I stare into my tea like it might offer absolution. “No idea what you mean.”
Kieran’s voice carries across the room, entirely too amused. “Definitely not jealous at all.”
From the hallway: “KAIA, CALL THEM OFF!”
I take a deliberate sip of tea, refusing to look up.
“Must be talking to someone else.”
Chapter 29
Kaia
My shadows are still basking in their victory.
Bob actually struts as he leads the others in what can only be described as a triumph parade around our end of the table. Even Patricia, usually laser-focused on her documentation, keeps recreating the exact moment Mira’s face shifted from confusion to pure outrage. Finnick has appointed himself chief dramatist, complete with shadow-flailing and what I’m pretty sure are interpretive dance moves.
“They’re never going to let this go, are they?” I mutter, watching Steve and Carl stage an increasingly elaborate performance where they carry Linda around like she’s royalty.
“Not a chance.” Finn grins, stealing bread from my plate with zero shame. “Bob’s probably commissioning a commemorative plaque. ‘The Great Mira Ejection’—catchy, right?”
I glare at him, but there’s no heat in it. Mouse, draped across my lap like a satisfied cat, makes a sound that’s definitely laughter.
Malrik takes another careful sip of coffee, but I catch the way his mouth quirks. “Linda’s tactical coordination was particularly impressive. Textbook execution.”
“Of course you’d analyze shadow military strategy,” Torric snorts, though his golden eyes spark with amusement. “Next you’ll be grading their formation techniques.”
The warm glow in my chest—pride, satisfaction, maybe a hint of possessiveness I’m pretending doesn’t exist—begins to settle. Then the hollownesspunchesthrough. That familiar ache. The bond that refuses to complete itself, hanging in my chest like an open wound.
The magic in me doesn’t respond with comfort.
It responds withpanic.
Chaos magic explodes through me without warning, wild and vicious, scattering my shadows like startled ravens. The cup in my gripcracks, tea leaking across the table in dark rivulets that look too much like spilled blood.
“Fuck,” I gasp, hands shaking as I try to hold myself together. Bob snaps into crisis mode, marshaling the others into damage control while Patricia’s frantic scribbling turns sharp with worry.
Finn’s fingers find mine beneath the table, anchor-steady. “Talk to me, Trouble.”
Before I can answer, movement at the high table steals my attention. A figure in battle-worn leather armor bends low, whispering urgently in Kieran’s ear. The transformation is instant, his entire frame goes rigid, amusement dying like a snuffed candle.
The bond between usjolts, electric where it should be warm.
Mouse’s ears flatten as Kieran rises, his gaze cutting across the room to find mine. The playful energy dies completely, replaced by something that tastes like dread on the back of my tongue.
“Well,” Finn mutters, grip tightening. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”
Kieran strides toward us in silence, but I feel his urgency like lightning under my skin. My shadows abandon their celebration, clustering close with sudden wariness. Even Finnick drops his theatrical nonsense, snapping into formation beside Bob.
“War Room. Now.” His voice could cut glass. Those ancient eyes sweep over our group before locking on mine again, and I see something flicker there, not just alarm, but something rawer. Like he can feel me coming apart and has no idea how to stop it.
Aspen sets his cup down almost too gently. “What’s happened?”
Kieran’s already turning away, shoulders carved from stone. “Not here.”
Another wave of chaos magictearsthrough me, foreign and violent, nothing like the controlled chaos that belongs to Finn. This feels like something trying to claw its way out from inside my bones. My shadows writhe in response, agitated by power that doesn’t belong.
“Easy,” Finn murmurs, hand warm against my spine. “Just ride it out.”
