Chapter 39: The Quiet Before
1385 Words
The late summer sun filtered through the lace curtains, painting soft gold patterns across the floorboards. The kind of light that made everything feel slower, suspended, like the day itself had taken a breath and held it just a second longer than usual.
Waiya was already up, standing barefoot in the living room. Her hair was damp from a quick rinse, pulled into a lazy braid down her back, and she moved through the beginning steps of a familiar stretching routine — one Granny had taught her when she was still knee-high, wild, and barefoot in the backyard.
She wasn’t pushing herself. Not like she used to. But she was moving again — finally. Healing. Settling into herself.
Justin leaned against the doorway, silent, arms folded, watching her. Not just the movement — but her. The way her shoulders rolled back, how her fingers flexed and turned with purpose. He still wasn’t used to this version of her — softer around the edges, quiet in the mornings, not fighting to hold the world on her back. At least not right now.
“How long you been up?” he asked finally, voice still thick with sleep.
Waiya glanced over her shoulder, a smirk twitching across her lips. “Long enough to know you snore when you lay on your back.”
Justin scoffed, grinning as he crossed the room. “You lie.”
“I don’t lie. I whisper truths.”
“Mmhm. You whispered loud enough to wake Granny, then.”
She laughed softly, turning back into a stretch, but not before he caught the slight wince in her side. She tried to mask it, smoothing the motion, but he saw it. He always did.
“You good?”
“I’m fine,” she said, too quick, but softened it with, “Just a little stiff. I’ll live.”
From the kitchen, the quiet clinking of dishes gave away that someone else was already moving — and a moment later, Nyla walked in, her long curls pulled into a wrap, a mug in her hand.
“You should stretch slower,” she said casually, but her eyes were already on Waiya’s form. Focused. Measuring. “You’re still healing.”
Waiya raised a brow. “Since when do you care about my stretches?”
Nyla sat on the edge of the couch, still watching. “Since you started acting like you didn’t almost die two weeks ago.”
Waiya waved her off, but Nyla didn’t let it go. Her fingers tapped lightly against the ceramic of her cup. “You just feel… off lately.”
“Off how?”
“I don’t know. Just… different.”
Waiya rolled her eyes but grinned, playing it off. “I’m getting stronger. Maybe you’re just not used to seeing me chill.”
But Nyla didn’t smile back. Not yet.
She stood, walked over, and adjusted Waiya’s posture like she used to when they were kids playing powwow in the backyard. Her hand lingered just a second too long on Waiya’s lower back, and when Waiya turned to ask what that was about, Nyla was already stepping away.
“Just breathe through the stretch,” she said instead, heading back into the kitchen.
Waiya blinked, confused for a second.
Justin noticed it too.
He pushed away from the wall and moved behind Waiya, letting his hands skim down her arms lightly before wrapping around her waist. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered again. This time it sounded more like a promise than a lie.
He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause I need you at a hundred if we’re going to get through what’s coming.”
From the kitchen, Granny’s voice cut through the moment — not loud, but firm. “Justin. Come here, boy. Bring that sharp mind of yours. I got something needs building.”
He sighed, resting his forehead against Waiya’s back.
“Go,” she murmured, already smiling. “Granny don’t like repeating herself.”
He kissed the back of her neck, lingering longer than he should’ve, before stepping away. “I’ll be back.”
Waiya watched him go, feeling the quiet settle again.
But from the corner of the room, Nyla’s eyes lingered on her just a moment longer — that same unreadable look Granny had earlier. She said nothing.
But her fingers tightened around her tea.
She knew.
They both did.
And neither said a word.
Granny’s hands were already busy by the time Justin stepped into the back den. She stood over her low cedar table, pieces of dried herbs, bones, and etched stones laid out in the spiral patterns she always used when she didn’t want the energy escaping too fast.
The windows were cracked. Wind moved through the room in slow, deliberate exhales, as if the house itself were trying to listen.
“You ever build a binding basket?” Granny asked without looking up.
“Can’t say I have.”
She made a noise in her throat, not quite amused. “Figured. You good with your hands though. That’ll do.”
Justin moved to her side and studied the layout. There were strips of river cane, coils of waxed sinew, and a few crystals tucked into a small pouch of blue cloth.
“What are we binding?”
“Not what,” she said. “Who.”
He tensed slightly. “You talkin’ about Donquavious?”
“Not yet. He’s slippery, that one. Too far gone to catch with this.” She paused, eyes narrowing. “This is for what’s around him. The shadows. The tethered ones he’s using to track and manipulate.”
Justin nodded slowly. “So… cut off the hands before we reach the head.”
“Exactly. That boy has too many eyes in too many places. Even in people. Especially in people.”
“Kaia.”
Granny didn’t answer right away. She started braiding a strip of cane. “That girl’s soul is still hers. But there’s sludge in her spirit. Muck she ain’t never asked for. He didn’t just touch her mind. He fed off her fear. That’s how he gets in. Through the cracks.”
“Waiya’s healing, but… it’s not over, is it?”
Granny stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. The wind in the room shifted, sharper now, like it was waiting for her to speak.
“She ain’t just healing. She’s changing. And that scares you, don’t it?”
Justin didn’t answer. He just stared at the weaving in her hands, jaw tight.
“I seen it before,” Granny said gently. “When someone got love but also got fear. You think if she grows too powerful, she won’t need you anymore.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that.”
“You sure?” she asked, voice low. “’Cause I know how that fear lies. It tells you you’ll be left behind. That she’ll outgrow you. That your shadows are too deep for her light.”
Justin’s chest tightened. “It ain’t her power I fear,” he said, almost under his breath. “It’s what she’ll have to survive to hold onto it.”
Granny stopped moving. She looked at him with eyes that held lifetimes.
“She won’t survive it alone.”
Justin finally looked up. His own eyes, darker now, resolute.
“She’s not alone.”
Granny smiled faintly, then slid a half-woven strip of cane toward him. “Then start binding.”
Waiya’s P.O.V.
Outside, Waiya stepped onto the porch, feeling the breeze roll through her braid. Nyla had gone quiet again, helping Lily boil down herbs for Kaia’s next bath. The house, for once, wasn’t chaotic.
But the wind carried whispers.
A crow screamed somewhere in the woods.
And deep in her chest — something stirred.
Not pain.
Not fear.
A pull.
As if the earth was calling her name.
She stepped down the porch stairs barefoot, grounding herself in the soil, and closed her eyes. The breeze moved around her again, warmer now.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
“You feel it too?” Nyla asked.
Waiya opened her eyes. “Yeah.”
Nyla nodded, stepping beside her.
“It’s almost time.”
- Writer
