Something Is Wrong

THIRD PERSON

The interview room was small, with a plain table in the middle and four chairs around it, and Isla walked in carrying her notebook like a shield. She had done a hundred interviews before this one. She told herself this was nothing different. Just three arrogant hockey players who thought the world belonged to them, and she was going to ask her questions and leave.

But the second she stepped inside, she felt it again. That same strange heaviness in the air from the night before, like the room itself was holding its breath.

Killian was already sitting there, and he stood up the moment she walked in, which surprised her. Most players didn't bother standing for reporters. Asher gave her a small wave and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Zane didn't move at all. He just watched her from his chair with his arms crossed, his expression closed off like a locked door.

"Miss Cole," Killian said, his voice low and careful. "Thank you for coming."

"It's my job," Isla said, sitting down across from them and pulling out her recorder. "Let's get started."

She asked her first question, something simple about the team's training schedule, and Asher answered smoothly enough, but she noticed his eyes kept drifting toward her hands, her face, like he was trying to memorize something. Killian barely answered at all. He just stared at her, unblinking, and it was starting to make her skin crawl.

"Is there a problem?" Isla finally asked, looking directly at Killian. "You've been staring at me since I walked in."

Killian blinked, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. "Sorry. You just... remind me of someone."

"Right," Isla said flatly, not believing him for a second. "Sure I do."

She turned to her next question, something about the team's unusual injury recovery rates, and that was when Zane finally spoke, his voice sharp and cutting through the room like a blade.

"Ask the real questions," he said. "Isn't that why you're here? Not for training schedules."

Isla's eyes snapped to him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Zane said, leaning forward now, his eyes dark and unfriendly. "You didn't come here because you like hockey. You came here because you hate us. I can smell it on you."

The room went very still.

"Zane," Asher said quietly, a warning in his voice.

"What?" Zane said, not looking away from Isla. "I'm just being honest. She's been writing angry little articles about us for years without even asking for an interview, and suddenly she wants to know our secrets? Something changed. I want to know what."

Isla's face went hot with anger, but underneath the anger was something else, something closer to fear, because how did he know that about her old articles? She had never mentioned them.

"I'm doing my job," she said, her voice tight. "The same job I'd do investigating any team with numbers this strange. If that bothers you, maybe you have something to hide."

"Maybe we do," Zane said, and something flickered behind his eyes, something that looked almost like pain hiding behind the anger.

"That's enough," Killian said sharply, and for a moment the two brothers stared at each other in some silent argument Isla couldn't understand.

Isla sat there, gripping her pen, trying to keep her hands from shaking. She had interviewed plenty of hostile people before. She knew how to handle anger. But this wasn't ordinary hostility. There was something underneath it, something that felt bigger than her, and it scared her more than she wanted to admit.

"Let's just answer her questions," Asher said gently, trying to smooth things over the way he always seemed to. "She's just doing her job, Zane."

"Fine," Zane muttered, sitting back, though his eyes never left her face.

Isla tried to continue, but her thoughts kept scattering. Every time she looked up, at least one of them was watching her like she was the only person in the room, in the whole building, maybe in the whole world. It made her want to run, and it made her want to stay, and she hated both feelings equally.

"Can I ask you something?" Killian said suddenly, cutting off her next question before she could finish it.

Isla lowered her notebook. "That's usually my line."

"Do you feel it too?" he asked, and his voice had gone soft, almost fragile, nothing like the confident hockey star from the posters and interviews she'd seen a hundred times.

"Feel what?" Isla asked carefully.

Killian leaned forward, his eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment the whole world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. "This. Whatever this is. I don't understand it either, but I know you feel it."

Isla's heart was pounding so hard she was sure they could all hear it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"She's not going to believe it," Zane said, his voice bitter, almost like he was relieved. "Look at her. She thinks we're insane."

"Maybe you are," Isla snapped, standing up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor. "I don't know what game you three are playing, but I'm not interested."

"It's not a game," Asher said quickly, standing too, his charming mask slipping to show something desperate underneath. "Isla, please, just listen for one second—"

"Don't," Isla said, holding up a hand, her whole body trembling now. "Don't tell me to listen. You don't get to act weird and cryptic and then ask me to be patient. I came here for answers about your team, not for whatever this is."

"You're our mate," Zane said suddenly, the words falling out of him like he couldn't hold them back anymore, harsh and blunt and impossible.

The room went completely silent.

Isla stared at him, and for one long, terrible second, she thought she'd misheard him. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," Zane said, though his voice had lost some of its edge now, like even he couldn't quite believe the words as they left his mouth.

"This is insane," Isla said, her voice shaking with anger now, real anger, the kind that came from feeling humiliated. "Is this some kind of joke? Are you filming this? Is this going to end up online somewhere, the three of you laughing about the reporter who actually believed you?"

"Isla, it's not a joke," Killian said, stepping toward her, and something about the desperation on his face almost made her believe him. Almost.

"Stay away from me," she said, backing toward the door. "All of you. I don't know what kind of sick game this is, but I want no part of it."

She turned and walked out, her heels hitting the floor hard and fast, her whole body shaking with a mixture of fury and something she refused to name. She didn't look back. She didn't want to see their faces, didn't want to know if they were laughing or not, didn't want to feel that strange pull in her chest that made her want to turn around anyway.

Behind her, in the room she'd just left, the silence stretched on for a long moment.

Then Killian turned to his brothers, his face pale, his eyes wide with something between fear and wonder.

"That's her," he said quietly.