Chapter 11: Glimmer Of Hope

Zeke found himself at the Bronson compound the following day, peering over the throng of people that congregated in the cafeteria. The large open room hummed with the sound of chairs, forks, and continual talking. Zeke stood near the entranceway, scanning faces from one table to the next. His mother was supposed to be there...somewhere.

His gaze flicked between tables, then fixed on a single individual, sitting in the center of the room alone. Azia sat at a round, mahogany table with an empty plate in front of her. She picked at the edges of the nondescript, white plate, seemingly lost in thought. Zeke tilted his head this way and that as he watched her, relishing in the chance to observe her unchecked.

Azia had her long, black hair tied back from her face. She wore a slightly oversized gray sweater and black jeans, which she tucked into her all too familiar black combat boots. It was clear she put significantly less time into her appearance than most young women her age, but the end result always seemed to be in her favor. Day in and day out, Zeke saw ladies at both compounds, wearing painfully high heels, and microscopic clothes that needed constant adjustment as they sat, walked, or basically did anything but stand there, pointlessly.

Zeke ran his hand through his wayward black spikes and sighed. A sudden appreciation for lumpy gray sweaters? What was happening to him? He scowled at Azia from a distance. "This is all your doing," he muttered.

Azia continued to pick at the edge of the glass plate, seemingly lost in thought. Zeke got the vague feeling that something was bothering her. He hesitated for a brief moment, then sauntered over to her table.

"Hey there," he said, resting his hands on the back of the chair beside hers. "You haven't seen my mother by chance, have you?"

"Hmm?" Azia murmured, blinking up at him. "Oh...No, I'm sorry, I haven't."

He stared at her for a brief moment before finally feigning a dramatic sigh. "Alright," he said, pulling the chair back and sitting down. "Something is clearly bothering you. Spill."

She hesitated. Zeke could practically hear the many cogs in her brain turning while she considered. At last, she licked her lips and leaned in. "I had a strange conversation with Lowell yesterday. In the cemetery," she told him quietly.

"A peculiar place to hang out," Zeke interjected with a small smile. "But I'm not one to judge."

"He was visiting his father's grave," Azia said, looking pointedly. "It was the anniversary of his death."

Zeke's smile faded as he nodded. "I try to visit my brother and my dad every year too. Feels like we've all lost someone at this point. I hope Lowell is feeling a bit better today."

"It's possible he may not," Azia whispered. "Lowell's father was randomly murdered in the woods several years ago. Our pack never found out who did it."

Zeke stared into her ochre eyes, as if reading her thought process like words on a page. "He thinks someone in my pack did it?"

Azia winced, but nodded. "So I gathered from our conversation yesterday. I had no idea that's what he still believed, after all this time. He hasn’t talked about it in a long time.”

Zeke rubbed at his chin, processing this new information. "And now you're sitting in the cafeteria by yourself, contemplating if Lowell is our spy."

Azia was surprised into a laugh. "Yes, actually," she said, fidgeting with the plate some more. "That's exactly what I'm doing. Frankly, I'm glad you're here, so we can talk through this together."

Warmth spread through Zeke's extremities at her words. He tried to keep his sudden joy from reaching his face. Letting it happen would probably frighten her off in a heartbeat. He cleared his throat as he repositioned himself in the chair. "It's an alarming thought," he told her. "But I can't say I'm entirely convinced. People tend to say a lot of strong things when they're grieving."

"True," she said, lacing her fingers together on the table. "But what about my mother's document you found in the woods? It seems far more likely at this point that our spy belongs to my pack. Not yours."

Zeke leaned back in his wooden chair, assessing her. "I'm sure it's difficult, being put in a position where you must consider one among your own as a traitor. You could deny the possibility. But you are a fair leader and you will consider all factors, even difficult ones."

Azia smiled at his compliment, as if she couldn't help it. She dipped her dark head towards him. "Well, what about you?" she countered. "I could have told you about Lowell and you could have gone running home to rally the troops and their pitchforks."

Zeke tilted his head back as he laughed. "Pitchforks? Am I leading a mob in the middle ages?"

Azia laughed despite herself. "You know what I mean. You could have immediately taken my theory and run with it. But you didn't. You want to be fair."

"I do," he agreed quickly.

Zeke and Azia both turned purposefully away from each other. The once ordinary phrase was now rife with weight and meaning between them. Azia felt her cheeks flush pink with embarrassment.

"I mean yes, I want to be fair," Zeke amended quietly, running a hand through his spiky black hair.

"You're going to be a good leader to your people, one day," Azia told him, staring down at the table in front of her.

"Our people," he corrected her softly, offering up a small smile.

Azia nodded, feeling her cheeks flush even deeper. "Yes. Right," she murmured. "Our people."

Zeke's sixth sense began to tingle with warning. If he didn't end this conversation soon, he was liable to say something flirtatious and make her angry. He practically jumped to his feet, and tucked the chair back in.

"Well, I'm going to keep looking for my mother. Enjoy the rest of your day, Azia. And try not to worry about Lowell. Things will come to light during the formal investigation," he told her with a nod.

"Yes, right," she said again awkwardly. "I will see you later."

Zeke meandered back towards the cafeteria doors, several yards away. He reached for the door handle, but looked back on impulse. Azia was back to fidgeting with the plate again, but this time her cheeks remained a steady pink hue. Something about the expression on her face made Zeke think Lowell was no longer on her mind.

Something about the expression on her face made him think HE was.