Her Broken Wings

Chapter 7

(Edited 06/2026)

Sirens POV

I woke to the scent of fresh pastry. Opening my motel door, I found a paper bag sitting on the plastic chair outside. Inside was a warm blueberry muffin, a cup of cocoa, and a slip of paper with Tank's heavy handwriting: Eat. I'm checking the perimeter. Stay inside.

Yesterday had been perfect. Honestly, it had been a little too perfect. The memory of Tank's hand against mine, the easy way we'd talked over breakfast, and the hours spent looking out over the Baja coastline still sent a dizzying flare through my chest. He was supposed to just be a sort of bodyguard sent from my father's world, but the lines were blurring fast. I was developing a crush on him -a heavy, intensely magnetic one- and it was starting to scare me.

Losing my mother had taught me exactly how much it hurt when the people you let yourself get close to vanished. I'd worked so hard over the last few weeks to pull myself out of the darkest parts of that grief, and I wasn't about to let a sudden, fast moving romance throw me off balance. I wasn't ready to depend on anyone yet, no matter how safe his handwriting made me feel.

Panic, quiet but persistent, nudged me as I stared down at the warm muffin. Looking throiugh th backpack Del had packed for me, I decided to take control of my own day. Tank told me to stay inside, but I needed to breathe.

I unzipped the bag, emptied out what wasn't nessesary for my day plans, and slipped out of the room before he could finish his rounds.

I spent the entire day exploring the city on foot, losing myself in the dusty, vibrant streets, checking out local shops, and letting the foreign rhythms of the town distract me. It felt good to just be a tourist, to move without his watchful eyes tracking my every step.

But as the afternoon wore on, the quiet solitude was starting to feel a little too quiet, and the stage was calling my name. I needed a distraction that was louder than my own thoughts.

By the time darkness finally fell over Baja, I had managed to secure a late night open mic slot at a dim, packed bar. By ten o'clock, I had slipped into the venue's restroom to shed my daytime clothes. Digging into the bag I'd carried with me all day, I pulled out a form-fitting, backless black dress that hit mid-thigh. I laced up my heels and let my short curls fall loose, staring at my reflection. It was the perfect armor.

A few shots of tequila at the bar took the sharp edge off my nerves, giving me just enough liquid courage to face the room and ignore the persistent, magnetic tug in my chest that told me I shouldn't have run.

"Please welcome Siren to the stage," the announcer called.

The crowd fell to a hush as a slow, haunting piano melody bled through the speakers. I closed my eyes and let the music take over, singing Ain't No Cryin' in the Club- starting it stripped down, raw, and aching. "Why did you leave me here to burn? I'm way too young to be this hurt..."  Flashes of old grief threatened to surface behind my eyelids, but I pushed through them, letting the sorrow dissolve into power as the rhythm suddenly dropped, shifting the melody into something heavy and seductive.

"Grab someone to hold onto," I said softly into the mic, a small, reckless smile touching my lips as the alcohol finally loosened the tight knot in my chest. "Because there ain't no crying tonight."

I swayed to the beat, completely free for the first time all day. I opened my eyes to the crowd. Through the smoke and the flashing lights, my gaze found Azrael. His intense stare burned straight through my moment of freedom. I should have panicked that he'd tracked me down. Instead, I just leaned into the music, holding his gaze as I sang the final lines into the dark.