52. Everything

Numb.
That is the best way to describe what Jet has been feeling.
No thoughts, no emotions, nothing.
Just a black hole full of white noise that never seems to end. A suffocating void, like drowning in silence.
Hollow.
That word barely scratches the surface of the emptiness inside him, expanding with every breath, threatening to consume him. It even has a taste, like charred basil—acrid and dry, clinging to his tongue. Every beat of Jet’s heart is a cruel reminder that he is still here, and Kai isn’t.
Em leads him to the room where Kai is being prepared for the morgue. The hallway is a sea of muted grays and pale blues, like a passage for ghosts. Fluorescent light cast harsh shadows across the walls and the sterile floor. Each step Jet takes is heavy, as though that floor wants to swallow him whole, drag him down into that numb, hollow darkness, where he doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to feel.
Traditionally, all family members would be permitted in the room. But Mali’s grief had spiraled into uncontrollable hysteria, her screams and wails echoing through the walls until Rome took her home. Jet has to perform the final preparations on the body alone.
The room is sterile, impersonal, like a macabre painting, stripped of all light and color. Antiseptic and blood still linger in the air, scents that Jet can’t quite shake. The single guerney is positioned in the middle of the room, allowing plenty of space for family members if needed. The sheets are crisp, too clean, their stark whiteness almost a mockery.
Kai lies on his back, legs perfectly straight and arms at his sides. His body has been cleaned, but that effort only accentuates the unnaturalness of the rest of him. Kai’s lips are a haunting shade of blue, his skin a sickly, almost translucent white. His eyes have sunk into their sockets, hollow and empty. All lines of emotion are gone from his face. There’s no trace at all of the snarky, tenacious little brother Jet knows. Only a stiff, unrecognizable shell which now wears a stoic expression, too still to be called calm.
Jet’s stomach roils, a wave of nausea rising from deep inside him. He forces it down, back into that hollow void. There’s something important he has to do.
He lifts Kai’s limp hands. The gesture feels mechanical, going through motions his mind refuses to process as reality. Despite the chill of the room, Kai’s fingers are still warm, as though his body is reluctant to let go. The sensation sends a jolt through Jet’s system—a tiny spark of hope that he quickly stamps out. There’s no pulse beneath the warmth. Jet presses his little brother’s hands palm to palm in the sacred ritual of the wai over Kai’s chest, as is expected. His gaze drifts down to the ouroboros on Kai’s forearm. The blue lines of ink mock him. Eternity, renewal, belonging. Those were the reasons Kai got it in the first place. But ouroboros means something else too: survival. And Kai hadn’t survived.
Driven by some crazy impulse, he brushes the hair away from Kai's closed eyes, then gently rests his forehead against his little brother’s.
Still warm.
Why?
Why are you still warm, Kai?
It’s a fleeting sensation, like the last beams of sunshine before nightfall. Even though he expects no answer, the haunting silence slams into Jet with such force he pitches forward for the second time that night. A raw, gnawing ache builds up inside his chest. The pain is so deep, so visceral, it threatens to swallow him whole, trap him in this stark, sterile room, until he’s turned into the same empty shell that Kai has transformed into.
Strong arms reach out through the emptiness, stopping Jet from completely drowning. Luca lifts Jet to his feet, leading him silently out of that suffocating room and into the only slightly less oppressive heat outside, to the tiny oasis of his car.
Jet stares blankly out the window as they drive. The clouds, which have been holding back for so long, finally give up, allowing torrents of rain to soak the city. Lightning tears the sky open. The thunder is a perfect manifestation of Jet’s current state.
Luca doesn’t drive them back to Kit’s condo. They go to Luca’s house instead—somewhere no one will bother them with empty words Jet doesn’t want to hear. Not caring whether or not Luca wants to follow him, Jet goes straight to the bedroom and locks the door. The cold metal lock feels harsh under his fingers.
The blood on his hands has turned to a dark, almost black crust. Chalam's blood. Kai's blood. Clinging to Jet’s skin like some sort of grotesque tattoo.
He sinks onto the bed, the fabric catching on the dried blood still on his clothes. Outside, the rain blurs into a steady, monotonous drip, like the ache in his chest.
Kai had made a promise, one that he had actually managed to keep.
“Before I die, I’ll call you ‘Hia’.”
Jet had made a promise, too—a promise that he would not disappear.
But in the end, it hadn’t been enough.
In the end, Kai had been the one who left.
Kai. How the hell could you do this to me? The thought claws at Jet, irrational and suffocating.
