Page 11

KAIA

T he Order’s briefing room is too damn cold. Always has been. Probably on purpose—keep you alert, uncomfortable. Keep your blood sharp.

My father's already seated when I walk in. Perfect posture, suit pristine, silver at his temples like a badge of war, eyes cold enough to freeze lava.

"Sit, Kaia," he says without looking up.

No "hello." No "are you okay." Just— sit.

Classic Jareth Draven.

I do as I’m told, spine straight, boots flat on the ground. I keep my hands in my lap so he doesn’t see them twitch. Because they are. Still. Like the power’s hiding under my skin, waiting for round two.

He finally lifts his gaze. “You going to tell me what happened in training?”

My voice comes out steady. “Sloppy energy dump. My focus was shit. I overcorrected. It won’t happen again.”

His brow arches. “You threw a fellow agent across a combat mat and cracked a wall.”

“I said it won’t happen again.”

Silence.

I stare him down.

And he stares back like he's trying to see through my skull and rearrange my thoughts for me.

“You’ve always had… intensity,” he says at last. “But this wasn’t controlled.”

“I’m just tired, Dad.”

His eyes narrow at that word— Dad. I never use it in here. Not when we’re in uniform.

“Stay sharp, Kaia. That’s not a request.”

“Always am,” I say with a shrug. “Debrief over?”

He doesn’t respond. Just waves me off like I’m something to file away. I rise, give a clean salute, and head for the exit.

I make it halfway down the hall before I feel like I can breathe again.

Back in my quarters, I slam the door behind me, pull out the Order’s encrypted terminal, and punch in every goddamn clearance code I’ve got to research the one name that has echoed in my chest and head since the moment I came into physical contact with him in a voice that isn’t my own.

Elias Vorn.

The file is sealed tighter than a damn tomb, but I’ve broken into deeper shit before. Takes me fifteen minutes and a bypass I’m not supposed to know to finally access the core report.

CATEGORY OMEGA: TERMINATE ON SIGHT.

Subspecies: HYbrID—VAMPIRIC/WERE-LYCAN

Known Affiliations: NONE

Known Offenses: Unauthorized access to Veil sites, crypt raids, confirmed body count (approx. 27 agents), resistance leader contact suspected.

Threat Level: Extreme.

Directives: Capture impossible. Destruction only option.

My breath catches.

Destruction only option?

No trial. No interrogation. Just... erase.

I remember his face when I asked him what he was. That split second where the monster cracked, and there was something else underneath. Something human .

Why do I feel drawn to him?

Like something is hot in my chest and heavy in my gut, like gravity bent itself around him the second our eyes met.

And now I’m reading about him like he’s just a code and a threat profile.

Fuck.

I slam the terminal shut and pace. I need answers. Real ones.

Starting with that crypt.

I rerun the footage from my suit cam, what little didn’t corrupt in the collapse. Pause it on the runes. Trace them into the Order’s symbology system.

Most come back as “UNRECOGNIZED.” But one—just one—pings something buried in a redacted intelligence file:

Site-7: FAE ORIGIN—HEARTWOOD RELIC ZONE (SECTOR DISMANTLED).

Heartwood.

That name again.

Same word from the dream. From the tablet. From that old Fae tale buried in the archives that made my skin itch like it was being rewritten.

It lists one surviving location. Deep in the Grayspine Preserve—off-limits Order territory. Red-zoned after a Veil surge five years ago. Claimed unstable.

Bullshit.

I dig further. No recent scans. No patrols. The file’s been scrubbed.

They don’t monitor it.

They buried it.

And suddenly I’m not just curious.

I’m fucking done playing nice.

I pack fast—stealth gear, blade, neutral ID chip. I swap my comm for a ghost frequency module, jam tracking in my boots, lock the door, and reroute my logs to make it look like I’m on med-leave.

Mother still hasn’t spoken to me.

She walks past me like I’m glass—see-through, delicate, dangerous. I can feel the space between us now like a wound that’s not healing.

I’ve always loved being alone.

Now?

Now it just feels loud .

I hit the streets after dark, hood up, heartbeat steady. No cameras. No agents. No eyes.

It’s just me.

And whatever the hell is waiting in those ruins.