I hadn't seen Alyssa for a week straight.
Normally, if she had been someone I actually cared about, maybe I would have wondered where she was. Maybe I would have asked questions. Maybe a tiny part of me would have worried.
But honestly?
I didn't know what the fuck went on in that girl's head half the time, and I had learned long ago that peace usually came dressed in her absence.
So I didn't ask.
I didn't think too much about it either.
I was sitting on the bench not too far from where David normally picked me up after school, my bag by my side, one leg crossed over the other, and my fingers absently playing with the necklace resting against my collarbone.
Malakai's necklace.
I still hadn't taken it off since the day he gave it to me.
And I didn't plan to.
It was simple, elegant, expensive without trying too hard — the kind of thing that looked like it belonged in some velvet-lined box under glass, not around my neck. The bullet made it more unique. More special. But that wasn't even the reason I wore it all the time.
It made me feel...
Safe.
I didn't really know how else to describe it.
Maybe because it had come from him.
Maybe because everything from him felt heavy with meaning, even when he acted like it didn't.
Maybe because when it rested against my skin, cool at first and then warm with my body heat, it reminded me that somehow, in some strange, dangerous way, I wasn't completely alone anymore.
The funny part was Bridget's reaction when I first showed the phone.
That memory still made me smile.
The night he had given me both the phone, I had gone straight to Bridget's room like a child showing off treasure. The moment she saw the phone box in one hand and her eyes had gone so wide I thought she might genuinely fall over.
"No," she had said, snatching the phone box from me. "No. No, no, no. What the hell did you do to my brother?"
I had laughed. "Nothing."
She turned the box around in her hands like it might explain itself. "If I told that man I wanted something like this, he would look me dead in the face and laugh."
I'd been laughing too hard to answer.
Then she examined the phone's camera and features and groaned loudly. "Oh my God. Oh my actual God. Kiera, I don't know what you did to my brother, but I'm not sure whether I like it or I hate it."
I'd snatched the necklace back from her. "You're dramatic."
"I'm observant," she corrected. Then she leaned closer with narrowed eyes. "Also... can you maybe tell him you want the new PS5?"
That had made me laugh harder.
"Nope. Don't worry, You'll survive"
She'd gasped like I'd betrayed her and then thrown herself across my bed dramatically while I stood there trying not to choke on laughter.
That was Bridget.
Ridiculous. Loud. Impossible not to love.
I didn't show her or tell her about the bullet. Questions would have arisen and I promised to to speak of that night.
The memory faded as a car finally pulled up by the curb.
David.
I stood immediately, slinging my bag over my shoulder and walking toward the car.
He stepped out first, opening the back door for me with his usual professional calm.
"Good evening, Miss."
"Good evening, David."
He dipped his head apologetically. "Sorry for the wait. The boss asked me to finish a few things before coming, and we had a brief meeting after that."
I shook my head quickly. "No, no, it's fine."
His expression softened a little. "Did I keep you waiting too long?"
"Not really." I gave him a small smile as I got into the car. "It was important."
Once he closed the door and got back behind the wheel, he added, "Miss Bridget is already home. She came back earlier with some friends, so we'll be heading straight there."
"Okay," I said.
The ride back was quiet.
I spent most of it looking out the window, fingers brushing over the necklace again without me realizing. The sun was lower now, painting everything in gold and ash, and I let the silence settle over me for once without fighting it.
By the time we reached the mansion, dusk had already started softening the edges of the world.
I stepped out of the car, thanked David, and went inside.
The house was quiet.
Not silent in a frightening way — just that deep, expensive quiet the place always seemed to carry when everyone had scattered into their own corners. The kind that made every footstep feel louder than it really was.
The television was on in the living room.
Bridget was passed out on the couch.
A movie was still playing, flickering soft light over her face and the half-fallen duvet tangled around her legs. She must have come home, put something on, and fallen asleep halfway through it — which was very on-brand for her.
I smiled to myself and walked over quietly.
The duvet had slipped low enough that one of her legs was uncovered, and she was curled slightly on her side, breathing slow and deep. I bent down and pulled the blanket back over her properly, tucking it around her legs.
Then I turned—
—and walked straight into something solid.
