by Iris RIvers
“I hate to go so soon,” his mother started, “but I’ve got a few errands to run today.”
“You’re fine,” Kai answered anxiously. “I have some things to do too.”
Her smile filled the screen, filled Kai’s heart. “Love you,” she said.
Kai answered with a slight smile and nod, then ended the call. He reached for his phone only to discover it wasn’t in his pocket, then stood from the couch and walked around, searching for it.
He found it between one of his bookshelves, resting atop his very first copy of Crime and Punishment. He reached for it, fingers quickly moving across the screen to find his sister’s contact.
Kaden. He hadn’t called her with this much hope in his heart in months—it felt strange, unrecognizable. Kai could taste the dry fear that coated his tongue, leaving a thing gray paste of resentment and worry, as he listened to the phone ring.
One, two, three rings. Each more painful than the last. He waited. On the fifth ring, Kai’s hope faltered. He pulled the phone from his ear, thumb hovering over the red button, but then, a whisper so small he was sure he imagined it: “Kai?”
“Kaden,” he breathed.
“Hi,” Kaden said. Her voice sounded different, tenacious.
“Hi,” Kai said back. “I... I’m not sure what to say.”
“Me neither,” she answered. A few beats of silence. Then: “How are you?”
Kai wasn’t one for pleasantries. “When are you coming home?”
Kaden’s breath pushed through the speaker. “I am home, Kai. In Oxford.”
Her words felt like betrayal; tasted like punishment. “Your home is with us. With me.”
“Not anymore,” said Kaden.
Kai shut his eyes.
“I wish you would’ve told me,” she said. “I deserved to know my parents’ story—despite how horrible it was.”
“Mom and Dad didn’t want me to say anything. Not after—”
“I’m stronger than you realize, Kai.”
“You don’t think I know that?” He was angry now. Furious. He supposed he didn’t have the right to be, after a decade of lies and façades, but the misery of missing his only sister blurred the lines, distorted the memories. “You aren’t thinking properly. You’re thinking with your heart—”
“That isn’t always a bad thing—”
“It is though!” he shouted into the speaker. Kaden said nothing. “When you’re not the only one affected, it is.”
Kai wanted to scream for hours on end, wanted to tell her that she was being immature—irresponsible. Instead, he said nothing. Instead, he sat on the phone, waiting for Kaden’s next words like a coward, hoping he hadn’t hurt her enough to push her further away.
“I’m sorry, Kai,” she said finally. “I’m just not ready.”
And then the line went dead.
CLARKE WAS MORE ALIVE than he’d ever been.
He had gotten no sleep the night before and, ultimately, was left with an overpowering surge of anxieties and anticipations. He was running on Kai’s words, his confessions.
Lara Blake. Member of Lithe. Classmate of Kai Reeves.
After doing some research—most gratefully provided by Kai himself—Clarke learned that Lara attended Juilliard and lived just a few minutes from campus. Clarke was closer than he had realized. To the truth, to Lara. Everything was falling into place.
Despite the excitement though, he committed to telling no one of the revelations. He could not afford a mistake, a slip, and there was no one he trusted more than himself to handle this case.
Clarke looked to Lowri’s picture on his board, her face slightly faded, hair vibrant, and carefully placed a printed photograph of Lara Blake beside it. She seemed familiar to him, like he’d seen her before.
Have I? he wondered.
And suddenly Clarke remembered it was Lara at the coffee shop. It was she who had found his investigation journal lying on the floor.
What a lovely coincidence.
Clarke ran his finger over her features, the same way he had with Lowri’s photo countless times before. She was beautiful, he realized, fingernail outlining the curve of her eyes. More beautiful than Lowri. More beautiful than anyone he had ever seen.
Beautiful enough to die for.
Clarke hoped, for Kai’s sake and his own, that Kai was ready to accept the fate of this case. The fate of Lara.
He wasn’t going to let himself fail—not when his father already had.
