The Ascension

Chapter 11: Fractures

Aaron walked into the house still staring at the empty street.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he stood there in the entryway for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

Ronnie was upset.

That much was obvious.

But why?

What did Katie have to do with anything?

"Aaron?"

His father's voice came from the living room.

Aaron turned to find Quinn sitting on the couch, a book open in his lap. He wasn't reading it. His dark, penetrating eyes—the ones that always seemed to see too much—were fixed on Aaron with quiet concern.

"Hey," Aaron said.

Quinn closed the book. "How was training?"

"Fine."

"Fine," Quinn repeated, his tone suggesting he didn't believe that for a second.

Aaron shrugged, moving toward the stairs. "Yeah. Fine."

"Aaron."

Something in his father's voice made him stop.

Quinn stood, setting the book on the coffee table. He was tall—taller than Aaron even now—and there was something about the way he moved that suggested strength held in careful reserve.

"Something happened with Ronnie," Quinn said. It wasn't a question.

Aaron's jaw tightened. "It's nothing."

"It's clearly not nothing."

"I don't know what she's upset about," Aaron said, frustration bleeding into his voice. "She's been weird all day and I don't—I don't get it."

Quinn studied him for a long moment. Then he gestured to the couch. "Sit."

"Dad—"

"Sit."

Aaron sat.

Quinn settled into the armchair across from him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His expression was patient, but there was something in his eyes that made Aaron feel like he was being dissected.

"Tell me what happened," Quinn said.

Aaron ran a hand through his hair. "Katie asked me to watch her cheer at the football game on Friday. I said yes. Ronnie's been acting weird ever since."

"Weird how?"

"Cold. Distant. Like she's pissed at me but won't say why."

Quinn nodded slowly. "And you don't know why she'd be upset about Katie."

"No," Aaron said. "I mean, Katie's just—she's a friend. Or she could be. I don't see what the big deal is."

"Aaron," Quinn said gently. "Ronnie cares about you."

"I know that. She's my best friend."

"That's not what I mean."

Aaron frowned. "Then what do you mean?"

Quinn sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You're brilliant, Aaron. You always have been. But sometimes you're so focused on what's in front of you that you miss what's right beside you."

"I'm not missing anything," Aaron said defensively. "Ronnie's upset because Katie asked me out. I don't understand why that matters to her."

"Because she's not upset about Katie," Quinn said. "She's upset about you."

Aaron stared at him. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Doesn't it?"

"No," Aaron said. "Ronnie's my best friend. She should be happy for me. Katie's the first girl who's ever looked at me like I'm not invisible. Why would Ronnie care about that?"

Quinn's expression softened. "Because she's been looking at you that way for years."

The words hung in the air.

Aaron blinked. "What?"

Quinn leaned forward, his dark eyes studying Aaron with the kind of exhaustion that only came from living for three hundred and forty-seven years. "Why does it bother you so much?"

Aaron blinked. "What?"

"Ronnie being upset," Quinn said. "If Katie's the one you want to go out with, why does Ronnie's reaction matter?"

"Because she's my best friend," Aaron said. "I don't want her mad at me."

"But she's not mad," Quinn said quietly. "She's hurt. There's a difference."

Aaron's jaw tightened. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't say you did." Quinn tilted his head. "So why are you defensive?"

"I'm not—" Aaron stopped, frustration bleeding into his voice. "I just don't understand why she's making this into a big deal. It's just a football game."

"Is it?" Quinn asked. "Then why did you come home looking like someone kicked you in the chest?"

Aaron didn't answer.

Quinn watched him for a long moment, then rubbed his temples like he was fighting off a migraine. "Let me ask you something. When Katie asked you out, what was the first thing you thought about?"

"I don't know," Aaron said. "I was surprised."

"And after that?"

Aaron hesitated. "I... I wondered what Ronnie would think."

Quinn's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—a kind of weary resignation. "Why?"

"Because she's my best friend," Aaron said again, but the words sounded hollow even to him.

"Aaron," Quinn said, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "If Ronnie is just your best friend, why can't you stop thinking about her reaction? Why does it matter more than Katie saying yes?"

Aaron's chest tightened. "It doesn't."

"Doesn't it?"

"No," Aaron said, but his voice cracked. "Katie's the one I've liked for years. Katie's the one who finally noticed me. That's what matters."

"Then why are you here," Quinn said, "talking to me about Ronnie instead of celebrating with Katie?"

Aaron stared at him.

Quinn leaned back in his chair and let out a long, measured breath. "You know what? I've been alive for three hundred and forty-seven years. I've watched empires rise and fall. I've seen wars, peace treaties, the invention of the internet. And in all that time, I have never—and I mean never—seen someone so spectacularly oblivious to what's right in front of them."

