What He Won’t Say
982 Words
Ava lay awake. Again.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, the red dress hanging like a ghost off the back of her door. The room weighed heavy with his scent—Killian's—from where he'd stood too close, his hand at her waist like she was a ribbon about to be untied.
But it wasn't his touch she remembered.
It was the flash drive in her hand.
Black. Cold. Ticking like a bomb.
She hadn't opened it. Yet. When Julian had given it to her out by the fundraiser, she'd felt its weight—like reality had weight, and she wasn't ready to carry it.
Now the only light in her apartment came from the glow of her laptop screen.
Open it, something inside her whispered.
Don't, another voice warned—one that sounded far too close to Killian.
Ava wrapped her fingers around the drive, pounding heart.
⸻
Julian.
God, just saying his name caused her chest to ache.
But "they" were fire and lightning—fast, stupid, passionate. He would never reveal to her what he did, only that it was dangerous. That she shouldn't ask.
And then when he disappeared… a part of her wanted to believe he hadn't had a choice.
But a larger part?
She felt like he'd manipulated her.
And here he was once more—with secrets, flash drives, and warnings streaked in his voice like apologies.
⸻
Her phone buzzed.
Killian Hayes: 53 Leighton Ave. 8 AM. No driver. Alone.
No explanation, just that.
No hello.
Just a street address she'd never known.
She checked the clock.
7:02 AM.
⸻
Thirty-five minutes passed and she waited on the curb in front of what looked like a shut-down art gallery.
Gray brick. Rusty sign. Blacked-out windows.
Ava's heels tapped on the stone floor as she opened the door and stepped into the room.
The room was chilly. Quiet. Empty—except for one man standing in the middle of the room like he owned all the shadows.
Killian.
He didn't move when she came in. He barely even looked at her.
"Enjoy the fundraiser?" he asked, his voice bland.
"Define enjoy," she replied.
A silence hung between them.
He finally turned—slowly—and his face was expressionless.
"You saw him," he informed her. "Did he give you something?"
Ava's heart skipped a beat.
"What if he did?"
Killian's jaw hardened. "He's playing games with you."
"You'd know all about it," she snapped.
His eyes chilled. "I don't play games. I control. There's a difference."
"No," she informed him, stepping closer.
"There isn't," she said.
He didn't respond. "Did you open it?"
"I don't take orders from you."
For the first time, the faintest glimmer of emotion passed over his face.
Not anger.
Not arrogance.
Fear.
"Julian West doesn't give people information without a reason. He wants you to be scared of me."
"Should you?"
Killian didn't answer.
He edged forward instead, carefully—like working with a hurt animal. Or a bomb.
"I didn't want you to find out like this," he breathed.
"Find out what?"
Another pause.
Then—finally—his voice cracked just enough to sound normal.
"I've hurt people. I've destroyed reputations, closed doors, ended lives—hypothetically, not really. Mostly."
She blinked.
He didn't go on.
"But every move I make is calculated. Every partnership, every investment, every aide. Even you."
Ava's heart tightened.
"You hired me because I fit into some scheme?"
"No," he took another step forward. "I hired you because you reminded me of someone."
She was halted by that. "Who?"
Killian blinked.
"Someone I failed."
⸻
She hadn't realized she was crying until he caught her face in his palms and wiped a tear from her cheek. The contact was gentle—but she jerked back as if it burned.
"I trusted you," she whispered.
"No," he lied. "You survived me."
⸻
The air between them chilled—on the cusp of shattering.
"You don't get to be human now," she sneered. "Not after this."
"What did I do, Ava?"
His voice went low. "You have the drive. The answers. So open it."
He moved in, his eyes burning.
Too close.
And then, as if the world shifted on its axis—he kissed her.
Hard. Hungry.
Not affection.
Possession.
She let him get away with it for one second.
Two.
Then she shoved him back.
He stumbled a little, but his face didn't shift.
"You still don't get it," she breathed. "I'm not something you can control."
"Then prove it," he snarled. "Walk away."
She did.
Inside her apartment now, the city suffocated her with a gentle giant's heartbeat, she plugged in the flash drive and opened the folder labeled "FOR AVA."
There were four files.
• A JPEG photo.
• A PDF.
• A zipped folder named "INITIATIVE X."
• And a video file.
She opened the picture first.
A woman, mid-30s. Dark eyes. Pale skin.
And even though Ava had never seen her before—her breath caught.
Because the woman looked curiously like her.
She opened the PDF next.
A court transcript.
Redacted.
But in the top line, one name caught her eye:
KILLIAN HAYES — PLAINTIFF
VERSUS THE STATE — SEALED RECORDS
The subject line?
"Unauthorized Human Research Initiative — Classified as Initiative X"
Ava's hands began to shake.
She opened the video file.
A low-res hospital surveillance camera video.
Killian—young—was standing beside a hospital bed.
The woman in the photo was unconscious.
A doctor inquired, "Are you sure of this? The brain won't retain normal patterns of emotion after—"
"Do it," Killian ordered.
The screen flashed.
Ava removed the flash drive from her computer. Her heart thudded in her ears.
Her phone rang again.
Unknown Number:
"You see it now. He's not crazy about you, Ava.
He's trying to mend her."
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