LARA HAD FINALLY DECIDED to attend rehearsal. Ultimately, it was Evelyn who’d convinced her to go, reminding Lara of her dedication—of her addiction to victory.
Evelyn was right. Lara was strong, and more than that, she was untouchable—unable to be broken down. No one could affect her—and if they did, they would never know, for her ability to hide a massive amount of brokenness was something she prided herself in.
The sun was out, but the air was bitter. Lara hated that dichotomy. She wore a leotard under a yellow hoodie, pulling it around her body as the breeze brushed her figure, delicately pushing the strands of hair from her face like the touch of a lover.
Evelyn was standing just outside the door when Lara arrived, talking quietly on the phone.
“Who are you talking to?” Lara asked, her face reaching just behind Evelyn’s ear. Evelyn jumped, muttering a few last things to the person on the other end before slipping the phone back into her pocket.
“Ana,” she answered.
“Is something wrong?” Lara asked, suddenly avoiding Evelyn’s eyes.
“Yes,” she replied. “She misses you.”
“Ana? Ana said she misses me?” Lara laughed. “You’re very funny.”
“Okay, okay,” Evelyn relented. “Maybe she didn’t say that, but everyone else did.” Her eyes softened as Lara met her gaze. “Please,” she whispered. “Come back.”
“I—”
“Don’t say anything,” she interrupted. “Just think about it.”
Lara narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms before her chest. “I hate you.”
Evelyn laughed. “Let’s go inside,” she said, dragging Lara into the auditorium by the arm.
The room was already filled with students, all moving anxiously across the wooden stage. Lara stopped at the door, the rush of students already confining her breaths. The last time she was here, she was in the arms of another, his touch a galvanizing echo against her arms, his limbs stuck to hers like a matchbox waiting to fire.
That dreaded night...
It had not fired but erupted. Shattered skin and splintered bone.
Evelyn turned back, lip pouting in confusion. “Lara?”
Lara’s eyes traced over the wave of students, searching for him. Her greatest sin. “Is he here yet?”
When Evelyn raised a brow, Lara shook her head, feeling the ends of her hair sway around her neck. “You know who I mean.” His name fell from her lips like a crime.
“What?” said Evelyn. “Of course he is. He’s the lead.”
“I’m the lead,” Lara scoffed. “Not him.”
“Right,” Evelyn started, still not following Lara’s unexpected interest. “Is something wrong?”
“Forget it,” Lara groaned. “It doesn’t matter.”
Evelyn looked as if she wanted to say more but shrugged instead. Grabbing Lara’s arm, they walked up to the stage, shoes skidding against the polished wood.
Dunne, who had been assessing a student on stage, turned at the sound of their footsteps. Upon seeing Lara, she puckered her lips, her lucid eyes flaring cold.
“Where have you been?” she asked, sticking a pencil behind her ear. Lara could sense the anger underlying her tone.
“Sick,” Lara answered blandly. She looked to Evelyn, who bit her lip to prevent a smile. Slowly, she backed into the curtain, sending a wink to Lara and leaving her alone with Dunne’s rage.
“You could have responded,” Dunne said. “I thought you’d disappeared— or worse died!”
&nbs
p; “Okay,” Lara said, ignoring Dunne’s increasing volume. “Can we begin? I’m sure I have a lot to cover.”
Dunne threw her hands up, jaw slack. “You are...” she mumbled, shaking her head as she sauntered off the stage. “I’ll get Kai.”
There it was—the same name she had been desperately trying to avoid. The reality of him being here was overwhelming. She knew she’d see him, see his chest rise and his fingers twitch, and the thought was eating her alive. Lara wasn’t sure if she could stand to face him again—but if she had done it before, with bloodied fingers and a steel-crusted blade, she knew she could do it again.
She would handle it—even if Kai was forever filled with nothing but hatred and grief and vengeance; even if, for the rest of her life, each time he looked at her, the hatred that rested on his glassy eyes was so tangible that it was painful, that it was excruciating and terrifying and unbearable because it was Kai—the boy she’d sworn to ruin, not the other way around.
