Chapter 7 - Keira

In the following days, I struggle to find my footing in Rosecreek.

The weight of the rift between Ado and me is a lot to bear. We train for long, awkward hours, and when we’re not training, we ignore each other like it’s a competition to see who can say the least. We’re being immature. We both know it.

I move through the rhythms of my daily life in the most sensible way I can—I sleep more than I have in months each night, try to remember to eat real meals around my work, and I take a few long walks around Rosecreek to clear my head in the evenings when the rest of the team are winding down. With the others, I go through the motions of camaraderie, but the ease I once felt with them has splintered, replaced by something uncomfortable and brittle.

Ado’s silent presence seems to follow me everywhere I go. Every glance, every accidental brush of our shoulders in the training gym leaves me on edge, teetering between wanting to withdraw completely and wanting to reclaim the sense of belonging I’ve lost.

But it’s not just Ado. The whole team feels different now, like an old coat that doesn’t fit the way it used to. The easy banter, the unspoken understanding we once shared, is strained. Much of that is my fault, I think. I’m the one who refused to reach out. But we’ve all changed—I see it in all of them, how each team member I once called friends is now a fundamentally altered presence. They have been through things I can’t and will never understand.

I can sense their cautious glances, the subtle shift in the air when I enter a room. Percy and Bigby do their best to include me, but it’s clear that I have become a stranger to them, too. And that’s what hurts the most: realizing it isn’t just me who’s changed, but all of us. It’s like my own turmoil has seeped into the fabric of the group and frayed the edges of what used to feel like home.

I hate that I can’t shake the feeling of being an outsider, even here, among the people who used to be my closest allies. I’ve always prided myself on being independent, adapting to whatever situation I find myself in, but this is different. This is personal. It gnaws at me in ways I didn’t expect.

Every time I catch Ado’s eye, there’s this sharp pang inside—regret, maybe, or longing. I’m not sure anymore. All I know is that it’s impossible to ignore, no matter how hard I try.

Rosecreek was supposed to be a place of peace, a sanctuary where I could find some clarity. Nothing consumes you like New York can. I had foolishly imagined a place of respite. But with Ado around every corner, his silent gaze just a little too knowing, I can’t focus on anything but my work, and even that is a struggle.

The smell of cooking food drifts through the air as I make my way into the room off the kitchen, where the team is already gathering for breakfast. The familiar scent of frying eggs and toast should be comforting, but it only makes my stomach twist today. The chatter is quieter than usual, a subdued murmur.

I hover near the doorway for a second, wondering if it’s too late to just grab something quick and eat outside, but someone—Olivia—glances up and catches my eye, giving me a quick smile that leaves me no escape.

I force myself to step forward and take an empty seat at the table. I end up sitting beside a man I don’t know very well. Zane. Given his haughty posture, I wonder whether he might be a source of the tension.

“Morning,” I say, trying to sound casual. I busy myself with reaching for the coffee pot, hoping to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze.

“Morning,” comes a chorus of replies, too synchronized, too forced. Byron is sitting across from me, silent, his hands wrapped around an energy drink. Waves of discomfort seem to physically emanate from him.

Percy is the first to break the awkward silence, though his voice is just a bit too bright, as if trying too hard to cut through the thick air. “So, Keira, any new leads from your contacts?”

I nod, grateful for something neutral to latch onto. “Some whispers of activity down south, but nothing solid yet. I think our guys are laying low.”

“Anything to worry about?”

I shake my head and pour milk into my coffee. “They seem to do this between movements each time. I don’t think they know anyone’s got eyes on them just yet. And we’d do well to keep it that way.”

Olivia hums thoughtfully, pushing her food around on her plate. She makes eye contact with her mate for a fleeting moment, and a hundred things I can’t decipher pass between them. “That’s good. If anyone can pin them down, it’s you.”

Her words are kind, but she’s clearly not entirely engaged with the conversation. I glance at Byron, half-expecting him to say something, to acknowledge the awkwardness hanging in the air like a storm cloud, but he just sips his drink in silence.

I clear my throat, trying to dispel the awkwardness, but it’s like trying to push away the fog. “So, uh, any plans for today?”

“Nothing too exciting,” Percy answers, his fork scraping against his plate. “Just following up on those intel drops from the east side of town. Routine surveillance.”

“Yeah, routine,” Olivia echoes, though she doesn’t sound entirely convinced. She takes a sip of water, her eyes darting to Zane and then back to me. Who is this guy? Did something happen? No one would tell me even if I asked, and I won’t. God knows I have my own problems.

As if summoned by that thought, the door creaks open, and Ado walks in.

The room seems to still the second he enters. His presence is heavier than it should be, like he’s carrying the burden of every unresolved word between us. He doesn’t say anything as he crosses the room, his movements deliberate, almost too careful, like he’s trying not to disturb the delicate balance we’re all pretending isn’t on the verge of tipping over.

