FAZER LOGIN[Sera]Spring arrived in Seattle the way it always does. Reluctantly, and then all at once.Three months after the hospital. The cherry blossoms on our block opened on a Tuesday, and by Wednesday the sidewalk between Vance's and Voss & Grain was carpeted in pink petals that stuck to everyone's shoes. Lulu collected them in fistfuls and deposited them in Killian's shop, which he pretended to mind and didn't.The Americano had become a ritual. Every morning. No charge. Killian would come in at 7:15, before the shop opened, and lean on th
[Killian]The courtroom smelled like old wood polish and recycled air. I sat in the third row of the gallery, behind Liam and Helen Park, and watched my grandfather enter through a side door in a navy suit with his hands cuffed in front of him.He'd lost weight. The suit, which had been tailored, hung wrong at the shoulders. His hair was thinner than I remembered, or maybe I was only now seeing it without the frame of a boardroom or a dinner table or any of the settings where Conrad had always been lit correctly. Under courthouse fluorescents, he looked his age.
[Sera]Two weeks later, I brought tea to the wrong shop.Not wrong. Different. I'd been making two cups every evening since Killian came home from the hospital: one for me, one for him. The first night I carried them across the sidewalk, he'd looked at the cup like I'd handed him a contract he didn't know how to read. By the fourth night it was just routine. Close Vance's. Boil water. Walk twelve feet. Sit.He was at the workbench. Left arm still in a sling, though Nakamura said he could take it off next week. He was sanding something with
[Sera]The nurses arrived in thirty seconds. Two of them, then a third, then Nakamura, who must have been somewhere close because she was in the room before the third nurse finished checking his vitals.Killian's eyes tracked everything. The ceiling, the monitors, the IV lines in his arms, the nurses moving around him with the efficient choreography of people who do this every day. His gaze landed on Lulu last. She was still asleep on my lap, undisturbed by the commotion, her fist still clenched around Mia's jacket collar.He stared at her
[Killian]I was in a room with no walls.Not darkness. Darkness has edges, corners, the suggestion of something beyond it. This was gray. A flat, featureless gray that extended in every direction without variation or end. Like standing inside a piece of paper that someone forgot to write on.I couldn't feel my body. Not numbness. Absence. The place where my hands should be was just more gray, and when I tried to move there was no feedback, no muscle or bone or resistance to push against. Just intention with nothing to act on.
[Sera]Liora didn't sit. She leaned against the wall opposite the ICU window and crossed her arms. The cat settled on the floor between us like a referee."His wolf isn't dead," she said. "Dead would be simpler. What happened is worse. It shattered. The trauma, on top of months of depletion, broke it into fragments. Those fragments are scattered through the residual channels of your old bond.""Our bond was severed. I was there. You were the one who severed it."
[Sera] "What if I say no?" The words hang between us like a dare. Killian's jaw tightens, and for a moment, I see something flicker behind those icy gray eyes—surprise, maybe. Like he genuinely didn't consider that possibility. Rich people. They really do live in their own reality, don't they?
[Sera] "You look like shit." Riley's standing at the espresso machine, watching me wipe down the counter with the intensity of someone who's already diagnosed my entire medical history through vibes alone. The morning rush just ended, leaving the café in that blessed mid-morning lull where only
[Sera] The Voss Group headquarters looked like it was designed by someone who wanted to make poor people cry. Glass and steel stretching toward the sky like a middle finger to everyone who couldn't afford the view from the top. I'd walked past this building a hundred times during delivery shifts
[Sera] The apartment is too quiet. Not peaceful quiet. The kind of quiet that presses in on you, like the walls are holding their breath, waiting for something to explode. I sit at the dining table with a book open in front of me that I haven't read a single word of. I've been staring at the sam







