Waiting

9.

Arie POV

For one reckless second, I hated him.

Hate.

The word felt foreign in my mind—heavy, jagged.

How could I hate him? I had never hated anyone before. Not in all my millennia of existence. I had judged. I had ended. I had remained indifferent.

But hate?

It didn’t matter.

Because in that moment, I knew I did.

I hated that he was her knight in shining armor. I hated the ease with which he stepped into her distress and made it better. And I hated the way she looked at him—relieved, grateful, trusting.

I never knew emotions could strike this violently.

Then it hit me fully.

Jealousy.

I’m jealous.

The realization was suffocating.

I, the Evening Light. The Angel of Death. The one who stood unmoved while empires rose and fell.

Jealous.

Feeling something dangerously close to defeat, I sank back into my chair and buried my face in my hands. My composure fractured in silence.

Those were supposed to be my moments.

Mine.

I was meant to be the one she turned to. I was meant to be the one offering solutions, standing tall beside her, steadying her grief. I wanted her arms around my neck. I wanted to feel her breath against my cheek. I wanted to be the one she ran to when her world cracked open.

Instead, I sat in the corner like a coward.

Why was I allowed to find her—only to discover that someone else had already filled the space beside her?

She was going to fall in love with him. I could see it unfolding already—or at least, I could feel myself believing it. She would claim him. Their souls would intertwine. They would build a life together—beautiful, bright, painfully ordinary. And I would watch. From a distance. Immortal and powerless.

I had faced monsters without fear. I had walked through battlefields without flinching. I had delivered judgment without hesitation.

But this?

This felt like annihilation.

And the worst part?

I had done it to myself. I had allowed myself to hope.

My thoughts drifted to what her life would look like.

I would witness her love him unconditionally. I would watch her grow into her confidence, into her womanhood. I would see her become a mother—radiant, fulfilled—holding children in her arms.

Children she would have with him.

The image hollowed me out. The more I thought, the more I felt as if she had already been lost to me. This was precisely why I did not dare to hope.

Hope is a cruel illusion. It builds fantasies so vivid they feel tangible—then, slowly and mercilessly, it suffocates you when reality crashes down and crushes them into dust. It doesn’t wound quickly.

It kills you slowly.

Painfully.

I bowed my head, letting the weight of it settle into my bones.

Then—a hand touched my shoulder.

“Hey… um, are you okay?”

My body went rigid.

What?

I lifted my head, and there they were—green honeydew eyes, luminous and concerned, staring directly at me.

Was she… speaking to me?

“I—I, um… I am losing someone very dear to me.”

What are you doing? i***t. She doesn’t need to know… spare her the pain.

Her expression softened, and something in her gaze shattered what little control I had left. She didn’t question it. She didn’t hesitate.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Before I could react, she stepped forward and pulled me to my feet. Her arms wrapped around my waist. Her cheek pressed against my chest. She hugged me—fully, instinctively, without reservation.

For a split second, I was stunned.

Then my body responded before my mind could.

I lowered my cheek to the crown of her head and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, holding her—carefully, reverently.

She fit there.

As if she had always belonged there.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she whispered. “I just lost someone I loved so very much too.”

Her voice trembled against me.

And in that moment, the jealousy, the hatred, the dread—all of it fractured.

The moment she wrapped her arms around me—and allowed me to hold her back—those violent, unfamiliar feelings dissolved. I could feel them melting like frost beneath sunlight. All because she was holding me.

Me.

And in that single, fragile moment, I had never felt so completely undone—

and so impossibly whole at the same time.

I couldn’t help but rub her back. “I’m sorry for your sadness. I wish you didn’t have to go through that.”

“It’s okay. My Papa was sick for a long time. He’s in a better place with my Nana.”

I lifted my cheek from the top of her head when I felt her pull back slightly. She tilted her face up toward mine, and I was irrationally grateful that she didn’t remove her arms from around my waist.

As I looked down at her, I was instantly captivated.

Her eyes were clear—no bitterness, no anger. Just sorrow and acceptance woven together in a way that made her seem far older than she was. Pure. Humble. Strong in a quiet way.

And in that moment, I wanted nothing more than for her to be happy, for all her days.

Even if that happiness did not include me.

Even if it meant she chose that arrogant wolf.

Our gazes held.

Slow. Steady.

I became acutely aware of how close we were—how perfectly she fit against me. Instinctively, I loosened my hold, afraid I was clinging too tightly. For a split second, something flickered across her expression—hurt?

Without thinking, I tightened my arms around her again.

The smallest spark of warmth lit in her eyes.

Did she… like that?

Did she enjoy my touch as much as I enjoyed hers?

“Well… thank you for the hug,” I said softly, suddenly unsure of myself. “I needed it.”

I had no idea what else to say. Millennia of existence, and I could not form a coherent sentence.

“I’m Arie, by the way.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she stepped back, flustered. “Sorry, I—um. I’m a hugger. And… ugh, you just looked like you needed one. Sometimes I get a little carried away. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable? I reached out and touched her cheek. Curious she leaned into it and slightly close her eyes as she took a deep breath.

“I’m glad you did, thank you,” I said gently.

If only I could tell her she had managed to shatter and rebuild me in the same breath.

“Oh, umm, you’re welcome. I’m Summer. It’s nice to meet you, Arie.”

She extended her hand for a formal handshake, and I took it, amused and strangely charmed by the sudden shift in composure.

“It’s nice to meet you, Summer.”

I loved the way my name sounded in her voice. Soft. Curious. Untainted.

“Hey… do you want to sit down?”

“Sure!” She smiled.

Oh, creation.

I loved that smile more than anything—and right now, it was directed entirely at me. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling back.

