Caden didn’t answer with words. Instead, he rose to his feet and gently pulled me up against him. We stood there, only inches apart, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. My breath hitched, and a wave of nerves washed over me.
He cupped my cheek with one hand, his thumb softly trailing over my lips. His voice was a whisper, a mere breath against my skin. “That wasn’t forhisbenefit.”
Then, just as quickly as he had closed the distance between us, he let me go and walked away, leaving me standing there, still wrapped in the blanket he had draped over my shoulders, feeling colder and more alone than ever before.
FORTY-EIGHT
EMMA
I found myself staring at a picture of Caden, one of my favorites. It was taken during an evening dinner with the whole crew. In the snapshot, Caden is laughing hysterically with Sean, who's doubled over, caught up in the moment. They look carefree, happy, and so incredibly young. I couldn’t recall what had them laughing so hard, but that picture always brought me joy. It was my go-to whenever I felt sad or when my mind wandered to darker places.
Today, though, I wasn’t looking at it for comfort. I wasn’t focusing on Sean’s easy laugh or Caden’s bulging biceps. I wasn’t staring at two of my favorite men in the world. My attention was drawn to the woman sitting behind them, rolling her eyes at their antics.
Enya.
A lump formed in my throat, one that seemed permanently lodged there. I never forgave her for lying, never talked it out with her. I built new friendships from scratch and shut her out, not wanting to be reminded of my time in Cyclos or James. Ihad closed the door on her just like I had on anyone else who reminded me of him. And now, it was too late to fix.
A soft knock on my door broke through my thoughts.
“Come in,” I said, my voice hoarse.
A gorgeous redheaded woman opened the door, looking more stunning than usual in a long black dress.
Saoirse.
Her muscles were taut, her eyes filled with unshed tears, and shame was etched all over her beautiful face.
Without words, I stretched out my arms, and she fell into my embrace. We didn’t cry. We only held each other.
After Caden had informed the team of those we lost at Hunza, Saoirse puked her guts out for days, realizing Kate had died taking her place. Rocco had been by her side every second, holding her hair back. Emile and Sean came and went, checking on us every few hours, but Rocco and I had stayed with Saoirse for days in her room, mourning the death of our friends. And now, we were to attend their funeral.
As Saoirse untangled herself from my arms, she glanced around my room.
“You’re really doing it? You’re leaving?” she whispered, taking in the sight of my clothes packed in three suitcases, my pictures ready to be filed away, my books spread across the bed.
I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I’m only a portal away, and my Nexus is on me all the time. We’ll talk more than we did while I was here,” I promised, but it didn’t have the intended effect. Saoirse closed her lids, still fighting back tears.
Maybe I should stay a bit longer? I didn’t want her going through this alone.
As if on cue, another knock sounded at the door.
It swung open before we could answer, revealing Rocco and Sean in sharp suits, both looking impossibly dashing and clearly ready to pick us up.
“I’m okay,” Saoirse whispered, staring at Rocco like he’d become the center of her gravity.
I followed her glance—and saw it mirrored. The way Rocco looked at her, like she was something steady and bright, made me smile, and I knew whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it alone. Not anymore.
“You ready?” Sean asked softly. I nodded, hiding the picture I was holding in the folds of my dress.
The four of us walked in silence from my room to the clearing by the water, where the ashes would be laid to rest. The path was familiar, but today it felt quieter—like even the world knew to tread softly.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden warmth over the trees and painting the lake in warm reflections. The breeze was gentle, stirring the leaves just enough to break the stillness.
Emile joined us a moment later, cradling one of the urns in his hands as if it were something fragile, sacred. Enya’s ashes.
Caden stood at the front of the group, his posture strong yet somehow fragile, like a man holding himself together by sheer will.
He was impossibly handsome in his dark suit, the crisp lines of the fabric sharply contrasting with the raw, intense sadness in his eyes. The suit, though impeccably tailored, couldn’t hide the burden of loss hanging over him.