"I'm not oblivious," Aaron said.

"You're not?" Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Then explain to me why Ronnie Jackson, who has been by your side since you were five years old, who showed up at your house without being asked to clean your wounds, who volunteered to be your partner at the Apex Initiative—why is she upset about Katie?"

"Because—" Aaron started, then stopped. "I don't know. Maybe she thinks Katie's shallow or something."

"Does she?"

"She's said it before," Aaron said defensively. "She thinks Katie only cares about looks and popularity."

Quinn tilted his head. "And is she wrong?"

Aaron's jaw tightened. "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" Quinn asked. "Why does Ronnie's opinion of Katie matter so much to you?"

"It doesn't—"

"You just said you don't know why she's upset," Quinn interrupted. "But you came home looking like someone kicked you in the chest. You drove in silence. You're standing here, in my living room, trying to figure out what you did wrong. So clearly, it matters."

Aaron opened his mouth. Closed it. "She's my best friend. Of course I care if she's upset."

"Then why can't you just apologize and move on?" Quinn asked. "If this is just a misunderstanding between friends, why does it feel like the end of the world?"

"It doesn't feel like—" Aaron stopped, frustration bleeding into his voice. "I just don't want her mad at me."

"She's not mad," Quinn said quietly. "She's hurt. There's a difference."

Aaron didn't respond.

Quinn leaned forward, studying him with the kind of patience that only came from living for over three centuries. "Let me ask you something. When Katie asked you out, what was the first thing you thought about?"

"I don't know," Aaron said. "I was surprised."

"And after that?"

Aaron hesitated. "I... I wondered what Ronnie would think."

"Why?"

"Because she's my—"

"Best friend," Quinn finished. "You keep saying that. But if she's just your best friend, why does her reaction matter more than the thing itself? Why are you here, talking to me about Ronnie, instead of texting Katie about Friday night?"

Aaron's hands clenched into fists. "Because Ronnie's important to me."

"Important how?"

"She's—" Aaron stopped, the words tangling in his throat. "She's always been there. She gets me. She doesn't judge me for being weird or scrawny or—or whatever. She just... she's Ronnie."

Quinn's expression didn't change. "And what does that tell you?"

"That she's a good friend," Aaron said quickly. Too quickly.

"Is that all?"

"Yes," Aaron said, but his voice cracked.

Quinn watched him for a long moment. "Then why did you come home looking devastated? Why does her being upset feel worse than Derek breaking your nose? Why can't you just be happy that Katie finally sees you?"

"I am happy," Aaron said.

"Are you?" Quinn studied him with an intensity that made Aaron want to squirm. "Because you look like someone who just lost something."

Aaron stared at him, frustration and confusion warring in his chest. "I didn't lose anything. Ronnie's still my friend. She'll get over it."

"Will she?"

"Yes," Aaron said, but he didn't sound convinced.

Quinn leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples like he was fighting off a migraine. "You know what the worst part about living this long is? Watching people destroy the best things in their lives because they're too afraid to look at them directly."

"I'm not destroying anything," Aaron said.

"Not yet," Quinn said. "But you will. Because you're going to keep chasing Katie, and Ronnie's going to keep pretending she's fine with it, and one day you're going to wake up and realize that the person who actually mattered was standing right next to you the whole time."

Aaron's throat felt tight. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Quinn stood up, and suddenly he looked every one of his three hundred and forty-seven years. "I've watched this exact scenario play out a hundred times. A thousand times. And it never ends well."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Aaron asked, his voice rising. "Just... what? Tell Katie I can't go out with her because Ronnie's upset? That's not fair to anyone."

"No," Quinn said quietly. "But you could start by being honest with yourself about why you care so much about what Ronnie thinks. You could stop pretending that your best friend's pain doesn't matter. You could ask yourself why her showing up to clean your wounds without being asked means more to you than Katie finally noticing you exist."

Aaron stared at him, his chest tight, his hands trembling.

"I don't know how to fix this," he said quietly.

"You can't fix what you don't understand," Quinn said. "And right now, you don't understand what's happening. So maybe instead of trying to fix it, you should try to see it. Really see it. Ask yourself why Ronnie matters so much. Why her reaction to Katie bothers you more than anything Derek's ever done. Why you can't stop thinking about her even when you're supposed to be celebrating."

Aaron didn't respond.

Quinn walked toward the door, then paused. "When you figure it out—and you will, eventually—it might be too late. That's the part that really gets me. After three hundred and forty-seven years, that's still the part that hurts."

He left Aaron standing alone in the living room, his father's words echoing in his head.

Ronnie stood in front of her door, key in hand, unable to turn it.

Her chest felt tight.

Her throat burned.

