The Space Between Us

Soren's POV

I stared at the white ceiling. Everything felt hazy, like I was floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness. Voices filtered through the fog — muffled, distant.

“How long until he wakes up?”

That voice — I knew it. The only person I could ever call a true friend. Jace.

“He should—”

The rest blurred. I saw movement in my periphery, someone speaking, but the words were just noise. Slowly, the fog began to lift,

my vision sharpening bit by bit.

A man in a lab coat leaned over me. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine,” I whispered, though it felt like a lie. My eyes wandered until they found Jace. He handed me a cup of water, and I drank it

like I hadn’t tasted water in days.

“I need to call Raisel,” I said, breath catching in my throat.

Jace handed me another cup without a word. The cool water soothed my parched throat.

“You can’t,” he finally said.

My stomach dropped. “Why not?”

He looked me dead in the eye.

“We staged your death — and the case was officially closed. But some officers in the department didn’t buy what we sold them.

Rocher confirmed someone’s watching Raisel. We can’t risk contact right now.”

I swallowed hard. “They could’ve tapped her phone,” I murmured.

Jace nodded. “Exactly.”

“Who’s investigating?” I asked.

“Mathew Laurence.”

I flinched at the name. That guy’s like a bloodhound — relentless, annoying, and unfortunately very good at what he does. Especially when it comes to reopening closed cases.

“Why him, of all people?” I muttered, frustrated. My chest ached — not just from the injuries, but from missing Raisel.

“Bad luck,” Jace replied softly.

“Yeah,” I said. Just that. A flat, bitter word.

I had a gnawing feeling Mathew wouldn’t let this case go. And I didn’t know how long I’d have to live without seeing her face or hearing her voice.

“You need to go back to New York,” I told him. “Watch over Raisel.”

“I was about to leave,” he admitted, “but I stayed to make sure you pulled through.”

“Thanks for sticking around, bro,” I said, wincing as I sat up. Pain scorched my skin — burn marks reminding me of everything I’d lost.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jace said. “You’re gonna need your sanity — and that’s hard to keep without Raisel around.”

“Can’t you hack in or something? Just let me talk to her?”

He shook his head. “Mathew’s team is good. Really good. And Fiora’s been holding the line, scrubbing our trail and erasing evidence. But if we push our luck, everything we’ve worked for could fall apart.”

I let out a long, frustrated breath.

“I’ll try to keep you updated through Killian,” Jace said. “For now, this basement’s the safest place for you.”

“I know,” I mumbled.

He left. The only things that remained were the rhythmic beeping of machines, the sting of burned flesh, and the crushing weight of missing my Raisel.

Days went by.

The musty smell of the basement had become familiar — too familiar. It was small, quiet, and suffocating. Killian’s men kept the fridge stocked, but it still felt like prison. Every day, I marked off the calendar like a countdown to something I couldn’t even name.

“You’re looking better,” Killian’s voice called out.

I didn’t turn around. Just focused on brewing coffee, trying to find comfort in small rituals.

“What brings you here?” I asked, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.

“You look depressed,” he said. There was a flicker of genuine curiosity in his voice — not mockery, which I half-expected.

“Coffee?” I offered.

He nodded, settling onto the old couch. The TV was on in the background, news playing but barely registering.

I handed him the mug.

“I’ve got some news,” he said after a sip.

I waited.

“Raisel’s okay. But it’s still not safe for you to leave.”

Relief washed over me — cold and fleeting. Knowing she was safe helped... but it also made the wait to see her feel that much

heavier.

“There’s another issue,” Killian added. “Your property—”

“I made sure it was transferred to Raisel.”

“I’m not talking about your property,” he said. “I mean your ancestral estate.”

My grip on the mug tightened.

“Davina’s the only one left in the Dalton family line who can claim it.”

“She’s not a Dalton,” I snapped.

“I know,” Killian said, his voice low. “But if she manages to grab that power, she’ll gain influence. A lot of it.”

My stomach twisted. “What do you mean?” I asked, barely holding onto my calm.

Killian’s eyes met mine — serious, intense.