Chapter 18: Zephyr Is a Problem

Ava's POV

Nobody moved first.

We just stood there in the service hallway, six feet apart, both of us apparently having forgotten basic biological functions like breathing and blinking. The bond was doing something I had no language for. Not the hum I had gotten used to, not the pull, not the ache. Something bigger. Something that felt like a door I hadn't known existed had just blown open inside my chest.

I breathed first. Deliberately. In through the nose, out slow.

"Zephyr," I said. Not a question. I knew which one he was now, I wasn't entirely sure how, just that I did.

"Yes." His voice was different from Ryker's. Same depth, different texture. Like the same instrument played by someone with a different hand.

"You followed me for forty minutes."

"Yes."

"That's strange behavior."

"I know."

He wasn't apologizing for it. Wasn't constructing an excuse or a smooth explanation the way Max would have, the way most people did when they got caught doing something they shouldn't. He just stood there and acknowledged it, which was so unexpectedly direct that I didn't know what to do with it.

I looked at him properly.

He was identical to his brothers. I had known that already, same face, same height, same build that made doorways look inadequate. But his eyes were different. Not the color. The color was the same dark shade as Ryker's. It was what was happening behind them that was different.

It was like watching two people share one window. Like something was shifting back and forth behind his gaze, and depending on which moment you caught, you got a different person looking out.

I told myself I was not intrigued by this.

I was intrigued by this.

"Why were you following me?" I asked.

A pause. "I wanted to see you."

"You could have just walked up and said hello."

"That's not how I usually do things."

"Following people in silence for forty minutes is how you usually do things?"

Something moved at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Close, though. "I was going to leave after five minutes."

"You stayed for forty."

"You argued with a table."

I felt heat move up my neck. "The table was difficult."

"It really wasn't." This time it was a smile. Brief and real and slightly startled, like it had surprised him too. "You were winning."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Looked away at the wall for a second because his face was doing something when he smiled that I was not prepared to examine directly.

"I don't understand you," I said finally.

"That's fine." He shifted his weight. "I don't understand me either. Most of the time."

There was something honest in that, honest in a way that didn't feel performed. Ryker was honest like a wall was honest, flat and immovable. This was different. This was honest like something that cost him something to say.

"Your brothers are easier to read," I said.

"Ryker is easier to read. Cax is easier to read." He said it without any particular emotion attached. "I'm not. I know that."

"Why?"

He looked at me for a moment. Really looked, with that shifting quality in his eyes that made me feel like whoever was looking out had changed between one second and the next.

"It's complicated," he said.

"That's not an answer."

"No," he agreed. "It's not."

We stood there. The service hallway was quiet. Small window at the far end letting in afternoon light, dust moving slowly through it. I could feel the bond between us differently than I felt it with the others. Sharper. More unstable. Like a live wire that hadn't decided yet where to land.

"You should go back to work," he said.

"You followed me to a hallway to tell me to go back to work."

"I followed you because I couldn't stop." He said it flatly. "That's the honest version."

I didn't have anything to say to that. My chest did something complicated.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Yes."

"The first night I was here. Someone came into my room while I was sleeping." I watched his face. "Was that you?"

A pause. Something moved through his expression fast, there and gone. "Yes."

"Did you touch me?"

"No." Immediate. Certain. "I would never."

"Then why?"

"To make sure you were safe." He looked at the window at the end of the hall. His jaw tightened slightly. "There are things in this palace that could hurt you. I needed to know you were alright."

"Things," I repeated. "Or people?"

He looked back at me. That shifting quality in his eyes was more pronounced now, like whatever was happening behind them was getting louder.

"Both," he said quietly.

Before I could respond, something changed. It happened fast. His shoulders went different, the set of them, something dropping away or something else coming forward. His face went still in a way it hadn't been a second ago. Flat. Like someone had turned a dial and changed the frequency entirely.

His eyes went cold.

Not cruel. Just empty of everything that had been there before.

"You should stay away from me," he said.

Different voice. Same throat, same face, same person standing in front of me. But different.

I went very still. "Zephyr."

He didn't answer. He turned and walked to the stairwell door at the end of the hall, pushed it open, and was gone before I could say anything else.

The door swung shut behind him.

I stood alone in the hallway for a moment, my heart loud in my ears, the bond snapping and pulling like something had been yanked on both ends simultaneously.

I looked at the floor where he had been standing.

Something small and white was there. A folded piece of paper, lying against the baseboard like it had fallen from his pocket.

I crossed to it and picked it up. Unfolded it.

The handwriting was careful and slightly uneven, like it had been written quickly.

Don't trust the man who brought you here.

I stared at it.

Below those words, in different handwriting, sharper and colder and pressed harder into the paper, someone had added a second line.

Don't trust him either.

Same pen. Same hand.

Two different people had written that note.

You're right, I'm sorry. Rewriting fully.