(Kade faces his reflection. Viera faces a truth she's buried. Someone unexpected brings the past crashing into the present.)
The city wore winter like a velvet noose—heavy, quiet, deceptively soft. From the 47th floor of the Hollow townhouse, the world looked frozen in time, white and gold and perfect. Viera stood before the floor-length windows wrapped in a steel-gray robe, one hand clutching her untouched cup of tea. Her bare feet pressed against heated marble. Her laptop buzzed behind her on the desk.
She didn't look back at it. She didn't need to. The message had been burned into her eyes the moment she opened it.
"He's closer than we think."
—Delphi
She took a breath. Held it. Let it burn in her chest like coal.
She had once thought Logan had been the storm. She'd thought she'd put that behind her, closed the coffin on that version of herself. But Kade's kidnapping had proved otherwise. That shadow still slithered beneath the surface. Still hunted.
And worse—this wasn't over. Not even close.
On the other side of the city, down among salt-crusted sidewalks and puddles turned to mirrors, Kade Anders walked to school in an old maroon sweater and faded jeans. His scarf was too thin for the morning chill. His sneakers soaked up the cold like sponges.
He'd stopped limping weeks ago, but some days his ribs still ached when he laughed too hard. Viera always noticed. She'd pull his shirt up, scan him with those surgical eyes, brush a thumb over healing bruises, and whisper curses into his neck.
But today, her gaze had been distant. She'd kissed him goodbye and stayed behind.
Something was shifting again. He could feel it. The weight behind her smile. The tired way her fingers brushed his hair like she was memorizing him, not teasing.
Inside the school, everything smelled like lemon-scented floor polish and silent ambition. This place didn't celebrate intelligence; it demanded it. Expectations hung in the air heavier than books.
Kade slipped into his literature class just as the bell rang. A few eyes followed him as always. He'd stopped shrinking under them. Mostly.
In the back corner of the room, someone new sat sketching.
He was tall. Lean. Olive-skinned with curls that spilled over his brow like ink, his fingers smudged with graphite. Torn jeans. A cracked leather jacket. A single silver ring on his thumb. He looked like he'd wandered into the school by mistake—but held himself like he belonged anyway.
Their eyes met for a second.
Then the boy looked down and returned to his sketch.
Later that day, in ceramics—Kade's last class—he found himself at the wheel, clay spinning beneath his fingers. Warm. Malleable. Forgiving. He liked it here. No one talked much. Everyone focused on shaping.
The boy from literature sat beside the shelves, pencil flashing against his sketchbook.
After a few minutes, he spoke—softly, just enough for Kade to hear.
"You don't hide here."
Kade blinked. "Sorry?"
The boy gestured toward the wheel. "In this room. You don't shrink. You work."
Kade turned back to the clay. "It's easy to forget things with your hands full."
The boy tilted his head. "You're Kade, right?"
"Yeah. And you are?"
"Azael. Just transferred. People talk."
Kade snorted. "They usually do."
Azael smiled faintly, then returned to his drawing. "If they talk too loud, I've got noise-canceling earbuds and a violent imagination."
That pulled a laugh out of Kade. A real one. Light, crooked, a little startled.
Azael didn't look up. "That's better."
Viera didn't laugh that day.
She was already downtown, pulling her wool coat tighter around her frame as she stepped into the dim belly of a parking garage. The smell of oil and rust followed her as she approached a black SUV.
Delphi sat in the driver's seat, hoodie pulled low, mask still on despite the isolation.
"You're late," Viera said.
"You're rich," Delphi replied. "Some of us use the bus."
They handed her a flash drive.
"I traced Delan's comms," Delphi said. "He's part of a structure. A testing branch of a recruitment ring. They're scouting trauma patterns in highly intelligent minors—controlling outcomes, grooming behaviors. It's not just him."
Viera stared at the drive.
"Why Kade?"
Delphi's voice lowered.
"Because he didn't break. That makes him interesting. And dangerous."
That evening, Kade met Dr. Marrow at the therapy wing's private entrance.
They didn't talk at first. Just walked in silence through sterile halls. At the end of one hallway stood the Mirror Room.
A small, rectangular space. One wall fully mirrored. The others softly padded. It was quiet enough to hear your breath echo.
Dr. Marrow stepped back, letting Kade go alone.
He stood before the mirror.
At first, he didn't move.
Just looked.
He saw his reflection—the boy with the slightly crooked smile, the mess of dark hair, the pink scar across his jaw, still faint. His eyes looked older now. Aged by weeks that felt like lifetimes.
He whispered to the mirror, unsure if he was speaking to it… or himself.
"I'm still here."
The glass said nothing.
But he felt the words ripple inside.
A minute passed. Then two. Then he finally exhaled and screamed—not words, not rage—just volume. A primal release from somewhere beneath the bruises and softness.
He collapsed to the floor, breathless, eyes damp.
And then—peace.
Not full.
But enough.
Viera didn't text that night. She didn't need to.
He'd see her tomorrow.
But far above him, in the Hollow family townhouse, her parents sat in a silent room of crystal chandeliers and white silk. Meredith sipped her wine with quiet scrutiny. William scrolled his phone.
"Still with him?" he asked without looking up.
"She is," Meredith murmured.
William's thumb paused. "Hmph."
That was all either of them said.
But their silence said more.
That same night, Azael sat by his window, knees pulled to his chest, sketchbook open. He stared at a rough charcoal drawing—Kade, half-turned, light on his face, smile ghostlike.
He flipped the page and began a new one.
This one was of Viera.
But her face was fractured, caught between serenity and something sharper—like a storm that smiled.
Azael touched the pencil to the page again, heart beating too loud in the quiet.
He whispered to the air, "You're both way too interesting."
And far away, someone else watched that same school from a satellite camera feed.
File flagged: Viera Hollow, Kade Anders, Azael Marr.
Status: Unstable Variables.
Directive: Escalation Pending.
End of Chapter 18
Next: Chapter 19 – The Warning in the Static