NOVPUB
Chapter 37: I’m sorry
Kael sighed—a long, heavy exhale that seemed to drag the weight of the day from his chest—his shoulders slumping as he leaned forward in the creaking chair.
The bruises blooming across his face ached with every shift, but his hazel eyes softened, catching the faint light as they settled on Freya.
"I’m sorry," he said, voice low and rough, cutting through the thick quiet of the room. "I forgot about you this morning—Rhea was kicking up hell and all that threw me off." He flicked a glance toward Rhea, still framed in the doorway, arms crossed tight over her bare chest, the black bra stark against her skin.
She caught his look and turned her head sharply, amber eyes darting to the chipped wall, feigning innocence with a faint smirk tugging at her lips—a mask that didn’t quite hide the flicker of guilt beneath.
Kael shook his head, a tired gesture, and turned back to Freya, cuffed and soaked on the floor, her platinum-cyan hair clinging damp to her bruised cheeks.
"You were so damn quiet," he said, almost to himself, "I forgot you were even here. But I’ve got food for you now—Rhea, grab the burger and the chicken wrap."
Rhea’s brow creased, confusion sparking as she uncrossed her arms, her posture loosening. "The burger? That’s—" Her words cut off as she met Kael’s steady gaze, hazel unwavering, a silent directive passing between them. Understanding clicked—she saw it in the set of his jaw, the way he tilted his head toward Freya. He was giving her both.
With a small, resigned shrug. She handed them to Kael—her fingers brushing his, amber eyes glinting with curiosity—then retreated to the doorframe, leaning against it with a casual slouch, watching him unfold his plan.
Kael held up the food—burger in one hand, chicken wrap in the other—the faint crinkle of wrappers loud in the stillness. "See?" he said, voice firm but calm, meeting Freya’s icy stare. "I brought these for you."
He nudged the shopping bag beside him with the toe of his boot, its plastic rustling as it slid closer. "Got clothes too—new stuff, so you can change daily, feel comfortable. Not just stuck in that." His eyes flicked briefly to her soaked shirt, clinging cold and heavy to her frame, then back to her face, searching for a reaction.
Freya stayed silent, blue eyes locked on him, unblinking, but something flickered behind her glacial mask—confusion, a ripple in the anger she’d nursed all day.
She’d steeled herself for cruelty—hunger as a weapon, punishment for her defiance—not this. Not Kael’s bruised face offering food and apologies, his voice stripped of malice. She was supposed to hate him, to sharpen her rage into a blade for his throat, but now guilt needled her, sharp and foreign, pricking at the edges of her resolve.
Had she misjudged him, lunging with that spoon when he’d meant to be decent? Her head dipped—chin lowering, damp hair falling like a curtain over her swollen jaw—for the first time not defiance but doubt bending her neck, a crack in her unyielding facade.
Kael caught it—the subtle shift, the falter—and leaned closer, his voice softening further, almost careful. "Rhea, go eat—your noodles’ll get cold. I’ve got this."
Rhea lingered, her eyes narrowing as she dropped her hands to her hips, the dim light catching the curve of her bare shoulders.
"You sure?" she asked, her tone low, a thread of concern weaving through her usual sharpness. Kael nodded—quick, firm, a soldier’s assurance—and she huffed, "Okay, fine," crimson hair swinging as she turned on her heel.
She strode out, the faint clink of a fork against a bowl drifting back from the main room as she dug into her spicy noodles.
The door stayed ajar, Rhea’s presence a distant hum, leaving Kael and Freya alone in the charged silence, the air thick with unspoken weight.
Paper rustled—Freya’s gaze flicked up, slow and cautious—as Kael unwrapped the chicken wrap, releasing a sharp waft of grilled meat, cumin, and tangy sauce into the cramped room.
He held it near her mouth, close enough for the warmth to graze her lips, the scent curling into her senses. "Here," he said, voice steady, no force behind it, just an offer. "Take a bite."
Her eyes betrayed her—hunger flared bright, raw and unguarded, her stomach clenching at the promise of food—but her jaw stayed firm, lips sealed, pride battling the gnawing ache.
Kael tilted his head, reading her like a map, then brought the wrap to his own mouth. He took a deliberate bite—chewing slowly, swallowing with a faint nod. "See, no poison," he said, wiping a smear of sauce from his lip with his sleeve. "Nothing weird mixed in—just food. Eat, you must be hungry."
He held it out again, sincerity etched into his battered hazel stare, and added, quieter, "Sorry again for skipping breakfast and lunch. Won’t happen tomorrow—I promise."
Freya hesitated, her nose twitching as the aroma hit harder—grilled chicken, the faint char of the tortilla, a hint of spice teasing her senses. Her lips parted—just a sliver at first, a reluctant crack in her armor—then wider, then enough. 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘱𝘶𝑏.𝑐𝘰𝑚
She leaned forward, awkward with her hands cuffed behind her, and took a small bite. Her teeth sank into the wrap, sauce smearing her chin as she chewed, slow and deliberate, tasting the warmth, the salt, the relief.
Kael smiled—not mocking, not triumphant, just warm—a quiet curve that softened the harsh lines of his bruised face, easing the tension strung between them. She swallowed, hunger overriding restraint, and took another bite, then another, then more, until the wrap was a crumpled wrapper at her side.
He unwrapped the burger next—its rich scent of beef and melted cheese flooding the air—and held it steady as she ate that too, bite by bite, her pace quickening as her stomach settled.
When it was done—wrappers littering the floor beside her—she leaned back against the cot, breath steadying and eyes sliding away from Kael.
"Was it good?" Kael asked, voice light, leaning back in the chair with a faint creak. Freya nodded—quick, firm—her expression still guarded, blue eyes flicking to the floor, the blush deepening as if caught off guard by her own admission.
"Still hungry?" he pressed, watching her closely, his tone gentle but probing, not sure what he would feed her if she said ’yes’.
She paused—considering, her tongue darting out to lick a trace of sauce from her lip—then shook her head, slow and sure, her pride nudging back into place like a shield.
"Good," he said, standing with a grunt, his wounded arm stiffening as he bent to grab the shopping bag.
He set it beside her— dark pants, a fitted top, a sturdy jacket, a folded towel stacked neatly on top—practical, simple, a quiet gesture to ease the edges of her captivity.
"These are for you," he said, stepping back. "Clothes, a towel. Freshen up when you want to."