Twilight paints the room gray while the rain continues to pound on the window panes. A soft knock on the bedroom door. Jet automatically unlocks it. Luca comes into the bedroom, carrying a bowl of water and soap. He doesn’t say anything, just kneels in front of Jet. The water shimmers in the fading light, almost inviting. The moment Luca’s fingers touch Jet’s bloodied skin, a tremor shoots through him, a jolt of reality cutting through the numbing void.
“Shhhh.” Luca murmurs, guiding Jet’s hand toward the water. “I’m going to help you.”
He starts with Jet’s right hand, the warmth of the water a sharp contrast to the bone deep chill that’s settled inside Jet’s body. Each movement is slow, almost ritualistic. Jet sucks in a breath when he realizes how long the removal is taking. By the time Luca begins cleaning Jet’s left hand, the contents of the bowl have turned from clear to crimson as Kai’s blood dissolves into the water.
Once Jet’s hands are clean, Luca helps Jet to his feet. The world tilts, but Luca steadies him. He removes the blood smeared clothes and leads Jet to the shower. That’s all they do, just shower. Steam envelopes them, the temperature of the water seeping into Jet’s skin, warm and soothing. Luca’s hands are very gentle as they clean Jet’s body, keeping him grounded in reality.
“Jet.” Luca’s voice breaks through the fog. His fingers gently map out the pain on Jet’s face. Jet meets his boyfriend’s gaze long enough to reassure that he heard him. He still doesn’t speak, so Luca does. “Non devi fingere con me.”
Jet swallows as the soothing Italian phrase washes over him. You don’t have to pretend with me.
“Not ok.” The words stick in Jet’s throat, nearly choking him.
“I know.” Luca’s eyes are full of understanding. Those words help Jet breathe. Even as that black hole of emptiness threatens to take him over, Jet can still breathe.
He lets Luca lead him back to the bedroom, dress him in clean clothes and lie him in the bed. The ache inside him is so raw now, it threatens to rip him apart, but Jet still doesn’t cry. He just stares, brain fogged and eyes completely blank.
Luca also lies down, wrapping an arm around Jet’s waist, anchoring him against the white noise threatening to pull Jet under. In the dark, Jet feels Luca’s warmth. He sees the outline of their intertwined fingers, but it does nothing to ease the ache inside him. Then Luca’s body gives an involuntary shudder. A spike of panic rips through Jet’s chest. He jerks his head in the direction of Luca’s unsteady breathing, catching his boyfriend’s face in the fading light. Luca’s lips are pressed tight, shoulders tense with effort of maintaining control while silent tears soak the pillowcase beneath him.
He’s crying for both of us. The realization slams into Jet like a punch to the gut. His throat tightens, but the tears stay locked behind a wall of numbness. Watching his boyfriend break is almost enough to rip him open. Why can’t I cry for you, Kai? Why?
“I know this hurts.” Luca presses his forehead against Jet’s. “It’s ok, tesoro.”
He doesn’t let go of Jet for the rest of the night.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
Rain.
Not the downpour that floods streets or churns the earth into muddy chaos. Soft and steady, an unobtrusive whisper through the atmosphere that purifies everything it touches, cloaking the cemetery in a somber hush. When it hits the umbrellas or the bare heads of the people below, it slides silently to the ground like the tears on their faces.
Only a few mourners are left by the gravesite, especially now that the coffin is in the ground. Condolences have been extended and accepted, flowers laid. There’s not much left to do—at least, not in this place.
Jet stands closer to the grave than anyone else, separated from the rest of the mourners by the invisible barrier of grief he’s built around himself. His stance is rigid, jaw clenched so tight it seems he might shatter the teeth he’s holding together. His hands are tense knots, the skin stretched tight over his knuckles—a physical manifestation of the pain that claws at his insides. His blank eyes are locked on the gravestone, engraved with name and dates.
Twenty-two years.
That was all.
Kai lived for twenty-two years.
Not enough. Not fair. The words pound like a mantra inside Jet, each echo a fresh wound. He was supposed to have more time. Kai had a future—plans, hopes, dreams. All of that is gone now, shattered by a single bullet.
Memories play across Jet’s mind: the look on Kai’s face when Jet had first shown up in the alley behind Nightshade. His initial flat refusal to try and mend their relationship. Kai in the gym with Talay, his expression determined, then triumphant every time he’d mastered a new strike. The set of Kai’s jaw when he’d told Jet he was going back to OmniVentures whether Jet liked it or not.
