"Ready to see?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. I nodded, my heart suddenly racing with a mixture of hope and fear. What if it didn't work? What if I looked in the mirror and still saw that ghost, that broken thing that wasn't me? Rosa removed the towel with a flourish, then combed through my damp hair, arranging it around my face.
"Look," she said simply, stepping back so I could see my reflection clearly. The woman who stared back at me had vibrantpurple hair, the colour rich and deep, just as it had been before. The contrast against my pale skin was striking, making my blue eyes seem more intense, more alive. It was like seeing an old friend after a long absence, familiar and yet somehow new.
"It's perfect," I whispered, reaching up to touch a strand as if to confirm it was real. "It's exactly right." Rosa beamed with pride.
"Of course it is. Now, shall we show the boys their handiwork? They will be very proud, I think." I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
As I stood, I caught sight of my full reflection in the mirror and paused, struck by the transformation. It wasn't just my hair. There was something different in my posture, a straightening of my shoulders that hadn't been there before. A tiny spark of the old Cade, the one who had fought and survived and refused to be broken, even when bent almost beyond recognition.
I found Cole and Ryder in the living room.. They looked up as I entered, and the expressions that crossed their faces made my heart swell with an emotion I hadn't felt in far too long, joy.
"Holy shit," Ryder breathed, his eyes wide. "You look..."
"Amazing," Cole finished, his voice soft with wonder. "Absolutely amazing." I touched my hair self-consciously, suddenly shy under their intense gazes.
"It turned out pretty well, considering neither of you had any idea what you were doing."
"We had supervision," Ryder said with a grin, gesturing to Rosa, who stood in the doorway, arms crossed but with a fond expression. "And excellent taste in colour."
"And a very patient model," Cole added, his eyes never leaving my face. There was something in his gaze that made my breath catch, a warmth and admiration that I'd thought might be lost forever after what had happened.
"Thank you," I said, looking between them. "Both of you. For doing this. For... for seeing what I needed, even when I couldn't ask for it." Ryder crossed the room to stand before me, his hands hovering near my arms as if seeking permission to touch. When I nodded slightly, he placed his hands gently on my shoulders, his touch light but grounding.
"We set up a movie," he said, nodding toward the television where the menu screen for one of my favourite films was paused. "If you're up for it. Nothing heavy, just... normal. Popcorn, blankets, the whole deal."
"We thought maybe a quiet day in might be nice," Cole explained, his voice carefully neutral, giving me space to refuse if I needed to. "Just the three of us." I looked at the cosy setup they'd arranged, pillows and blankets piled on the couch, snacks on the coffee table, the familiar comfort of a movie I'd seen a dozen times. Such a simple thing, and yet it felt like a lifeline thrown into deep water.
"That sounds perfect," I said, meaning it more than they could know.
I settled between them on the couch, Ryder's arm draped casually over the back cushion, not quite touching me but close enough that I could feel his warmth. Cole sat a bit more stiffly on my other side, but as the movie began, I felt him gradually relax, his body shifting imperceptibly closer to mine.
About halfway through the film, I found myself drifting, not quite asleep but in that peaceful state between waking and dreaming. My head found Cole's shoulder without conscious thought, and after a moment's hesitation, I felt his arm come around me, holding me gently. On my other side, Ryder had slumped down until his head rested against mine, his breathing deep and even. I wasn't healed. The scars on my body and soulwere still raw, still painful. The nightmares would still come, and there would be days when getting out of bed felt impossible. Damien was still out there somewhere, a shadow looming over my future. But in that moment, surrounded by warmth and care and the simple pleasure of a familiar movie, I felt more like myself than I had in months.
"Thank you," I whispered, not sure if either of them was awake to hear me. "For bringing me back."
The rain battered against the windows of Angus Williams's office, matching my darkening mood as I stood with my hands braced against the back of a leather chair. My knuckles had gone white from the pressure, but I couldn't bring myself to sit. Sitting felt too much like acceptance.
"What do you mean it wasn't him?" The words came out lowand controlled, but inside, I was screaming.
James Killingham sighed, leaning back in the chair that normally seats Williams, as he regarded me with that insufferable calm that had always been his trademark.
"Exactly what I said, Logan. The man we apprehended in Finland wasn't Damien McIntyre. He was carrying McIntyre's passport, wallet, and even wearing his clothes, but facial recognition confirmed it was someone else entirely."
"A fucking decoy." I spat the words, my grip tightening on the chair. "And you fell for it."
"We didn't 'fall for' anything," Killingham replied, his tone sharpening slightly. "We followed the lead we had. It was solid intelligence that McIntyre was attempting to flee the country."
"And instead, you caught some random nobody while the man who tortured Cadence for weeks is still out there." I pushed away from the chair, pacing the length of the office like a caged animal. Every cell in my body was screaming for action, for violence, for anything that might ease the crushing weight of failure pressing down on my chest.
"Not a random nobody," Killingham corrected, sliding a file across his desk. "Thomas Reid. Minor criminal record, mostly petty theft and fraud. Paid a substantial amount to act as McIntyre's double. He claims he was told it was for an insurance scam."
I flipped open the file, staring at the face of the man who wasn't Damien. He had the same build, similar colouring, but his features were all wrong. How the fuck had anyone mistaken this for Damien?
"And you believe that bullshit?" I asked, slamming the file shut.
"What I believe is irrelevant," Killingham replied evenly. "What matters is that Reid has given us new information. Therehave been sightings around Harrogate and Leeds in the last seventy-two hours. McIntyre might still be close to home." The implication hit me like a physical blow. Close to home meant close to Regents. Close to Covenant House. Close to Cadence.
"You're telling me that the man who abducted and tortured Cadence for weeks is lurking around our fucking backyard?" My voice rose despite my efforts to keep it under control. "And you're only telling me this now?"