Or rather, someone.
I stumbled back a step, startled, and looked up.
Malakai.
He was standing right there, tall and still and impossible to mistake for anyone else. Dressed dark as usual, his expression unreadable, his presence swallowing up the space around him like it always did.
I blinked once and managed, "Oh. Hey."
He didn't respond immediately.
He just looked at me.
That slow, heavy look of his that never rushed, never softened, never gave anything away and somehow still managed to make me feel like he saw too much.
"How was school?"
I glanced down, suddenly aware of myself. Of the necklace. Of my hair. Of the fact that I was talking to him in a dim living room while Bridget slept behind me like a third-act complication.
"School was fine," I said, because the silence was too large and I hated leaving it empty. "Actually... I won't be going for the next few days."
That seemed to catch his attention.
"Why?"
I looked back up at him. "There was some kind of complication."
"What kind?"
I shrugged lightly, shifting the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder. "I'm not really sure. People were saying a few students got beaten up. Others said someone was almost abducted. I don't know what's true." I exhaled softly. "I just heard they're pausing things for a bit. Two or three days, maybe."
He stared at me for a second longer, and I got the uncomfortable feeling he was deciding whether I was leaving something out.
"Dod you get hurt?"
"No Malakai, I'm good."
"Okay," he said at last. "That's not a problem."
Then his gaze moved past me to Bridget.
Something changed in his face.
Not a lot. Just enough.
He stepped around me and walked to the couch, then bent without effort and picked his sister up like she weighed almost nothing. Bridget shifted slightly in her sleep, making a soft annoyed sound, but didn't wake.
And I saw it then.
The tenderness.
It wasn't obvious. It wasn't soft in the way other people were soft. But it was there — in the careful way he adjusted his hold on her, in the steadiness of his arms, in the fact that someone like Malakai Blackwood, who looked like he could break a man's neck with one hand, carried his sleeping sister like something precious.
That sight did something strange to me.
Because it reminded me again that people were never just one thing.
He looked over at me once more. "You should go rest."
I nodded. "Okay."
"Go shower. Sleep."
His tone made it sound like an instruction, but there was something quieter under it.
I didn't argue.
"Goodnight," I said softly.
He didn't answer, just turned and carried Bridget upstairs.
I watched him go for one more second before heading to my own room.
I showered.
Changed.
Lay down.
And the next thing I knew, I was waking up in broad daylight.
I grabbed my phone from beside the bed and blinked at the screen.
10:56 a.m.
"What the fuck?"
I sat up too fast, hair falling into my face.
I hadn't even eaten dinner.
Was I really that tired?
Apparently yes.
The room still held that warm, late-morning quiet to it, and for a moment I just sat there trying to gather myself. Then I unlocked my phone and checked the notifications out of habit.
Nothing important.
A few TikTok notifications telling me people I followed had posted.
A couple of streaks and random messages from Bridget, most of them pictures from school or nonsense captions that made no sense out of context.
That was about it.
I didn't really have anyone else to text.
No long list of friends checking in.
No group chats waiting for me.
No social life demanding updates.
For some reason, instead of making me sad, that fact just felt... simple.
Manageable.
I showered quickly, pulled on something comfortable, and went downstairs, deciding that orange juice was all I wanted for now.
As I stepped into the hallway, I heard voices.
Low at first.
Coming from Malakai's office.
I slowed without meaning to.
Then kept walking.
He was probably busy. He would probably go to the office later anyway. None of it had anything to do with me.
So I went downstairs.
Nana Rose was in the kitchen.
The moment she saw me, she smiled with exaggerated relief. "Good morning, dear child. Have you finally risen from your slumber?"
I laughed softly. "I didn't even know I slept that long."
She clicked her tongue in mock judgment. "School must have drained you thoroughly."
"It did."
She gestured toward the counter. "Will you have breakfast?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm okay. Just orange juice."
"Alright."
She poured some for me, and I stood there sipping quietly while she moved around the kitchen with the easy rhythm she always had. Then, after a moment, she looked over at me and said, "Come here, child."
I blinked. "What?"
"Come here."
So I did.
I set the glass down and walked to where she stood by the counter, and before I could ask what was happening, she took both my hands in hers.
