NOVPUB
Chapter 42: What do you mean by that?
`Rhea? She is going to die.`
"What? What do you mean by that?" Kael’s voice cracked with urgency, his hazel eyes wide—a storm of confusion and dread swirling beneath.
Freya tilted her head slightly, platinum-cyan strands shifting with the movement. She regarded him with an expression that might as well have been a sigh in human form.
Why are you so surprised?
Her blue eyes glinted—mocking, unreadable, faintly amused. "Wait. Did you really think she’d turn into a superhero just because you said so?" A smirk tugged at her lips. "Ain’t someone getting too high on themselves?"
The words landed like a knife to the ribs, sharp and deliberate. She lounged back against the headboard, effortless in her authority, a queen toying with a misguided subject.
Kael didn’t bite back. Didn’t even breathe for a moment. His lips pressed into a tight, bloodless line, his silence its own demand.
Freya arched a brow. Something in her expression shifted—not quite mocking anymore. A flicker of curiosity.
"I thought you did that on purpose."
Kael blinked. "What?" The word came out quieter, the first trace of doubt creeping in.
Freya shrugged, nonchalant, twisting the knife without breaking a sweat. "I don’t know. Maybe she was becoming a pain, so you made someone else clean up your mess."
A cold weight settled in his gut.
"No." He shook his head, fast, almost frantic. "No, that won’t happen. She’ll be safe—she’s not that type. You’ll see." The words came out fierce, a desperate wall against the image she was painting, one he refused to let take shape.
Freya just watched him. Unmoved. Unbothered.
"Okay. If you say so." Her expressionless reply felt like a taunt.
She picked up her fork again, the dismissal effortless. "Now, if you go out, I can eat in peace." A wave of her hand—lazy, regal, like shooing a servant who had overstayed his welcome.
Kael’s glare burned into her, but Freya didn’t so much as flinch. "You’re annoying, you know that?" His voice was tight, coiled with frustration, but she only offered him a bored glance.
He turned on his heel, storming out and slamming the door hard enough to rattle the hinges. The sharp click of the lock followed, sealing her in like an afterthought.
Freya exhaled slowly, unshaken. Kael’s anger rolled off her like water on glass.
She shifted her focus back to the plate in her hands—eggs and toast, once warm, now lukewarm and unappealing because of the time Kael wasted. With quiet precision, she took a bite, chewing methodically, indifferent to the temperature.
The cold didn’t bother her.
Outside, Kael’s steps faltered. Freya’s words clung to him, sharp and barbed, burrowing deep.
What if?
The doubt sank into his chest, heavy and suffocating.
His fingers fumbled for his phone, and he dialed. The ring barely had time to echo before the line connected.
A gruff voice crackled through. "Dryace?" Harris’s tone was edged with familiarity, businesslike but not unkind. "Everything fine?"
Kael swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Yeah, just..." He hesitated. The words felt foreign, heavy on his tongue. "Is everything okay?"
Harris huffed, a sound that bordered on exasperation. "Don’t be such a worrywart, kid."
Before Kael could respond, Rhea’s voice cut through the background, loud and unmistakably her. "Tell Kael to stop freaking out and get me something special for dinner—no cheap crap!" The line went dead as Harris abruptly ended the call.
Her voice—brash, demanding, so quintessentially Rhea—washed over him like a balm. A small, relieved grin tugged at his lips.
She sounded like herself, and that alone bolstered his confidence. He’d see her by dinner, he was sure of it.
His gaze drifted to Freya’s locked door, and a determined glint sparked in his eyes. Time to start working on her.
Two hours later,
After a flurry of calls and enough time for Freya to finish her meal and let it settle, lunchtime loomed on the horizon.
Kael had a plan brewing. A faint hum announced the arrival of a drone at his door, dropping off a nondescript box. Inside was a file, its edges crisp and uncreased.
He carried it to Freya’s room, knocking once before stepping inside.
She lay sprawled on the bed, one leg crossed over the other, her cyan T-shirt clinging to her torso, while leaving a small peek of her waist naked.
The dark pants hugged her legs, accentuating their length and the subtle curve of her hips, a sexy edge softened by the regal poise she exuded even in repose.
Her platinum-cyan hair fanned out across the pillow, and her pale eyes shifted lazily toward him, unimpressed. "What? Lunchtime already?" she asked, her voice dry, not bothering to sit up.
"No," Kael said, his tone steady as he held up the file. "We need to talk."
Freya’s gaze flicked to the folder, curiosity piqued despite herself. "What’s that?" she asked, still reclining, her posture a display of nonchalance.
"See for yourself." He tossed it onto the bed beside her.
She reached for it lazily, flipping it open with a flick of her wrist. At first, she skimmed, indifferent—until her eyes froze. 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘱𝘶𝑏.𝑐𝘰𝑚
The queen-like mask slipped, just for a second.
Every crime. Every dark deed. Someone had compiled a meticulous record of her life—not just the ones she’d been caught for, but the ones no one should have known about. The kids she’d frozen in that alley as a teenager. The quiet, untraceable acts of vengeance she’d buried in the past.
It was all there.
The file was a mirror, dragging old ghosts into the light.
For the briefest moment, her expression softened—not fear, but something close. A flicker of vulnerability, recognition, memory. Then, as quickly as it cracked, she slammed the mask back into place.
With a scoff, she tossed the file back at him. "Yeah? So what?" Her tone was sharp, dismissive. "Add more cases to my record. It’ll just stretch my sentence. Doesn’t matter if I’m never caught—even if I am, they’ll kill me anyway." She leaned back, arms crossed, her smirk returning.
"This doesn’t scare me."
Kael caught the file midair, gripping it tight as he stepped closer.
He sat on the edge of the bed, beside her legs—close enough to unsettle, not close enough to threaten. Freya didn’t flinch, her gaze locked onto his, challenging.
"This wasn’t to scare you." His voice was steady, low. "Or blackmail you."
Her smirk faltered—just a fraction. "Then what?" she snapped, defensive, though something unreadable flickered in her eyes.
Kael exhaled, fingers brushing her leg—absently, yet deliberately. A soft hum of empathic resonance pulsed beneath his fingertips.
"So I can know you better."
Silence.
"There must be something that turned you this way."
His words were quiet, but they pressed deep—digging at something raw, something unspoken. Searching for a crack in the ice.