She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.

Instead, she stood there for a moment, staring at the weathered wood, trying to compose herself before she went inside.

The house was warm when she stepped inside. The smell of something cooking—her mother's attempt at Albanian tavë kosi, probably—drifted from the kitchen.

"Ronnie?" her mother's voice called out. Warm, lilting, with the faint trace of a British accent that never quite left. "That you, love?"

"Yeah," Ronnie said, her voice flat.

She moved toward the stairs, but her mother appeared in the doorway before she could escape.

Her mother was blonde—dyed, though expertly so—with bright, warm eyes and delicate features that spoke of careful grooming and effortless elegance. She wore an apron over jeans and a sweater, her hair pulled back in a loose bun. Ronnie had inherited none of it. Instead, she'd gotten her father's dark hair, his intense features, his brooding energy. Where her mother was golden bronze, Ronnie was something in-between—her father's light tan mixed with her mother's warmth, creating a complexion that was uniquely hers. She looked like him. She always had.

"How was training?" her mother asked, smiling.

"Fine."

The smile faltered. "You alright?"

"I'm fine, Mom."

Her father appeared behind her mother, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair starting to gray at the temples and warm, weathered features that crinkled when he smiled. He wasn't smiling now.

"You don't look fine," he said, his voice low and careful.

Ronnie's jaw tightened. "I'm just tired."

Her parents exchanged a look.

"Ronnie—" her mother started.

"I'm fine," Ronnie said again, sharper this time. "I just need to be alone for a bit."

She didn't wait for a response.

She went upstairs, closed her bedroom door, and leaned against it.

For a moment, she just stood there, breathing.

Then she pulled out her phone and called Peter.

He answered on the second ring.

"Well, well, well," Peter drawled. "If it isn't my favorite emotionally repressed telekinetic. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"He's going out with Katie," Ronnie said.

There was a pause.

"Excuse me?"

"Katie asked him to watch her cheer at the football game on Friday," Ronnie said, her voice tight. "He said yes."

"Of course he did," Peter said. "Because Aaron Marshall is a beautiful, oblivious disaster."

Ronnie sank onto her bed. "I don't know what I expected."

"You expected him to have a single functioning brain cell," Peter said. "Which, to be fair, is a reasonable expectation. Unfortunately, Aaron's brain cells are currently occupied with flexing in the mirror and pretending he understands The Great Gatsby."

Despite everything, Ronnie's mouth twitched.

"What do I do?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, honey," Peter said. "You know what you do."

"Peter—"

"You move on," Peter said. "You find someone else. You make him jealous. You show him what he's missing."

"I don't want to play games," Ronnie said.

"Then you're going to lose," Peter said bluntly. "Because Katie? Katie plays games like it's an Olympic sport. And if you don't fight back, she's going to isolate him from everyone who actually gives a s**t about him."

Ronnie closed her eyes. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not me."

Peter sighed. "Look, I love you. You know I do. But you're being an idiot."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious," Peter said. "You've been in love with him for years. And now that he's finally hot enough for other people to notice, you're just going to sit back and let Katie Smith—Katie f*****g Smith—swoop in and take him?"

"He's not a prize to be won, Peter."

"No," Peter agreed. "But he's also not going to wake up one day and realize you've been there all along unless you make him see it. And right now? He's not seeing it."

Ronnie didn't respond.

"I'm not saying you have to date someone," Peter said, his voice softening. "But you need to do something. Because if you don't, you're going to watch him fall for someone who doesn't give a s**t about who he actually is. And that's going to destroy you."

"I know," Ronnie said quietly.

"So?"

"So I don't know what to do."

Peter was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Start by not letting him take you for granted. You're his best friend, Ronnie. Not his emotional support animal."

Ronnie laughed, but it came out hollow. "I'll think about it."

"You better," Peter said. "Because I'm not watching you self-destruct over Aaron Marshall's oblivious ass. I have standards."

"You're a petty bitch."

"And proud of it," Peter said. "Now go listen to sad music and stare dramatically out your window like the tragic heroine you are."

"f**k off."

"Love you too."

He hung up.

Ronnie tossed her phone onto the bed and pulled out her earbuds.

She scrolled through her playlist and landed on something melancholic—Rita Ora, Let You Love Me. The kind of song that felt like it was written for moments like this.

She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling as the music filled her ears.

I should've stayed with you last night / Instead of going out to find trouble / That's just trouble (Yeah)

She turned her head toward the window.

Her room faced the street. Across the way, Aaron's house sat quiet in the fading light.

His bedroom window was on the second floor, directly across from hers.

The lights were on.

Ronnie sat up slowly, pulling out one earbud.

She could see him through the window.

He was standing in front of his mirror, shirtless.