Lara felt the urge to run, to hide from Kai and his justified vexation, but her slippered feet stayed rooted to the floor. She remembered the promise she’d made to herself—the vow.
I will destroy Kai Reeves.
And despite the feelings that twisted in her gut each time she thought of the wooden pews and the darkened church and the flickering candles, she would do it—annihilate him—like he’d done to her the last night they’d spent with each other; like he thought he’d continue to do because he had the upper hand. He had revealed her secret, her greatest flaw, so, of course, she was in the palm of his hand, twirling and leaping across the wrinkles of his skin.
Lara did not rest in his palm though, despite all he believed—despite the night in her unlit kitchen. She still had her pride, and the power of it was greater than he could imagine.
A few moments later, Dunne pulled the curtain open, revealing Kai—Kai, in a black T-shirt and charcoal sweats; Kai, with full lips and dark hair. It was like he’d just stepped out of a forest fire, his clothes charred and black, and Lara nearly took a step back at the heat of seeing him.
Despite the vehemence within his gaze, his eyes were somehow also emotionless, mirroring nothing but fire and blood and red. He looked at her like he didn’t know her, like he’d never known her, and an acidic pain spread across her chest, poisoning her lungs and laboring her breaths.
It was worse, seeing him like this. Devoid of feelings. Unimpressed. This wasn’t the Kai she knew, but then again, she wasn’t sure she had known him at all. Who really was Kai Reeves? The orphaned boy with a broken soul, or the dancing rarity with scars across his feet?
His steps slowed as he approached her, taking his time with each movement, with each lift of a leg. The nearness of him—still inches away—was a comedy. He didn’t want to be here, and neither did she. They stood at the same proximity to that night—when he had discovered her deepest secret. The repetition of it all made Lara feel dizzy and unnatural.
Looking up at him, Lara wanted to tug on Kai’s hair and wrap her fingers around his beating throat. He was looking at her like he didn’t know her, but they both knew he did. They both knew that he, with certainty, knew her better than anyone in the world.
No amount of kisses could take away the fact that Kai knew who Lara was, the things that she had done. Kai knew Lara’s weaknesses, her faults, and her nastiest intentions. He knew that she had drawn blood—he had seen her covered in it like a conjurer born from the darkest of stars.
Lara Blake was a murderer, and Kai had not locked her up.
Perhaps this was his method of punishment, leaving Lara to suffer in her own despair. Kai, Lara realized, was her cage. He had trapped her within his walls the very moment she’d seen him, threatened him, and he refused to let her out.
Dunne swayed from the curtain seconds later, the pencil gone from her ear. “Let us rehearse everything!” she yelled. “From the beginning.”
Kai sucked in a breath, the first hint of emotion she’d seen from him since he’d stepped past the curtain. He walked past Lara, shoulder lightly brushing hers, and took his position on stage. Lara traced his movements, feeling her fingers twitch in affliction.
“Lara,” Dunne snapped, waving her hand out. “Are you just going to stand there, or will you get in position? After your lack of attendance, you’re lucky I haven’t pulled you out of the recital.”
“No, you’re lucky,” Lara scoffed, moving to the center of the stage. “Without me, this recital would be a joke.”
“I can just as easily replace you,” Dunne retorted.
“Go ahead,” Lara dared. “You wouldn’t find someone half as good as me.”
Dunne opened her mouth, then closed it, looking both conflicted and irritated. She nodded to a girl offstage for the music, muttering aggravated thoughts to herself. A sly smile spread across Lara’s lips, her eyes glinting in victory. Dunne knew Lara was right; she wouldn’t find anyone with Lara’s capabilities, not this late into rehearsals.
Without looking at Kai, Lara could feel his eyes burning holes into her back. His silence was like a venom, exhilarating and cruel. By it alone, she knew what he was thinking.
I’m not half as good as you—I’m better.
Kai would always be better.
The lights dimmed, and a slow hum of music filled the auditorium. Lara began her solo routine, letting the song filter through her bones and move her across the stage. As she closed her eyes, feeling the routine bring her to life, a sweet, sudden realization brushed against her limbs.