I can feel everyone’s eyes shift—a quick glance at me, then at Ado, then away again, as if they’re all waiting for something to happen, something to break the silence. The clink of silverware on plates fades, and even Percy’s usual chatter falters. Olivia clears her throat, but whatever she was about to say dies before it reaches her lips.

Ado grabs a plate, his back turned to us, and the silence stretches out, suffocating. My heart races in my chest, and I know I need to do something—anything—to get out of here before it becomes unbearable.

I abruptly push back from the table, the chair scraping too loudly against the floor. “I just remembered—I need to check on something,” I say, the excuse sounding weak even to my own ears. I force a smile, but it’s tight and unconvincing. “It won’t take long.”

Olivia glances up at me, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “Now? You didn’t eat yet.”

“Yeah, now,” I cut her off a little too quickly. “It’s just something I forgot to handle yesterday. I’ll, uh, catch up with you all later.” I grab my half-full coffee cup, unsure what I plan to do with it, and practically flee the room before anyone can say anything more.

As I step into the hallway, cool air hits my face, but it does little to ease the pain in my chest. I know I can’t avoid this forever, but it’s all I can manage for now.

***

The days that follow consist of a series of careful, practiced avoidances between Ado and me, like we’re playing a game of silent chess, each move calculated to keep us out of each other’s orbit. It’s ridiculous and exhausting, and I can tell it’s starting to wear on the others, even if they don’t say it outright.

Percy’s attempts to keep the mood light are more forced. His jokes fall flat as the unspoken strain between Ado and me becomes harder to ignore. I see him exchange glances with the others in the team whenever the air gets too thick, drumming his fingers against his leg in frustration when Ado and I end up in the same room and say nothing. He doesn’t outright ask what’s going on—he’s not that kind of person—but I can feel his unspoken questions hanging in the space between us.

Aris frowns at us. Bigby sighs with the exhaustion of a man who has outgrown this kind of behavior and has no time for it.

Olivia, on the other hand, has taken to quietly pulling me aside whenever she gets the chance. Her concerned looks are becoming more frequent, and her gentle inquiries are harder to brush off. She doesn’t push, but I know she’s getting tired of the excuses, tired of pretending that everything’s fine when it clearly isn’t, and she, along with the others in the pack who weren’t around when I was last with the team, must crave answers to all of this.

One evening, after a long day of gathering intel on the outskirts of Rosecreek, I find her waiting for me outside the small room I’ve claimed as my own. She leans against the doorframe, wiry arms crossed above her stomach, watching me with that steady, patient gaze of hers.

“You and Ado need to talk,” she says, her voice soft but firm.

I shake my head, trying to sidestep her. “There’s nothing to talk about, Olivia. We’re just… we’re working through things.”

She doesn’t move. “That’s not working through things, Keira. That’s avoiding them. And it’s starting to affect the team.”

Her words hit me harder than I want to admit. I know she’s right. But every time I think about sitting down with Ado and actually talking—really talking—the knot in my chest tightens, and all I want to do is run.

“I’ll handle it,” I say, but even to my own ears, it sounds hollow.

Olivia’s expression softens, but there’s a sadness in her eyes. “I hope you do.”

I manage a half-hearted smile and slip past her into my room. The door clicks shut behind me, but her words linger, nagging at me.

The next morning, I avoid the common room entirely. I slip out before dawn, heading into town under the pretense of needing to check on anything that might give me an excuse not to face Ado. I’ve become good at finding distractions, throwing myself into the mission with an intensity that borders on obsessive. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m failing them, failing the team. Failing myself.

And then there’s Zane.

Zane moves through the compound like a shadow, his presence unsettling in a way that’s hard to explain. He’s quiet, but there’s something more to it: an edge that puts everyone on guard. He smells roguish. He skulks around corners, watching with sharp eyes that seem to see more than they should, always appearing at the most inconvenient times.

I know there’s a story there. I’m not sure how to go about getting it.

The others try not to let it bother them, but I can see the way they tense up when he’s near, the way Percy stiffens when Zane brushes past him in the hall, or Olivia’s gaze lingers on him a little too long as if she’s trying to figure out what’s going on beneath that calm exterior.

I catch Zane watching Ado and me more than once, his eyes flicking between us with a kind of knowing that sends a shiver down my spine. He doesn’t say much—he never does—but there’s something about how he lingers in the background, silent and observant, that feels almost like he can see right through me.

One evening, I find him standing outside the meeting room where we have set up a center of communications, his back to the wall, arms folded across his chest. He looks up when I approach, his expression unreadable, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that I don’t like.

“You’re not doing yourself any favors,” he says quietly, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

I pause, my hand halfway to the door, and glance at him. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Avoiding him. You’re not going to fix anything by running.”

I swallow hard. “I’m not running,” I say, though we both know it’s a lie.

Zane doesn’t argue. He just pushes off the wall and walks away, leaving me standing there with his words echoing in my mind.