Her palms were warm.
"It's been almost two months since you came here," she said gently. "And I just wanted to tell you something."
I frowned a little, confused.
"I like the way you've carried yourself," she continued. "You're respectful. Careful. You know how to move through this house without crossing boundaries. You are quiet, but not in a bad way. You observe." Her smile softened. "And you have a good heart."
I didn't know what to say to that.
So I just stood there.
Nana Rose squeezed my hands lightly. "If you ever need anything, whether you are here or not, you should remember that not everyone in this world is against you."
Something in my throat tightened unexpectedly.
I smiled, though it came out smaller than I meant it to. "Thank you, Nana Rose."
Then, because words suddenly didn't feel enough, I leaned forward and hugged her.
She hugged me back immediately, murmuring something soft I didn't fully catch.
When I pulled away, I felt lighter somehow.
I picked up my glass of juice again and headed back upstairs.
And that was when I heard it.
The voices.
Louder this time.
Coming from Malakai's office again.
I stopped in the hallway.
At first, I could only make out tones — one voice was definitely his, low and sharp with anger he was no longer trying to conceal. The other voice was male too, but unfamiliar. Not Raphael. Definitely not Raphael.
Then something crashed.
A chair, maybe.
I froze.
The hairs along the back of my neck lifted.
There was shouting now. Not steady conversation. Not argument in the normal sense. Something worse. Something rougher. The kind of noise that filled the walls and made your body know there was danger before your brain caught up.
I should have gone back to my room.
I knew that.
I knew it so clearly it almost made me angry that I didn't listen to myself.
Because whatever was happening in that office was not my business. And if there was one thing I should have learned by now, it was that Malakai's private world was built on things I was safer not seeing.
But the sounds kept getting worse.
More footsteps.
Another crash.
Then what sounded like something heavy being slammed into a wall.
My heart started beating faster.
Not fear exactly.
Something close to panic.
Because what if—
I didn't even know what I thought I was checking for.
If he was hurt?
If he needed help?
If someone was attacking him?
Whatever it was, curiosity dragged harder than sense.
Before I could stop myself, I was standing in front of the office door.
My hand was already on the handle.
I waited.
Just for a second.
Hoping maybe the noise would stop. Hoping maybe sanity would return and I would walk away before doing something incredibly stupid.
Then something broke again.
A horrible, splintering crack.
And without thinking anymore, I pushed the door open.
Hard.
The sight inside slammed into me so fast my brain refused to process it at first.
Malakai.
He had a man pinned against the side of his desk, one hand locked around his throat with terrifying force. The man's feet were barely even touching the ground. His hands clawed weakly at Malakai's wrist, but there was no strength left in him, only desperation.
Malakai's face—
God.
His face was cold in a way that no word properly covered. Not angry anymore. Past anger. Beyond it. His jaw hard. His eyes dark and dead and absolute.
There were specks of blood on his shirt. On his hand. On the edge of the desk. I didn't know if it was his or the other man's.
The man's eyes were open too wide.
Too wide.
And then I understood.
He wasn't fighting anymore.
He was already dead.
Or almost.
And Malakai was still holding him there.
Still strangling the life — or whatever was left of it — out of him with one hand like it cost him nothing.
My breath caught.
The room smelled like sweat, metal, and something darker — something ugly and warm that only ever meant blood.
I couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
My whole body went still in the doorway.
Then Malakai looked up.
His gaze found me instantly.
And for the first time since I had known him, his eyes widened.
Not a lot.
Just enough.
Enough for me to know that this — me standing there, seeing this, seeing him like this — had not been part of whatever was supposed to happen next.
The dead man sagged in his grip.
Something wet hit the floor.
I didn't know if it was blood or spit or both.
I just stared.
At him.
At the body.
At the impossible, horrifying reality of what I had just walked into.
He stared back.
The room felt like it had forgotten how to breathe.
Neither of us moved.
Neither of us spoke.
And in that one frozen moment, with the door still half-open behind me and a corpse hanging in Malakai Blackwood's hand, I understood with perfect, brutal clarity that there were some things you could never unsee.
And I had just seen one of them.