She’d missed this. She’d missed dancing.
It was a startling recognition—that she missed that which had destroyed her the most. Ballet had been Seo-Yun’s addiction as a teenager, before one mistake and a fractured leg tore her dream apart.
Now, Lara was her mother’s source. Her mother’s drug. Since the day Lara could walk, her mother had worked her to her weakest bone, bruising her skin and scarring her feet. Twirling across the stage, Lara could still remember the vigor of her mother’s hand as she snapped rubber against her spine, rendering Lara’s back slouch-less. Her eyes squeezed against the memory—the aftermath of blood and pain. It was why she consistently refused to wear backless leotards—everyone would see the unsightly scars that covered her skin.
Like bile, Lara forced the memory down her throat. The music raveled faster, signaling Lara to her final leap. The air brushed against her arms as she extended them in the air, already realizing her mistake.
“Shit,” she murmured, her foot twisting awkwardly as it met the floor. It had been too long since she had been on this stage; the routine Dunne choreographed was not as easy to recall.
Dunne clicked her tongue. “Extend your toes next time. Keep going.”
The music had already continued without Lara, forcing her to stay put, leaving her solo unfinished. It was Kai’s turn to come out now, and the closer it came to his beat, the faster her heart battered inside her chest.
He rose into a développé, stretching his limbs and tipping his neck upward. Lara swallowed against the dryness of her throat, her eyes taking in the smoothness of his skin, the etherealness of his disposition.
Kai was so beautiful to look at it hurt. It was agonizing.
Everything about him hurt, like glass shattering against her already torn skin. Blood rose to her sweaty cheeks as Kai moved to his next position.
It seemed—her eyes unable to tear themselves away from Kai’s concentrated face—that Lara wanted the hurt—the pain—that came from seeing him. The blood, the anger, the suffering.
All of it.
Kai leaped toward Lara, his lips turned downward in effort. When their gazes met, Lara felt it: the wrenching relief of a thousand emotions she hadn’t known she’d been hiding, storing away. His eyes, made from rust and carnage, flickered shut—as if he couldn’t handle the sight of Lara; as if she repulsed him.
How easy it would be to kill him, Lara thought suddenly, circling his movements with the continuation of the routi
ne. Would he beg as the others do?
It was when Kai’s hand accidentally brushed against her shoulder that Lara froze, stopping the dance entirely.
“Lara,” Dunne yelled from the distance. “What are you doing?”
But Lara didn’t answer. All she could think of was the whisper of Kai’s skin against hers, the echo of a memory that threatened to flash before her weakened eyes. It was a harrowing touch—too painful to endure no matter how brief the feeling was.
Kai stopped too, looking down at his hand, his face empty and remorseless.
Dunne cut the music, turning on the lights and blinding Lara’s vision.
“This,” Dunne started, her finger pointing toward Lara, “is completely unacce—”
“I can’t,” Lara whispered, reaching for the curtain.
“What? Where are you going?”
Lara’s fingers grabbed the velvety material, her voice threatening to break. “I’ll practice on my own from now on, up until the recital. We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you— What?” Dunne stumbled on her words, her face painted with confusion.
“I said I can’t,” Lara repeated. She looked over at Kai to see a small smile flickering on his lips. Shaking her head, she turned away from his mocking face and walked out of the auditorium.
He had won again.
LARA TOOK A LYFT TO the bar—the same bar at which she had seen Kai. As she pulled open the door, still in a leotard and sweats, she surveyed the people crowding the floor, those sitting and those standing. There were two open seats at the bar; Lara took one of them.
“Can I get a vodka Sprite?” asked Lara.
The bartender turned, quickly making her drink, lips pulling into a grin. He slid a glass to Lara. “Hey,” he said. “You should smile more. I’d love to see your teeth.”
Lara lifted the rim to her lips, pouring the burning liquid down her throat. “You are disgusting,” she sneered. “Walk away.”
