An Awkward Reunion

Gasp.

The taste of smoke was acrid on my tongue, the metallic tang of blood filling my nostrils. My skin prickled with a thousand phantom cuts. The roar. The roar of gunfire.

My eyes were forced open, but saw only black. A black sedan, smoke coiling, a sickening lurch. Then the faces. Hooded. Merciless. Their guns spitting fire. And then, the sickening thud. The strangled cry.

No. No. No.

My mother's face, contorted in silent agony, her hand reaching. My father's eyes, wide with shock, fixed on me, then stilling. The blossoming crimson on her dress, on his shirt. The chilling silence that followed the shouts.

My muscles locked, a primal scream caught in my throat, vibrating against my vocal cords. My breath hitched, a strangled sob. I was falling, falling into darkness, the cold reality of the metal, the stench of burnt rubber, the agony of leaving them.

"NO!" The sound tore from my chest, raw, guttural, a desperate animal howl. My body thrashed, fighting invisible restraints.

"Cel! Hey, Cel, wake up!"

A hand, warm and firm, gripped my shoulder, shaking me, pulling me back from the precipice. I gasped, sucking in air, my lungs burning. My eyes snapped open, disoriented, the sterile London light filtering through the blinds a cruel contrast to the vivid nightmare that clung to me like a shroud.

Jayden's face, etched with concern, hovered above mine. His usually mischievous blue eyes were soft, reflecting the nearly seven years that had passed since that night. Seven years. A blink in the royal chronicles, an eternity in the landscape of a shattered life. I was twenty-four, four months shy of twenty-five, and the past was a monster that still clawed its way from the dark.

He eased back, giving me space, but his presence was a tangible anchor.

"Another one?" he asked, his voice low, filled with an empathy only he possessed.

He'd learned to tell from the way my breathing hitched, the tremor that sometimes ran through me even in sleep. He was my protector, my confidant, the brother I'd found in the wreckage of my life. In these seven years, he'd seen every breakdown, every quiet tear, every moment the veneer of the strong, collected lawyer cracked.

I nodded, pushing myself up, running a shaky hand through my hair. A cold dread settled in my stomach, a familiar response to the ghosts that haunted me.

Jayden sat on the edge of my bed, his gaze fixed on my face. "It's the Velan thing, isn't it?" His voice was tight, reflecting his own unease. "Victor Uncle's urgent call. The danger he kept talking about. You're actually going through with this?"

"He said it's crucial, Jayden," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. The threat, he'd stressed, was higher than ever before, tied to my upcoming twenty-fifth birthday. He needed me where he could protect me, keep me in his sight.

"My life depends on it, he said. He sounded... desperate." Jayden scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Desperate? Or manipulative? Think, Cel. He wants to drag you back to the very place that broke you. To the world that took everything! What if it's worse?" His voice rose with a familiar passion, a mirroring of my own buried fears. "You've built a life here. A safe life. Why risk it?"

"I don't know," I admitted, my gaze sweeping the quiet, familiar confines of my London bedroom, a stark contrast to the burning images of my dream. "But I have to. For answers. For… them."

The unsaid words hung heavy between us. The silver pendant, my mother's last touch, lay cool against my sternum. Ignoring it felt like a betrayal.

Jayden's shoulders sagged, his argument exhausted. He knew me too well. He knew that beneath the lawyer's logic, there was a part of me that craved the truth, a part that couldn't let the past lie buried.

"He sent a private jet," he finally said, his voice flat. "From Heathrow. In eight hours."

Eight hours. Not even a full day to dismantle the quiet life I'd painstakingly built. Eight hours until I faced the ghosts of my past, the terrifying unknown threat, and the very real, very present reality of a world that had ripped everything from me once before.

Morning dawned, grey and unforgiving. I found Jayden still sprawled on the living room couch, a book flopped over his face, one leg dangling precariously off the edge.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!" I chirped, snatching the book away.

He groaned, blinking against the light. "Five more minutes, your Majesty."

"No can do, my lazy prince. Our private jet awaits. Uncle Victor isn't a man to be kept waiting, especially when he's paying for first-class." I threw a pillow at him, a familiar ritual. Our banter was a finely tuned dance, a shield against the heavy past. He stretched, groaning theatrically, then flashed me a tired grin.

"Lead the way, Cel. To the lion's den."

The flight felt endless, suspended between my quiet London life and the terrifying uncertainties of my past. As we touched down in Velan, the regional capital closest to Serendia, a knot tightened in my stomach. The air, even through the filtered cabin, felt different—heavier, somehow, with history.