The concern and relief in Kai’s eyes after Jet had agreed to let him investigate the murder of their parents. Not that Kai had really needed Jet’s permission, he would have done it anyway. The deal they’d made before Kai started training at the gym, to spend as much time as possible together before Christmas. The promise Kai kept asking Jet to make whenever Kai was afraid.
You won’t disappear, right? Right, Jet?
One of the few things Kai had said over, and over—at the gym, in the hospital after his allergy attack, in other conversations when he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable, only to cover up that vulnerability with a snarky remark.
I promised I wouldn’t disappear, Kai. So why did you? The promise Jet made seems both sacred and tainted. Each memory of his little brother is a mockery, gnawing at his conscience—a raw ache he can’t fully articulate or release.
The weather perfectly matches his mood. Rain continues its steady fall, an echo of the tears Jet refuses to shed. The chill of the water sliding down the back of his neck contrasts with the heat of the emotional storm raging inside him.
Jet’s thoughts cyclone, replaying every moment, every decision he’d made over the past month and a half, searching for a point where something could have shifted, where something could have been different. But there’s nothing—just a hollow of what-ifs, and regret. Each recollection is another stab to Jet’s gut.
Footsteps make Jet turn. Talay stands just behind him, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Grief isn’t an expression that belongs on his monkey like face. Rain slides off his brow, then down his cheeks—or maybe those are tears.
“Jet…” Talay hesitates. “Kai sent me something the day…the day he went after Chalam.”
“Keep me out of it.” Jet’s gaze turns back to the gravestone. “I know.”
“There was another one.” Talay inhales slowly. “When I trained him, I asked why he wanted to practice Muay Thai. He never really gave me a straight answer. But the day he…that day, he sent me this. You should see it.”
Jet takes Talay’s phone with trembling fingers. He sucks in his breath when he reads the text.
KAI: I was scared. That’s why I do Muay Thai. But I’m not scared anymore. Zone’s racing team is holding a press conference Saturday. Keep Jet away from it.
The words soak into Jet. He hands the phone back, his face blank. “He wasn’t scared anymore. That’s why he went…”
Jet’s knees buckle. Before he hits the ground, an arm slips around his waist—the same arm that supported him since they left the hospital. Jet glances up into Luca’s face. He sees his own shattered emotions reflected back at him. Luca’s presence is a balm, a reminder that Jet is not alone. His boyfriend’s steady presence is a sharp contrast to the unfeeling rain, easing the chill in Jet’s blood.
“I can’t,” Jet nearly chokes on the words, but his eyes remain dry. “I can’t—I can’t—”
“I know,” Luca’s arms tighten around Jet, holding him up. “I know.”
◼️◼️◼️◼️
Mali’s fingers hover over her phone, sending one desperate text after another. Rome stands in the doorway, silently watching her, his face a mask of pain.
MALI: Has Jet eaten anything today?
LUCA: No.
MALI: Has he slept?
LUCA: No.
MALI: Has he said anything?
LUCA: No.
“Put the phone down, Mali.” Rome gently pries the phone from his girlfriend’s hand.
Mali gives him a defiant look. “Jet needs to eat.”
“So do you.” Rome points out.
“He needs to sleep.” Mali insists.
“So do you.” Rome keeps his voice gentle, but holds the phone out of her reach. “Don’t tell me you’re fine, because I won’t believe you.”
It’s been three days since the funeral, nine since Kai’s death. Everything has unraveled. Both Mali and Rome are on bereavement leave, but Rome, now acting CEO of a company that’s about to fall apart, doesn’t have that luxury.
OmniVentures, a company once thought a pinnacle of philanthropy and corporate success, is teetering on the brink of collapse after the media leak at the press conference. Shareholders and board members are in blind panic, the media circles like vultures, whispers of scandal flood the public streets, tainting everyone with even the smallest connection to the company.
And yet, for Mali, the world has shrunk to a single point of focus: Jet. Every day, Mali texts Luca to check up on her older brother. Every day the answers are the same. Jet is not talking, not eating, not sleeping. He doesn’t seem to be connected to the world at all, and the silence from him is suffocating.
Mali's reaction to her brother’s death has been the opposite. Since the day Kai was buried, Mali has thrown herself into a frenzy of activity—almost manic in her determination to do something, anything to keep herself from getting lost in grief. There are times she won’t stop talking, or she would sleep too long, or eat and then not eat.
Her mood changes so fast that Rome tried to persuade Em to prescribe mood stabilizers. Em’s response was that she doubted mood stabilizers would do any good. Rome should just let Mali grieve.
