in last night," I say finally.
“Good."
“She’s safe."
“For now." The words hit like a punch. My jaw clenches. “She knows what she’s doing," he continues. “The Raven briefed her. She’s prepared."
“That doesn’t mean—"
“It doesn’t mean she’s safe. I know."
He sits at the table. Drinks his coffee. Calm. Like we’re discussing the weather. Like my entire world isn’t inside that organization. Like I’m not one bad check-in away from burning it all down.
“You’re spiraling," he says. Not a question. A statement.
“I’m fine."
“Stop saying that." His voice is sharp now. Cutting. “You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine since she left. And you won’t be fine until she’s back."
I don’t argue. Can’t. Because he’s right. He leans back in his chair. Studies me.
“I was like you once," he says quietly. I look at him. Really look at him.
“A long time ago," he continues. “Before the Raven. Before any of this."
He pauses. Drinks more coffee. “I was spiraling. Out of control. Killing without structure. Without purpose. Just feeding the hunger."
I know that feeling. God, I know it.
“The Raven was sent to kill me," he says. My eyebrows raise. “She was an assassin. I was a target. Simple."
“What happened?"
“She saw something in me." He shrugs. “Something worth saving. Something that could be channeled. Controlled."
“She gave you control. She gave you something that’s stronger than the hunger."
“Yes."
He sets his cup down. Looks at me directly.
“But it’s not perfect. It’s never perfect. There are still times when I need the hunt. When the hunger gets too loud and I can’t ignore it."
“You hunt her."
“Yes."
“And she lets you."
“She understands what I need. What I am."
I nod slowly. That’s what Amethyst does. She understands. She gives me what I need. Even when it’s dangerous. Even when it’s violent. Even when it should terrify her.
“But there was one time," he says. His voice changes. Quieter. Heavier. He stops. Stares at his coffee. The silence stretches. I wait. Don’t push. Just wait.
“I hurt her," he says finally. The words are barely audible. “During a hunt. I lost control. Choked her too hard."
My chest tightens.
“She passed out," he continues. “Went limp in my hands. And the weight of her—the way she just stopped fighting—that’s what brought me back." He looks up. Meets my eyes. “I thought I killed her. I squeezed too tight. She couldn’t even make a sound. Couldn’t tap out. Couldn’t bring me back. Just went limp."
Fuck. That’s my nightmare. That’s the thing that keeps me awake. The thing that makes me pull away. The fear that one day I’ll go too far and she won’t be able to stop me. “What happened?" I ask. My voice is rough.
“She woke up. Coughed. Gasped. Came back." He exhales slowly. “But those seconds when she was limp—when I thought I’d killed her—that was the worst moment of my life."
“How did you—"
“Come back from it?"
I nod.
“She didn’t let me spiral. Didn’t let me pull away.
Made me face it. Made me understand that I’m capable of that, yes, but I’m also capable of stopping.
Of caring for her after. Of choosing when the predator gets a voice.
" He leans forward. “You’re terrified you’ll hurt Amethyst. That you’ll lose control and she won’t be able to bring you back. "
“Yes."
“You might." The honesty is brutal. “But she knows that. She accepts that. And she’s still there. Still choosing you. Still giving you what you need."
“That doesn’t make it okay."
“No. It doesn’t. But it makes it real. It makes it honest."
He stands, walks to the window and looks out at the trees.
“The Raven could have left me after that. Should have, probably. But she didn’t. She stayed. Because she understands what I am. What we are." He turns back to me. “Amethyst is the same. She’s not naive. She’s not blind. She knows exactly what you’re capable of. And she’s still there."
I close my eyes. Feel the weight of that. The truth of it.
“Nineteen hours," I say quietly. “Until her next check-in."
“You’ll survive it."
“I don’t know if I will."
“You will. Because you have to. Because she’s counting on you to hold it together until she gets back."
He moves to the door. Pauses with his hand on the handle.
“The Raven and I will be nearby. If you need anything—if the check-in doesn’t come—we’ll move."
“Thank you."
He nods. Opens the door.
“You’re not special, Kade.”
I stiffen. He ignores it.
“You think you’re the first monster to find one person capable of keeping the leash in their hands?”
His eyes hold mine.
“You’re not. The difference between a predator and a corpse is having something worth stopping for.”
With that, he leaves. Closing the door as he goes.
I’m alone again. But different now. Less isolated.
Less like I’m the only predator fighting the leash every day.
Less like I’m the only one who’s looked at the blood on his hands and wondered when it would stop mattering.
He’s been there. He’s hurt the person he loves.
And he came back from it. They came back from it.
Together. I look at the communicator. Eighteen hours and fifty-three minutes.
I can survive that. I have to. Because she’s counting on me.
And I won’t let her down. Not today. Not ever.