Uncle Victor was waiting on the tarmac, a solitary, imposing figure against the vastness of the private airport. His formidable presence hadn't changed, but there was a subtle weariness in his eyes, a weight I hadn't noticed during our terse phone calls. He pulled me into a tight embrace, a warmth that was both comforting and unsettling.

"Celeste. You're here. Thank God." His grip on Jayden's shoulder was equally firm, a silent acknowledgment of the bond forged in terror.

"It's been too long, Uncle," I said, a genuine smile attempting to break through my apprehension. He just nodded, his gaze sweeping over me, as if searching for something.

The drive to his mansion in Velan was quiet, filled with the hum of the luxury sedan and the unspoken questions hanging in the air. The place itself was grand, a sprawling mansion nestled amidst rolling hills, a stark contrast to the palace but still radiating old money and influence.

Inside, the atmosphere was a peculiar blend of tension and forced warmth. Casper Ashford, Aron's older brother, greeted us with a polite smile, his face etched with a familiar familial resemblance, though softer than Aron's sharper angles. His wife, Elara, a striking woman with a kind smile,

immediately embraced me.

"Celeste! It's wonderful to finally meet you. Dad has spoken so much about you."

She then introduced me to their daughter, Nancy, a bright-eyed girl no older than ten, who shyly curtsied. The domesticity felt jarring, a strange counterpoint to the political intrigue swirling around us.

Dinner was a stilted affair, polite conversation skimming the surface of unspoken anxieties. Later, as Elara led me to my room, she offered an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, Celeste. The room we had prepared for you, the water supply seems to be malfunctioning tonight. The plumber can't come until morning." She gestured to a door across the hall. "But Aron's room is perfectly fine, and he's away on a business trip. You're more than welcome to use it. He won't be back for days."

My heart gave a weird lurch. Aron's room. Jayden, walking past us, caught my eye, a subtle lift of his brow, a smirk playing on his lips—a silent 'I told you so' that only I understood. I felt a blush creep up my neck. Of course, the universe had a sick sense of humor.

"Thank you, Elara," I managed, forcing a smile. "That would be perfect."

The room was unmistakably Aron's. Stark, masculine, imbued with a scent that was uniquely him—a blend of expensive cologne, faint metallic something, and that subtle, clean scent of his skin I remembered from our childhood sparring. I swallowed, a strange mixture of curiosity and unease swirling within me. I changed into a simple silk nightgown, the familiar comfort a small anchor in this unsettling new reality. The weight of the pendant, my mother's last gift, rested against my sternum.

Hours later, the house was silent, save for the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside. The jet lag and the emotional toll of the day finally pulled me into a fitful sleep. Then, the familiar chill of a presence next to me. A soft sigh. A warm weight settled, an arm sliding gently over my waist.

Smoke. Guns. Mother's cry. Father's eyes.

My eyes remained closed, trying to push the images away. "Jayden," I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep, "I told you, I'm fine. You don't have to keep an eye on me like this. I'm not a child." I sighed, attempting to shrug off the arm, which only tightened, pulling me closer. "Honestly, you're getting too clingy."

A sudden, sharp intake of breath next to me. The weight on my waist vanished. A rustle of sheets.

"Who the hell is this?!" A deep, unfamiliar voice exploded next to my ear, laced with shock and a furious disbelief.

My eyes snapped open, blazing with startled terror. This wasn't Jayden. The form looming over me in the moonlit darkness was too broad, too tall, too… masculine in a way Jayden wasn't. My heart hammered against my ribs, an infernal drum.

A thief! A damn thief!

"Thief!" I shrieked, scrambling back against the headboard, adrenaline surging through me.

Before I could unleash a proper lawyer-worthy scream that would wake the dead, he moved. A blur of motion, a large hand clamped over my mouth, stifling the sound. He vaulted back onto the bed, his weight pressing me down. We tumbled, a tangle of limbs and sheets, until I was pinned beneath him, his body hovering inches above mine, his face a shadowed silhouette against the sliver of moonlight from the window.

Just as I prepared to knee him where it would hurt the most, the room was flooded with light. The door burst open, revealing Uncle Victor, Casper, and Elara. Jayden stood behind them, his face a mixture of alarm and dawning amusement.

All eyes were on the bed. On us. On Aron Ashford, shirtless and bewildered, hovering over me, his hand still clamped over my mouth, my nightgown askew.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Elara's soft gasp.

Then, Jayden's amused voice, cutting through the shock: "Well, well, well. Some reunion, Cel."

Elara clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and genuine humor. Uncle Victor let out a long, weary huff, a knowing glance passing over the scene. The awkward reunion, indeed.