But as far as Rome can see, that isn’t what Mali is doing. He sees denial, anger—a search to find meaning in Kai’s death that is eating her alive. She has the envelope from Kit and the files she and Rome have been collecting spread out over the table and reads them over and over, determined to finish what Kai had started—to bring Chalam down and make him disappear. Every day she checks the news to see if Chalam has been convicted. Every day she sees nothing.
Rome knows the truth, though he hasn’t dared say it out loud. Kai’s death is a catalyst, which ignited a firestorm of consequences. The company, the family, the entire world is in freefall.
“Rome,” Mali looks up at him. “I want you to call the NIA.”
Rome stares at her. “I’m sorry?”
“I want you to call the NIA,” Mali repeats. “Or Interpol, or both. Call them and have them convict your uncle.”
“That’s not how it works, Mali.” Rome keeps his voice gentle, but Mali still glares at him.
“If they can’t hold him for corruption, fine.” Mali’s voice is tight. “But now that he’s committed murder twice—”
“We can’t prove the second time,” Rome still doesn’t raise his voice, but still looks Mali in the eye, willing her to understand. “Maybe Chalam was deliberately aiming the gun at Kai. Maybe the bullet went wide. We don’t know. What is known is that your brother died of internal bleeding that may or may not have occurred on the operating table. Things like that happen. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
“You believe that?” Mali snaps.
“No; no, I don’t,” Rome reassures her. “But it’s what the police will tell you. That’s what the NIA and Interpol will tell you. Kai’s death was a horrific accident and there’s nothing anyone can do.”
“And Chalam will be released from the hospital,” Mali spits out the words. “With a still spotless reputation to resume running one of the most corrupt companies in the country.”
“He won’t get the chance.” Rome shows Mali the documents he’s sending out in the morning. “I’m dissolving OmniVentures, returning the shareholders’ money and releasing the subsidiary companies back to their original owners. That’s my right as acting CEO and heir to the corporation. Chalam’s tarnished his reputation by being arrested on suspicion anyway.”
“But there has to be something else we can do!” Mali insists.
“I’m sorry, Mali,” Rome puts his arms around her. “I really wish I knew what that was.”
Mali collapses against him, burying her face deep into his chest. Rome strokes her hair, his own eyes stinging. He has no intention of giving up the fight. The full extent of Chalam’s crimes may never be exposed. For all they know, his uncle is using his recovery in the hospital to spin the situation to his advantage.
But Rome also knows Kai has succeeded in other ways. Chalam might not be brought to justice, but his empire has certainly crumbled, and his reputation is destroyed. That’s a focus for tomorrow. Right now, all Rome wants to do is make sure Mali’s world doesn’t continue to fall apart.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
Pepper closes the front door, aware of just how loud it sounds in the quiet of the house. Even the AC is muted, like it too is in mourning. Tonight has been one of the longest and hardest shifts of her life. Nightshade hadn’t been any busier than usual, but there was no non-alcoholic Thaijito order, no snarky remarks thrown her way, no awkward attempts at pickup lines, no cocky grin from the other side of the bar.
There was no Kai.
Pepper’s heart twists with every reminder, the reality that Kai is no longer around sinking deep into her bones. She hadn’t made it to the hospital to see him that night, and the guilt is threatening to devour her. Kai had known she loved him, and Pepper knew that Kai loved her, but that was supposed to mean that she was close to him whenever he needed her.
Love didn’t mean you left people alone. It didn’t mean you abandoned them, and yet Pepper had. No matter the reason, she hadn’t been there when Kai needed her the most. She had wanted to be there for him, but circumstances had kept her away. There was nothing she could do about that now.
Her nails dig into her palms, biting deep enough to draw blood. She’s always been someone who faced challenges head on, who thrived on chaos. But without Kai, it doesn’t seem to matter a lot. Never in her life has she felt this powerless, this alone.
Pepper is fully aware she isn’t the only one struggling. The weight of her own feelings makes it difficult to reach out to others. Ignoring Jet in particular feels like some sort of failure. Until today, she’s been unable to bridge the gap between her sorrow and his. She’s has talked herself in and out of her decision to the point where her brain is a tangled mess, but tonight her resolve has hardened. Jet needs to know. Jet needs to understand.
Luca sits on the couch in the front room, trying to look like he’s doing something other than watching the closed bedroom door. He looks at her, and the sympathy in his eyes makes Pepper feel more exposed. Luca had actually taken the time off that Bel offered both of them. He didn’t look as though it was doing him any good.
