Chapter 22 Reapers Don't Cry

Chapter 22 Reapers Don't Cry


Serena

It had been a few days since we came back from Warborn Tech, but something inside me had shifted.

I didn’t know what exactly. Maybe it was seeing how the Reapers worked. How they moved. How they trusted Xavier with things no one else could even understand. How, even among rogue-born wolves with metal arms and coded maps, I wasn’t thrown away.

I didn’t feel safe exactly… but I didn’t feel hunted either.

The mornings were quiet here. Always quiet.

No barking orders. No shouting drills. Just the wind, and the soft thud of boots on stone, and the sound of blades being sharpened. The Phantom Reapers were shadows. They didn’t speak unless they had to. They didn’t laugh out loud.

At first, it unsettled me. Now, I was learning to move through it without shaking.

Mira was helping.

She started slow—small stretches in the early morning, just outside the courtyard. I was four months now. The bump had started to show. It made everything feel more real… and more terrifying.

“Hold here,” Mira said softly, guiding my wrist as I bent sideways.

I winced. “Feels like my ribs are going to snap.”

“That’s the ligaments stretching,” she explained. “Try to breathe through it.”

I did. Slowly. Inhale, exhale.

The Reapers moved past us now and then, silent shadows in black gear and emotionless faces. None of them stared, but I could feel their eyes. I wasn’t one of them. Not really. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But Mira? She didn’t treat me like glass. She knew when to push and when to stop. Her presence was quiet, but firm. Like a steady tree in a storm.

“You’re getting better,” she said after a while.

I huffed, wiping sweat from my forehead. “That’s generous.”

“You held the squat longer today. And you didn’t curse once.”

“I cursed inside,” I mumbled.

She smirked. “Progress is progress.”

I glanced at her. “Did you train like this when you were pregnant?”

Her expression faltered—just a second.

“I wasn’t allowed to,” she said softly. “I wasn’t part of a pack back then.”

I nodded slowly. Another thing we shared. A child born in the middle of chaos.

\---

Later that morning, I passed the training yard and paused.

A warrior—young, probably no older than me—collapsed mid-swing. His blade clattered beside him. Another Reaper stepped forward, grabbed his arm, and pulled him up. There was no yelling. No mocking.

No words at all.

Just a nod. And then they moved on.

I turned to Mira, who was nearby watching.

“Why are they like this?” I asked quietly.

“Like what?”

“So… silent. So emotionless. They don’t even flinch when someone falls. They don’t comfort each other. It’s like… they’re machines.”

Mira crossed her arms and leaned against the stone wall. Her eyes were sharp, but calm. “They’re taught not to grieve publicly.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The Phantom Reapers don’t show pain. Not in front of others. They’re trained to keep going. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”

“That’s… cruel.”

She didn’t disagree. “It’s survival. For them, emotion is weakness. If you pause to cry, you die.”

“But they’re not in war right now.”

Mira looked toward the field, where another group of Reapers was practicing with silent focus. “Some of them are always in war. On the inside.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected.

Because I understood.

I was in a war too.

Inside my mind. Inside my body.

\---

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The room felt too still. The air too heavy. My thoughts were loud. Too loud.

The triplets’ voices, soft and distant. Echoes of memories. A hand on my waist. A whisper against my skin. A name—mine—spoken like it still belonged to them.

It didn’t.

I curled on my side, clutching my stomach gently.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to the child. “For everything. I don’t know how to do this.”

After a while, I got up. Pulled on my coat. Walked down the hallway barefoot.

The moonlight filtered through the narrow windows like silver ghosts. I followed the light until I stepped outside.

And there he was.

Kansas.

Sitting on the edge of a stone bench, oiling his mechanic hand. His hair was tied back tonight. A small electric lamp beside him cast soft shadows across his scarred face. He didn’t look up when I approached.

I sat down beside him without speaking.

For a moment, there was only the sound of his movements.

Then I asked, “Do Reapers ever cry?”

Kansas’s hand didn’t stop, but his eyes flicked to me.

“Only when no one’s looking,” he said simply.

I stared at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “We’re taught to hide it. To bury it. Some do better than others.”

“That sounds awful.”

He shrugged. “It is. But it’s what keeps us alive.”

“I don’t want to live like that,” I whispered.

Kansas didn’t reply. He didn’t try to convince me otherwise. Didn’t say I was weak. He just kept cleaning his hand with calm, steady hands.

I don’t know why, but something about that… broke me.

A soft sound left my throat.

Then another.

And before I could stop myself, tears slid down my cheeks.

I didn’t sob. Didn’t wail.

I just sat there. Crying silently beside a man who didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

He simply reached over, picked up a bottle of water, and placed it gently on the bench beside me.

Then went back to his hand.

I cried harder.

Because somehow, that was the kindest thing anyone had done for me in a long, long time.

\---

Minutes passed. Maybe more.

My breathing calmed. My hands stopped trembling.

I took a sip of the water, cold and crisp, and wiped my face with my sleeve.

Kansas finally spoke again, voice low. “You’re not the only one carrying ghosts, Serena.”

I looked at him. “Do you have a lot?”

He gave a short nod. “Too many.”

“Do they talk to you too?” I asked with a sad smile.

“No,” he said, then paused. “But they stay. In the silence. In the quiet. That’s where they live.”

I looked up at the sky.

The stars were scattered like tiny sparks, and the moon hung low, heavy and bright.

“I hate that I still feel them,” I whispered. “I hate that I miss them sometimes. That I dream about them. Even after what they did.”

“It doesn’t mean you’re weak,” Kansas said. “It means you’re human.”

“I’m not sure I want to be human anymore.”

He glanced sideways. “Too late for that.”

I laughed softly. “You’re not very comforting, you know that?”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

Silence fell again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy.

It was… peaceful.

\---

When I finally stood up to leave, I looked down at him.

“Thanks for the water.”

He nodded once. “Anytime.”

And as I turned to walk back to my room, I heard him say—just barely above a whisper—
“You’re stronger than you think.”

I didn’t reply.

But I smiled.

Because for the first time in a long time, I believed it.

Just as I walked back to my room I saw a drone not far away...

Following me.

Xavier.

I blushed.

He's always watching.