Calil dragged a hand over his face. “I’m not, but damn, in my face? In this moment?”
Amiyah caught the look and leaned closer to me, whispering, “As you know, Lena’s a ballet instructor by day and a midnight ballerina by night.”
I blinked. “Meaning?”
She smirked faintly, even through the tension. “Meaning she dances at Provocateur. Calla knew too, but you know the rule: happens at Provocateur, stay at Provocateur.”
I looked over at Calla, who was quietly taking in the room, unreadable as always. Her eyes met mine briefly, and in that tiny exchange, I knew she was compartmentalizing, shoving every emotion she had into a box to function.
Caleb spotted her first and stepped forward. “Boop.”
The way he said her childhood nickname, soft and cautious, told me everything. He opened his arms, and she walked straight into them without hesitation. For all the tension and old scars between them,grief has a way of cutting through noise.
Calil joined, pulling them both in. It wasn’t a perfect embrace, but it was real.
When they finally broke apart, Caleb cleared his throat. “They said he’s still alive, barely. They’re waiting on word from surgery.”
Calla nodded slowly. “And his wife?”
“Taken in for questioning,” Caleb said. “But apparently she’s the one who called the police and told them everything. They found the security footage, every hit, every assault, every threat.” He shook his head. “She had cameras hidden throughout the house. She knew one day she’d need proof, especially because she was planning her escape from him.”
A low murmur rippled through the room: anger, disbelief, relief.
Calla’s face stayed blank, but her hand found mine, gripping tight enough for me to feel her pulse jump.
Amiyah reached for her other hand. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” she whispered.
Calla swallowed hard. “I don’t feel strong. I feel… conflicted.”
Calil gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, join the club. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel, sad, angry, relieved that he’s not gonna terrorize anyone else.”
Caleb exhaled through his nose. “Probably all of it.”
No one argued.
“How’s mom?” she asked her brothers.
“Actually, she’s good, just worried about us. Dro’s making sure she’s okay.”
She nodded, and the quiet that followed wasn’t peaceful, but it was honest. Everyone was processing something different, but all of it led back to the same question: how do you grieve someone who hurt you more than they ever helped you?
Across the room, Lena stood and caught Calla’s eye. She walked over, giving her a long, quiet hug. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this, and however you feel, it’s valid.”
Calla’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”
Lena pulled back, glancing at Zaria with a little smile before heading back to her seat. I noticed Calil watching her again, softer this time, because despite their dealings, she had shown up for him and his family without hesitation.
Hours passed like that, low murmurs, pacing, the squeak of shoes on linoleum. The kind of waiting that stretches time.
When the doctor finally came out, his expression said everything before he spoke.
“Mr. Black didn’t make it.”
Calla didn’t cry right away. She just stood there, her shoulders straight, her chin lifted, as if holding herself together was the only thing keeping the room from collapsing.
I stepped closer, slipping my arm around her. Amiyah did the same on the other side.
Calla exhaled shakily, voice steady but low. “Then I guess that’s the end of him.”