“Jet hasn’t come out yet?” Pepper is fully aware of how rhetorical her question is. She has to say something to fill this heavy silence.
“He will when he’s ready.” Luca’s voice is calm. His eyes are dark with worry. The kind of worry that eats you from the inside out, that doesn’t let you eat or sleep. The kind that makes every second feel like a minute, every minute like an hour.
Jet had come back home after the funeral, went back into the bedroom, closed the door. He’d locked it behind him, shutting the rest of the world out. He won’t let anyone but Luca come into the room, and then only to sleep. Luca probably sleeps, but Jet doesn’t.
The silence from behind the closed door is deafening. Neither Pepper nor Luca have heard any sound other than footsteps, or the occasional creak of the bed frame. Pepper makes meals for three, but only she and Luca eat the food. The third plate remains untouched, the food going cold.
“Luca,” Pepper hesitates, the words sticking in her throat. “You need to get Jet to talk to me. At least let me into the bedroom.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to.” The conflict is clear on Luca’s face. Part of him wants Jet to leave the house—or at least the bedroom—just for a minute. The other half wants to let Jet take whatever time he needs.
“Not even if it’s about Kai?” Pepper presses.
Luca shakes his head. “He won’t unlock the door.”
“We’ll see about that.” Pepper’s jaw sets. She goes over to the bedroom door and pounds on it. Each knock grows louder and more insistent until it is wrenched open.
Jet looks like a ghost of his former self. His face is devoid of color, eyes hollow and lifeless. Dark circles stand out like bruises under those eyes. His hair lies flat, and unkempt. The clothes he’s wearing—the same ones he wore the day they buried Kai—hang loosely on his body, giving the impression that Jet is shrinking into himself.
“What?” Jet’s voice is toneless, as though all life has been drained out of him.
“Jet,” Pepper is no longer in the mood to express sympathy. “I have to talk to you.”
“Get out,” Jet snarls. He tries to slam the door shut, but Luca’s hand stops it mid swing.
“Jet.” Luca’s tone is gentle, with an insistent undercurrent Jet can’t ignore. “You need to listen to what Pepper has to say. Please, just open the door.”
Jet hesitates, and that allows Luca to push the door the rest of the way open. Jet doesn’t fight it, just retreats into the shadows of the room.
“Say what you need to say and leave.” His voice is that of a man who’s run out of anger, out of fight, just waiting to die.
Luca’s expression is one of gentle reprimand. “Jet—”
Pepper puts a hand on Luca’s arm, stopping him.
“Before Kai left that night, he told me to give you something.” Pepper hands Jet a phone.
Kai’s phone.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
The sight of his little brother’s phone is a physical blow. Jet’s breath catches hard in his chest, the wind completely knocked out of him.
“Kai never answered your calls because he left his phone with me.” Pepper’s voice is very soft, but very determined. “He said you know the password.”
Jet stares at the phone. His mind struggles through the fog of grief, sifting through memories, forcing himself to play back though every conversation—good and bad—that he and Kai had. Nothing jumps out at him.
Nothing except…
Kai, I dare you…
Jet…Promise….
With trembling fingers, Jet types out: H-I-A J-E-T
The phone screen comes to life. The background picture is of the three of them—Jet, Mali, and Kai—smiling at the Manirat Christmas party. Instead of columns of apps, there are only three at the very bottom of the screen: LINE, Call, and Google Drive. When Jet taps on Google Drive, there is a single folder, labeled “Shark”.
Jet scrolls through the contents of the folder. Some are documents and CCTV footage he’s seen before, either during their investigation or at the press conference. Others are new, but together they form a complete digital paper trail of physical, mental and emotional blackmail, theft, and manipulation.
Everything Chalam was involved with. Jet crumbles, knees buckling as he sinks to the floor. Everything Chalam did to our family. It’s all here.
There’s another file in the folder, labeled simply: “For Hia.” Jet opens it to find a single video. Kai’s face fills the screen, and then his voice—familiar, steady, with that slightly snarky edge—fills the room.
Jet feels something shift inside him. The tightness in his chest loosens, the crushing weight of his guilt, his grief, and his anger lift. He can breathe again. Each breath is cleansing, pushing away the pain that’s been devouring him for the past nine days.
Now, finally, Jet can cry.
The tears flow freely, not just of loss, but of love. He lets the emotions wash over him, listening to Kai’s voice. His sobs aren’t those of a man breaking, but one who is truly starting to heal.