Chapter 9: A Blade Through the Quiet

Chapter 9: A Blade Through the Quiet
“Kael is a murderer.”

The sound came like a thin blade, slicing through the dense wall of memory and make-believe peace. It wasn’t loud, but it was cold enough to make the air in the room sink. I froze, my ears ringing. Outside the window, the night wind hissed through the leaves; the few cars passing in the street merged with the patient ticking of the clock on the wall: tick… tock… tick… tock.

I swallowed hard, trying to find a shred of logic in the words that had just slipped from Kristine’s lips. My heart pounded up into my throat, my fingers tightening unconsciously on the hem of the blanket. “Wha… what are you saying? Who’s a murderer?” I forced my voice to sound light, as if it were all a joke. My eyes slid toward Kristine, waiting for a smile, a quick “just kidding” to snap everything back to normal. What if my mother heard us? What if Kael was listening? What if I was dreaming?

But Kristine didn’t smile. She stayed sitting straight on the edge of the bed, hands clasped, eyes fixed on me. Her voice was as steady as steel:

“Kael. Kael is the one who killed our Evelyn.”

I drew in a sharp breath; the scent of jasmine spray in the room suddenly clotted, choking. In my head, shards of memory from three years ago surged all at once—one rainy night, the smell of damp varnish in the hospital corridor, unanswered texts, the phone shrieking with bad news: Evelyn had died on the way to my house. The shock had lodged in my heart like a bullet wound I thought time had sealed.

“No… no way.” I stammered, my lips trembling. “Evelyn died in a car accident. Kael… he had no reason to do that.”

Kristine turned to me, pressing a hand on my shoulder, holding me down as if to keep me from floating off the ground. Her eyes were a dark well. “Elysa, I asked myself the same thing. Kael really has no obvious motive, but what I’ve found… it’s undeniable.” She glanced at the thin folder beside her: “Forged contracts, secret meetings with board members… that’s no coincidence.”

A shiver ran down my spine, cold sweat trickling. I almost cried out, but Kristine was quicker. She clapped a hand over my mouth and whispered, leaning close, “Shh… someone’s coming.”

Soft slippers padded down the hallway, each step slow and even, knocking against my heart. The corridor light knifed a thin line across the dark just before the doorknob turned. A ribbon of pale light slithered through the crack, carrying with it the smell of ripe oranges mixed with the sting of antiseptic still hanging in the room. My mother stepped in, balancing a large tray—on it, slices of golden mango and grapes beaded with dew.

Her shadow slid long and thin over the wooden floor under the yellow glow. The beige silk hem of her robe fluttered as she bent to set the tray down. For an instant I saw the lines around her eyes deeper than yesterday, silver strands in her hair like filaments of silk under the light. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the cloth on the tray, as though hiding something.

“I brought you some fruit,” she said softly, as if afraid to shatter the heavy air. Her tone spilled out, gentle yet weighted. “Eat… everything will be fine.”

Kristine smiled her thanks, touching the grapes as though it were the most natural thing. I grabbed the lifeline of our act, inhaled, and made my voice airy: “Kristine, let’s go to school together tomorrow. I’ll have the driver pick you up.”

Kristine caught on instantly, her voice brightening: “Sure, I’ll ask my mom to pack lunch for both of us.”

My mother set the tray on the table, her gaze flicking over me—a look pensive and tired, as if she’d grown used to me speaking of things that belonged to the past. She paused, her lips about to form words, then stopped. Those eyes, deep and dark, reflected my image—a girl pretending everything was fine.

“Eat while it’s fresh,” she said after a silence, stepping back. “If you need anything else, call me.”

She said no more, just turned quietly away, her shadow and the smell of oranges fading with the shuffle of her slippers down the hall. The door clicked shut, a small punctuation mark sealing the mask in place.

When the soft click of the lock sounded, the air in the room dropped to the floor. Outside, the night wind hissed harder, rain pattering somewhere far off. I swung back to Kristine: “Are you sure about what you’re saying? What if it’s all a mistake?”

“No mistake.” Her voice was icy. “I hired the best private investigators, veterans. They found proof of hidden accounts, unreported trips, anonymous threats…”

My heart raced, my mouth dry. Kristine leaned in, lowering her voice: “Kael wants to topple the Dawson Corporation. And I suspect you’re the pawn in this. He’s always at your side, taking you places, getting access to your family’s documents—don’t you see?”

The room suddenly felt too small, too close. “What are you talking about…?”

“I have evidence,” Kristine pressed on, “but it’s not time to show you yet. What I need is for you to stay away from Kael. No one knows what he’ll do.” She paused, eyes still locked on me: “And… I think you should have your health checked again.”

“What do you mean?” My voice rasped, cold sweat running down my spine.

“I suspect your cancer diagnosis… is part of Kael’s plan. Your medical files, your test results… all handled by his people.”

I jerked back. “But… I’ve been to two major hospitals, the results were the same…”

Kristine shook her head. “I can’t conclude yet, but we should test again. Tomorrow, I’ll arrange it.”

“But… my parents…”

“Don’t worry.” Kristine gripped my hand, the pressure firm enough to steady me and press resolve into me. “I have a way.”

I looked at her and saw not just steel in her eyes but a tangled worry. And I… the one who should have been steady, had become the one swaying.

Seven years I had been with Kael—a man I trusted, leaned on. And now, each of Kristine’s words peeled away a mask. A murderer. The one who took my best friend’s life. And now, the one who wants to turn me into a pawn to bring down my own family.

My chest tightened. The more I thought, the harsher the world appeared, like a stage where I was forced to play the lead in a ruthless play. Especially for someone… with only two months left to live.