Ronnie's breath caught.

He turned slightly, examining himself. His shoulders. His chest. His arms.

He flexed, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his skin.

He looked... amazed.

Like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Ronnie watched him, her chest tightening.

He had no idea she was there.

No idea she'd been watching him for years.

No idea she'd always seen him—scrawny, awkward, brilliant, kind—and thought he was perfect exactly as he was.

Now he was looking at himself the way everyone else did.

Like he was finally worth noticing.

Ronnie pulled her knees to her chest, her eyes burning.

She didn't look away.

Aaron stared at his phone.

It was Tuesday afternoon, and he still hadn't talked to Ronnie since yesterday.

She'd been avoiding him at school—different routes between classes, sitting with other people at lunch, leaving training early.

It was driving him insane.

He typed out a message.

Aaron: Want to grab sushi?

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the send button.

Then he hit send before he could overthink it.

The response came five minutes later.

Ronnie: When?

Aaron: Now?

Ronnie: Fine.

The sushi bar was small and quiet, tucked into a strip mall between a dry cleaner and a nail salon.

Ronnie's favorite place.

Aaron hated sushi.

Well, not hated. But the texture made his skin crawl. The only thing he could tolerate was a California roll with fake crab meat, and even that was pushing it.

But Ronnie loved it.

So here he was.

They sat across from each other in a booth near the back. The restaurant was nearly empty—just an older couple at the counter and a guy in a suit typing on his laptop.

Ronnie ordered her usual: spicy tuna roll, salmon nigiri, and miso soup.

Aaron ordered a California roll and tried not to think about the texture.

They sat in silence.

Not the comfortable kind.

The heavy kind.

The kind that pressed down on Aaron's chest and made it hard to breathe.

Ronnie stared at her water glass, her fingers tracing the condensation.

Aaron cleared his throat. "So—"

"Katie's only interested in you because of the muscles," Ronnie said quietly.

Aaron blinked. "What?"

Ronnie looked up, her dark eyes meeting his. "You know that, right? She didn't give a s**t about you a week ago. Now you're tall and muscular and suddenly she's asking you out."

Aaron's jaw tightened. "So?"

"So it's shallow."

"Maybe," Aaron said. "But at least she's noticing me."

Ronnie's expression didn't change. "She's noticing your body. Not you."

"It's still more than I had before," Aaron said, his voice sharper than he intended.

Ronnie leaned back, her arms crossing over her chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Aaron ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up. "It means that for the first time in my life, people are actually seeing me, Ronnie. I'm not invisible anymore. I'm not the kid getting shoved into lockers or ignored in the hallway. People look at me now. They talk to me. They notice me."

"And that's all that matters?" Ronnie asked.

"It matters more than you think," Aaron said. "You don't know what it's like to be invisible. To walk through school every day knowing that no one gives a s**t if you're there or not. To have people look right through you like you don't exist."

Ronnie's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond.

"I just want to be normal," Aaron said quietly. "I want to go to a football game and sit with a pretty girl and not feel like I'm some kind of freak. Is that so wrong?"

Ronnie stared at him for a long moment.

Then she said, "No. It's not wrong."

Her voice was soft. Sad.

Aaron frowned. "Then why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset," Ronnie said.

"Ronnie—"

"I'm not," she said again, her voice firmer. "I get it, Aaron. You want to be seen. You want to be normal. And Katie can give you that."

Aaron studied her, trying to read her expression. "Then what's the problem?"

Ronnie looked down at her hands. "There's no problem."

The waiter arrived with their food, setting the plates down with a polite smile before disappearing again.

Aaron picked up his chopsticks, staring at the California roll like it had personally offended him.

He took a bite.

The texture was wrong. Slimy and dense and just off.

But he chewed anyway.

Ronnie ate in silence, her movements precise and controlled.

Finally, she spoke.

"No matter what happens," she said quietly, "I'll always be there for you. You know that, right?"

Aaron looked up. "What?"

"I mean it," Ronnie said. "No matter who you date. Where you go. What you do. I'll always be your partner. Always have your back."

Aaron felt something tighten in his chest.

He smiled. "You know that's why you're my best best friend, right? You always get me."

Ronnie's face shifted.

For just a second, something flickered in her eyes—something raw and painful.

Then it was gone.

She smiled.

It didn't reach her eyes.

"Yeah," she said. "Best friends."

Aaron took another bite of his California roll, oblivious to the way Ronnie's hands had clenched into fists beneath the table.

Oblivious to the way her smile had turned brittle.

Oblivious to the fact that he'd just broken her heart without even realizing it.

They finished their meal in silence.

And when they left, Ronnie walked three steps ahead of him.

Just far enough that he couldn't see her face.