Chapter 9

Zane’s POV

The explosion reverberated through the area, sending shockwaves of chaos in every direction. People were fleeing, their screams piercing the air, yet amidst the turmoil, Feya remained rooted in place, her words cutting into me like sharp blades.

I had not anticipated the ferocity of her anger, the way she twisted my own words against me. I was acutely aware of her disdain for me; that was never in question. However, in that moment, her feelings transcended mere hatred. It was a profound repudiation of everything I had ever attempted to achieve.

I had inquired about Killian, but now, despite my urge to shake her and demand his whereabouts, I had to confront a harsh truth. A shift had occurred. Trust had evaporated; I could rely on no one here, not even Feya.

Then, as swiftly as the confrontation had begun, she crumpled to the ground. The needle embedded in her neck had accomplished its purpose, extinguishing the fury that had ignited between us in an instant.

I bent down to lift her, feeling the delicate weight of her body in my arms. She was not yet fully unconscious; her eyes fluttered, and her lips moved as if attempting to articulate something. Yet, only a garbled word escaped her.

I tightened my embrace, drawing her closer, and began to move away. The world around us was disintegrating, but one truth stood out starkly.

If I didn’t get her to safety immediately, there would be nothing left to salvage.

As much as I resented the situation, I knew I couldn’t abandon her. I had no idea who had administered the needle.

The moment Killian’s gaze met mine, relief washed over his features. He rushed toward me, enveloping me in a firm embrace. For a brief second, I was taken aback, uncertain of how to react, but then my arms instinctively encircled him, holding on just as tightly. It had been ages since we had experienced any semblance of warmth or understanding.

In that fleeting moment, everything else faded into the background—the chaos, the conflict, the tension between us—it was simply the two of us, clinging to one another in desperate need.

I could sense his heartbeat against my chest, the quick rhythm of adrenaline still coursing through him. He leaned back slightly, his hands moving to examine my body, his eyes searching for any signs of injury.

“Are you okay?” His tone had softened, revealing his concern, though I could still detect an underlying urgency in his voice.

"I'm fine," I murmured, uncertain whether I was trying to reassure him or myself. The sensation of his hands on me, checking for any injuries, was something I never expected to feel again. It felt almost dreamlike.

We lingered in that moment for a few heartbeats, the distant sounds of chaos nearly drowned out by the silence surrounding us. But as the tension began to ease, a deep ache formed in my chest. Killian’s expression softened, and I could see he was grappling with the reality of our situation, trying to comprehend the peril we faced.

Then, his gaze shifted, his body tensing once more as his eyes fell to the ground.

Feya.

My heart sank as I watched his expression shift to one of panic. In that instant, everything else—the conflict, the threats, the outside world—seemed to fade away. His sister, his family, lay there unconscious and exposed, a casualty of the chaos unfolding around us.

“Feya…” Killian’s voice was barely audible, filled with fear that shattered me. I longed to reach out and comfort him, but I knew I was powerless to help. I had already let him down in so many ways.

He sank to his knees beside her, his hands shaking as he cradled her face, his voice a soft, urgent plea. “Feya, please. You have to wake up…”

I stepped back, a wave of jealousy washing over me. No matter how hard I tried to push it down, the way Killian held her—his gentleness, his desperation—felt like a knife twisting in my chest. His concern was solely for her.

His concern was solely for her.

“Someone injected her with something,” I said quietly, but my words shattered the moment like broken glass. Killian’s gaze snapped to mine, confusion etched on his brow.

"What do you mean?" His voice was low, laced with panic. “What’s happened to her?”

I inhaled deeply, bracing myself. I didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to pull him deeper into the chaos we were facing, but I had no other option.

"Someone used a tranquilizer on her. We need to get her help," I urged, stepping closer. “She’ll be okay, Killian. She’s just unconscious. We can save her, but we must hurry.”

For a brief moment, his eyes softened before hardening with renewed resolve. I could see him processing the information, but it was irrelevant. His sole focus was on her.

“I’m taking her to the medic,” he declared firmly, and without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms. His movements were swift and deliberate, as if he feared losing even a moment.

I stood still, paralyzed. I wanted to act, to do something, but the harsh reality of the situation crashed over me. I wasn’t even in his thoughts right now. He didn’t care about me. I had vanished from his mind. His sister’s safety was his only priority.

I wouldn’t be the one he turned to. I never had been.

“Killian…” I murmured, my voice barely audible amidst the chaos.

He didn’t look back. His attention was entirely on Feya, focused on ensuring her safety.

I felt a tightness in my throat.

I stepped closer to him, offering my assistance. I was aware that my words lacked substance, yet I felt compelled to speak. His focus was entirely on Feya, leaving no room for me. “I can help.”

For a fleeting moment, he paused, his posture becoming rigid. Then, he shook his head, his expression transforming into an unreadable mask. “No, Zane. Stay out of it.”

His rejection pierced me deeply, like a sharp blade.

I observed him as he carried her away, his body tense with anxiety, and my chest tightened under the burden of the unfolding situation.

Feya was his everything. I was insignificant.

I remained still for a moment longer, my thoughts racing, but I felt powerless to intervene. I couldn’t resolve this.

Eventually, I turned and walked away, my pace slow, my mind engulfed in a whirlwind of frustration, resentment, and—if I was honest—hurt. The sensation of being unseen was all too familiar. I had spent countless years vying for Killian’s attention and approval. Yet, in the end, it was always Feya. Always her.