Page 3

KAIA

T here’s a knot in my chest that hasn’t loosened since Jersey.

No matter how many times I replay the mission, the same damn question echoes in the back of my skull—what the hell happened to me in that room?

I felt something tear open inside. Like a door slamming off its hinges. I saw light , and a voice that wasn’t mine whispered like it had been waiting centuries for me to hear it. But when I tried to bring it up in the debrief, Wells just stared at me like I’d grown antlers.

“You hit your head,” he said flatly. “Next time, wear your damn helmet, Draven.”

That was it. No follow-up. No concern. Just a flick of his wrist and a warning to submit a full written report to Archives. Which I didn’t. Obviously. Last thing I need is my father reading that his daughter hallucinated on a clean raid.

He’d drag me in for “reconditioning” so fast I wouldn’t have time to blink.

The thought makes my jaw clench. Dad doesn’t believe in softness. He believes in control. In elimination. In loyalty above blood. Above love. Especially above truth.

If he finds out something’s… wrong with me?

I exhale hard and grip the edge of the building’s rooftop, letting the breeze scrape against my skin. Night’s dropped like a curtain over the city, and the wind smells like exhaust and burnt coffee and something darker underneath—like copper and smoke and secrets.

Perfect hunting weather.

Solo patrols are technically discouraged, but I called it in as recon. There’s been chatter on the Order’s comms about a possible supernatural nesting site near Grand Street. Reports of flickering lights, sulfur smells, and some poor bastard who swore he saw a child “turn into smoke.”

He’s probably drunk.

Still… the static feeling in my chest is back. That same prickling hum from the Jersey raid. It's faint, but steady, like a heartbeat that’s not mine.

I follow it.

The alley behind the warehouse is narrow and soaked in shadow. My boots crunch glass and something slick. A cat darts across my path, yowling. There’s no sound otherwise. Not even the wind.

And then there he is.

I freeze.

Silhouetted at the far end of the alley is a man. Tall. Broad shoulders. Still as a statue, like he’s part of the night itself. But even from this distance, I feel it.

That pull .

It’s not attraction, not exactly. It’s deeper. Raw. Like the universe just yanked an invisible thread taut between us, and suddenly I can’t breathe right.

He turns slightly. Just enough that the faint streetlight catches part of his face.

And holy hell.

His eyes, ice blue, sharp as broken glass. He’s got cheekbones like carved stone, lips set in a line that says don’t come closer, and a jaw that looks like it’s clenched on centuries of secrets.

His hair’s dark and pulled back, and his skin’s pale, but not in a sickly way. More like moonlight. Or death.

I step forward without thinking. “Hey!”

His head tilts, slow and deliberate, and I swear my pulse skips like a scratched record. He sees me. I know he does.

And then he’s gone.

One blink. That’s all it takes.

No sound. No movement. Just… vanished.

“What the actual—” I mutter, spinning, weapon half-raised.

Nothing.

The alley’s empty.

Not even a trace of movement. Just the lingering echo of something electric buzzing against my skin.

I reach the spot where he stood, scan the ground. No prints. No blood. No scent.

But there’s heat , strangely enough. Radiating off the brick wall like something powerful stood here too long.

I press my palm against it, just to make sure I’m not losing my mind.

Wrong move.

The second my skin meets stone, a shock hits me hard enough to make my knees buckle.

Images—no, feelings —slam into me.

Pain. Rage. Hunger. Grief buried so deep it tastes like rot.

And underneath it all, a name that feels like it doesn’t belong to me but anchors itself in my chest anyway.

Elias.

I stumble back, gasping.

My heart thuds wildly as I scramble away from the wall, swallowing down bile and confusion.

I don’t know that name. I’ve never met that man. And yet…

I do know him.

Somehow.

I know his pain. His silence. The scream he doesn’t let out.

The air is cold again. Empty. The presence is gone.

But the pull?

That magnetic tug?

It’s stronger now.

I head back to HQ, fingers still twitching like they’re reaching for something they can’t see. Something they maybe never should.

I don’t want my father to find out anything .

Because if he even suspects I felt something…

If he thinks I’ve been touched by whatever the hell that was…

He’ll come for me and see me as a threat.