“I could use a break from my family.”

Right. Her family.

I glanced up. Only her mother remained in the waiting room, absorbed in her phone—likely notifying relatives and friends. Her father must have stepped out to speak with a nurse.

“Ha, yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly awkward, and offered her my hand. “I know all about needing some time away from family.”

As her fingers slipped into mine, a quiet current shot through me. Not painful. Not overwhelming.

Just… right.

Nervous energy pooled low in my stomach.

Okay. This is it. Talk to her. Be normal.

“So, Arie,” she asked, tilting her head slightly, “do you live around here?”

Crap.

I needed a cover. Something believable.

“Um… yeah. Kind of. I just moved. Things got a little complicated.”

Brilliant. Vague and suspicious. Well done, Angel of Death.

“Ugh—do you live around here?” I countered quickly.

“Yeah. I grew up here. This is my home. We’ve never lived anywhere else. Even my grandparents are from here.”

Home.

The word settled somewhere deep in my chest.

“That’s cool,” I said quietly. “I’ve never really had one place to call home.”

Her expression softened instantly, sympathy flickering across her face.

As I thought about it… it wasn’t entirely a lie. I had walked the earth for ages. I had stood in kingdoms that crumbled to dust. I had watched civilizations rise and fall.

But I had never belonged anywhere.

“It’s okay, Summer,” I added quickly, not wanting her pity. “I’m hoping this can be the place I call home.”

And just like that, her smile returned.

Bright. Open. Hopeful.

And something inside me anchored into place. Home. She would be my home.

“Yes! That would be great! You’ll love it here. High school is alright, but I’m a senior, so there’s only one more year. I could show you my favorite places! And we can hang out while I’m your official tour guide.”

The excitement in her voice caught me off guard.

“Um… okay.”

The simple idea of me staying—of me belonging here—made her light up. She wanted me here. In her town. In her world.

“Oh my God, Arie, I’m so sorry. I always do this.”

Doing what?

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“How embarrassing. I’m sorry—I’m imposing myself on your life. If you want, I would like to be a kind face and show you around.”

I loved this. How could I say no? With a laugh, I said, “Yes, that would be great.”

She smiled even brighter, which I didn’t think was possible. “Awesome! This makes me your official first friend here.”

Shit.

Yes.

I was on cloud nine.

She wanted me in her world.

And the best part? She had practically invited herself into mine.

“Summer,” I said, trying and failing to suppress the grin preparing to split my face open, “I’d be honored to have you as my official first new friend here in Half Moon.”

With that, I extended my hand in a friendly gesture for a handshake—but she surprised me.

She squealed and leaped from her seat straight into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing my cheek.

Her excitement was so infectious I couldn’t help but pull her tightly to me. I buried my nose in her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberries and sweet lemon zest.

My new favorite.

To my heartache, she untangled herself from me and sat back in her own chair.

“Sweet! Here. Put your number in my phone.” She handed me her cell phone, and thank the goddess for my Lieutenant Rue, who had convinced me to get one of these things—otherwise this would have been painfully awkward.

“Sure.” I took her phone and entered my number, creating a new contact before dialing myself. “Now I have yours too.”

She grinned like I had just handed her the world, and I was fully ready to hand it over to her.

We fell into conversation easily—so easily it startled me.

Just moments ago, I had been unraveling in that chair, convincing myself I had already lost her. I had imagined her future sealed with someone else. Imagined myself standing in the shadows, watching her build a life that did not include me.

And now—

There was no strain. No forced politeness. No searching for words.

It flowed.

Light. Natural. Effortless.

As if we had known each other far longer than the few minutes we had been sitting there.

The catastrophic futures I had painted in my mind began to crack and fall apart.

I asked her about the town—her favorite places, where she liked to spend time. She told me about the boardwalk, the cliffs, and a little ice cream shop that apparently sold pistachio ice cream that she loved to top with something called “unicorn guts”—with almonds instead of walnuts, she clarified very seriously.

Unicorn guts? How did they get unicorn guts? And why did she like them with almonds?

Here I was, completely in awe of what she was saying, when only twenty minutes ago I had imagined eternal devastation.

I was mildly concerned, as I had no idea what her version of unicorn guts entailed, and I highly doubted she was referring to the thick, black, poisonous entrails of an actual unicorn. I felt immense relief when she clarified that it was an excessive amount of colorful marshmallows, Skittles, coconut, almonds, pineapple slices—all folded into fluffy pistachio pudding. As she described it—animated, expressive, hands moving as she talked—she made me want to try it immediately.

My affection for her grew with every passing moment. Everything she spoke of made me excited for the moments to come. She was inviting me into her life. She wanted to share experiences with me.

Mostly, I was content to let her do the talking. It allowed me to study her—to learn her rhythms, the way her eyes brightened when she got excited, the way her voice lifted when she spoke about something she loved. She had passion in everything she said, and I loved it far more than I should have for someone I had just met.

I told her I was in my last year of high school too and hoped we might have classes together. Her eyes lit up at that—bright and excited—and she leaned closer, her elbow brushing mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

It felt… easy.

Like slipping into warm water.

No hesitation.

No resistance.

No invisible tether pulling her away from me.

Every doomsday scenario I had spiraled into just moments before felt absurd now.

She wasn’t drifting toward someone else.

She was leaning toward me.

And for the first time since walking into that waiting room, I could breathe.

She laughed at something I said and nudged my shoulder. I nudged back. She rolled her eyes dramatically and called me dramatic in return. I had never bantered with anyone before. Not like this. Not without calculation.

Time disappeared.

And then—

An almost inaudible growl. Low. Controlled. Close.

Too close for my liking.