Page 30 of Wraith

Twenty

Walkinginto the diner felt like stepping into a time capsule that had given up on keeping itself preserved. The coffee smelled burnt, the fryer oil had probably been in use since before I was born, and the ceiling fan wheezed with every slow rotation. The booths sagged like they’d lost the will to support anyone, and the counter stools swiveled with a faint creak, like they wanted to protest their existence. A waitress tossed a half-hearted “hon” in my direction as she passed, more out of muscle memory than care. Normally, I’d tear a place like this apart just for the fun of it, but today, I couldn’t summon the energy.

The others were already seated in a corner booth, their faces lit by the dim glow of the overhead light. Aeron sat with his arms crossed, his expression as tight as ever. Lucian was nursing a cup of coffee, his shoulders rigid, while Thorne stared out the window like he wanted to be anywhere else.

I slid into the open seat next to Lucian, the leather squeaking under my weight. “So, this is what normal looks like,” I muttered, pulling out the coin from my pocket and flipping itabsently. The edge pressed into my palm as it spun through the air. Heads. Of course.

“Figured we could all use a distraction,” Lucian said, his tone clipped. He didn’t look at me.

“Right,” I drawled. “Because pretending everything’s fine has worked so well for us so far.”

No one laughed. The silence that followed wasn’t just awkward—it was suffocating. I pocketed the coin and grabbed a menu, even though I wasn’t hungry. The laminated plastic stuck to my fingers as I skimmed the options. Pancakes. Burgers. A sad-looking “house salad” that probably hadn’t seen a fresh ingredient in years.

The waitress appeared, chewing gum with the kind of apathy you could only earn after years of dealing with people like us. “What’ll it be?”

“Coffee,” I said without looking up. The others mumbled their orders, and she shuffled off, her sneakers squeaking against the floor.

For a few minutes, we managed to avoid talking about anything real. Aeron commented on the weather. Thorne made some half-hearted remark about his classes. It was stilted, unnatural, like we were actors in a bad play, reciting lines we didn’t believe.

Finally, I decided to break the tension. “You know,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “if this whole ‘acting normal’ thing doesn’t pan out, we could always try group therapy. I hear they give you free snacks.”

Aeron shot me a look that could’ve curdled milk. “You think this is funny?”

“Not particularly,” I said, my tone flat. “But I figured someone should try to lighten the mood before we all spontaneously combust.”

“Well, maybe you should try shutting up for once,” Aeron snapped, his voice low but sharp. “Not everything needs your commentary.”

I sat forward, my elbows resting on the sticky table. “Right. Because what this group really needs is more brooding silence.”

The tension spiked, the air between us crackling like a live wire. Aeron’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists on the table. Before he could respond, Lucian held up a hand.

“Enough,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We didn’t come here to fight.”

“No, we came here to pretend,” Thorne muttered, finally looking away from the window. His gaze locked on Lucian, cold and unflinching. “That’s what you want, right? Just keep playing leader and hope no one notices the cracks.”

Lucian’s composure faltered, just for a moment, but it was enough. “I’m trying to hold us together,” he said, his tone harder now. “Someone has to.”

“Maybe you’re not the right someone,” Thorne said.

The table went quiet, the weight of the accusation settling over all of us. I stared at the chipped edge of my coffee cup, my pulse pounding in my ears. The bond thrummed faintly in the back of my mind, a reminder of everything we’d lost. Lily wasn’t here, but she was everywhere—an absence that felt more present than any of us could bear.

“Are we really doing this?” I asked, my voice louder than I intended. “Ciaran’s dead, Lily’s gone, and this is what we’ve got left? Petty arguments and passive-aggressive bullshit?”

Aeron turned to me, his eyes blazing. “Don’t talk about him like that. You don’t get to.”

“Don’t I?” I shot back, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “At least I’m not drowning in self-pity.”

His fist slammed against the table, the sound echoing through the diner. The waitress glanced over, but when she saw the look on Aeron’s face, she wisely stayed away.

Lucian stepped in again, his voice strained. “Kael, stop. Aeron, sit down.”

I hadn’t even realized Aeron had stood. He stared me down for a long moment before sinking back into his seat, his movements stiff with barely restrained anger.

“This is fucking dumb,” Thorne muttered, shaking his head.

The rest of the meal passed in strained silence. The coffee was bitter, the kind that tasted like it had been sitting on the burner for hours. I barely touched it, my appetite long gone. When the check came, Lucian paid without asking, pulling a black card from his wallet like it cost him nothing. It probably did.

I grabbed the to-go cup the waitress handed me and walked out without a word. The cold air hit me hard as I stepped outside, but it didn’t do much to clear the tension coiled in my chest. I made it to the trash can near the curb and tossed the coffee in, the cup hitting the bottom with more force than necessary.

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