Because either they didn’t care—which she doubted—or they were giving her space. Letting her breathe. Not pushing.

And that... that was somehow worse. Because it meant they’d noticed. They’d heard. They just weren’t going to make her explain.

Veer glanced over his shoulder, catching her staring. He grinned. "You hungry? Cutie’s stew is actually decent when he doesn’t burn it."

"I don’t burn it," Cutie shot back from across the room.

"You burned it last week."

"That was ’one time.’"

Sparrow squawked something that sounded like agreement, meat still dangling from his beak.

Kaya’s mouth twitched despite herself. "I’m fine," she said quietly.

Veer just nodded and went back to his flowers.

And that was it.

No interrogation. No suspicion. No demands for answers.

Just... normal.

Kaya stood there for another moment, then turned and walked back to her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

’’’

Kaya sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands.

They looked the same as always. Calloused. Scarred. Nothing special.

But Liam’s words kept circling in her head like vultures.

’I used 100% of my power on you. Yet you’re here.’

She didn’t feel different. Didn’t feel powerful. Didn’t feel like someone who could survive a jinx that killed others.

So why hadn’t she died?

Kaya leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, forcing herself to think. To remember.

There had been other moments. Close calls. Times when she should’ve died but didn’t.

The ambush three years ago when a bullet grazed her skull instead of going through it. She’d blamed luck.

The building collapse during the mission where she’d been buried under rubble for hours but crawled out with only bruises. She’d blamed adrenaline.

The infection that should’ve killed her after a knife wound went septic. She’d blamed the medic’s quick work.

But what if it wasn’t luck? What if it wasn’t skill or stubbornness or just refusing to die?

What if there was something else?

Kaya opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling.

She didn’t know what she was. Didn’t know if she was different or just... lucky. And honestly? She didn’t want to know.

Because knowing meant facing something she couldn’t control. Meant admitting there were things about herself she didn’t understand.

And Kaya hated not being in control.

She let out a long breath and lay down on the bed, exhaustion finally catching up to her.

Outside, she could hear Veer and Cutie bickering about the stew. Sparrow’s occasional squawk. The normalcy of it all.

And for now, that was enough.

That night, Kaya lay in bed, eyes closed but not quite asleep. Her body was still sore, still recovering, but her mind refused to shut down completely.

Then she heard it.

Voices. Distant. Muffled. Coming from outside the cave.

Her eyes snapped open.

’Damn it.’

She slid out of bed silently, muscles tensing, and crouched low beside it. Her hand immediately went to the nightstand where her knife sat—freshly sharpened by Veer, gleaming and deadly. Her gun was there too, tucked under the edge, but the knife felt better right now. Quieter. More personal.

Footsteps echoed through the house. Multiple sets. Heavy. Deliberate.

They’d avoided the others—Veer, Cutie, Sparrow—somehow bypassing them or timing it perfectly. And now they were heading straight for her room.

’What do they think? That I’m some kind of sloth who sleeps through an attack?’

Kaya didn’t move. She stayed exactly where she was, breathing slow and even, knife hidden in her palm, body coiled like a spring.

The door creaked open.

Four—no, five shadows slipped inside, moving with the kind of clumsy stealth that told her they weren’t professionals. Tribe members. Young ones, probably. Sent by someone who thought numbers would be enough.

Idiots.

One of them approached the bed first, footsteps too loud, breathing too harsh. Kaya watched through barely open eyes as he raised his hand toward where her neck should’ve been—toward the pillow she’d stuffed under the blanket like a decoy.

His fingers reached down.

Kaya’s eyes flew open.

She lunged.

The knife came up fast and brutal, slashing across his outstretched hand. The blade bit deep, cutting through skin and tendon with a sickening ease that made her grin.

"AHHH!" The man screamed, stumbling backward, blood spraying.

Kaya didn’t wait. She jumped onto the bed and kicked him square in the chest with both feet, sending him crashing into the wall behind him. He crumpled like a broken doll.

She landed in a crouch, knife still in hand, eyes sweeping the room.

Four more.

"God damn it," she muttered, already moving.

One of them lunged at her from the left. Kaya kicked off her slipper with one foot and sent it flying into his face—hard enough to make him stumble. Then she ducked under his wild swing, grabbed a fistful of her hair with her free hand, and tied it into a messy knot without breaking stride.

Another attacker came from the right. Kaya spun low, dodging his grab, and drove her elbow into his ribs. He wheezed, doubling over, and she brought her knee up into his face. Bone crunched. He went down.

Two left standing. The other two were circling now, more cautious, realizing she wasn’t going to be easy.

"Come on," Kaya said, voice cold and steady. "You came all this way. Don’t waste my time."

They rushed her together.

Bad move.

Kaya sidestepped the first one, letting him crash into the bedpost. The second one managed to grab her arm—the one holding the knife—and for a moment they grappled, his strength pushing against hers.

Kaya didn’t panic. She twisted her wrist, angling the blade down, and slashed across his forearm. He screamed and let go.

She pivoted, using his momentum against him, and shoved him into the first attacker who was just getting back up. They collided in a mess of limbs.

Kaya didn’t give them time to recover. She kicked one in the stomach, sending him sprawling, then stomped down hard on the other’s knee. Something cracked. He howled.

The last one—the one she’d elbowed earlier—tried to get up, blood pouring from his broken nose.

Kaya walked over, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him back down. Then she pressed the knife against his throat, just enough to draw a thin line of blood.

"Who sent you?" she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer. Just stared at her with wide, terrified eyes.

"Wrong choice," Kaya said—and punched him so hard his head snapped to the side and he went limp.

She stood up slowly, breathing hard but steady, surveying the room. Five bodies. All groaning or unconscious. Blood on the floor. Her knife still clean in her hand.

The door burst open.

Veer, Cutie, and Sparrow rushed in, weapons drawn, eyes wild—then stopped short at the sight.

Veer stared. "What the—"

"Assassins," Kaya said flatly, flicking blood off her knife. "Five of them. Came for me."

Cutie’s eyes swept the room, taking in the carnage, then landed back on her. "You okay?"

"Fine," Kaya said. "They weren’t very good."

Sparrow let out a low whistle. "Clearly."

Veer looked at the bodies, then at Kaya, then back at the bodies. Slowly, a grin spread across his face. "That’s my wife."

Kaya rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue.

Because standing there, knife in hand, five attackers down, she realized something.