intrepidity

Aurora waited.

It's what she had always done best. Waiting for scraps of kindness, waiting for moments of quiet in the storm that was her life. But waiting at an airport for brothers she didn't even know existed? That was a new kind of strange.

She sat on a cold, hard bench near the exit gate, her thin fingers gripping the straps of a worn-out backpack so tightly her knuckles turned white. The bag held everything she owned—her whole life compressed into a single, medium-sized carrier. Clothes, most of which didn't fit right, either too small or too big, and her most precious possession: Thumper, the stuffed bunny with one ear drooping more than the other. Thumper wasn't just a toy; he was her confidant, her shield, her only friend in a world that never had room for her.

At school, Aurora wasn't someone anyone wanted to sit next to, let alone talk to. Her unkempt hair and clothes that never smelled quite right made sure of that. Kids whispered about her behind cupped hands, their words like daggers aimed at the invisible target she wore on her back. She understood, though. She didn't blame them, not really. Sometimes, when she caught her reflection in a window, even she felt the sting of shame.

It wasn't her fault, not entirely. Back home—if you could call it that—the smell of stale beer and old anger filled the air. Her stepfather didn't care about things like washing machines or soap or making sure her clothes were clean. The ancient, barely functioning machine in the corner of their cramped, grimy kitchen couldn't erase the bloodstains on her shirts anyway. Bloodstains she didn't talk about. Bloodstains that told stories she wasn't ready to share.

Now, as she sat waiting, the noise of the airport buzzed around her, too loud and too bright. She pulled Thumper closer to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing herself to stay calm, and stood up slowly to make her way to the restroom. 

Aurora froze mid-step on her way to the bathroom as a man suddenly strode toward her, his brisk pace sending a jolt of fear racing through her veins. Her heart pounded wildly, the familiar instinct to shrink away from danger kicking in. He was enormous—easily 6'4—with a powerful frame that his tailored suit only emphasized. His sharp features looked carved from stone, a stark contrast to his dark brown hair, perfectly styled.

But it was his eyes that stopped her in her tracks. Blue, strikingly so—a shade that usually reminded her of ice and the suffocating chill of sadness she knew all too well. Yet these eyes didn't freeze her. They held a warmth that seemed to melt into her, unfamiliar but undeniably real, wrapping around her like a fragile, fleeting promise of safety.

"Aurora." He breathed out her name, a soft smile lighting up his face as he glanced down at her.

"I am Elias, your second oldest brother, sweetheart," he said gently. Aurora's cheeks flushed the color of the crimson socks peeking out from beneath her worn grey sneakers. Her grip on the stuffed bunny tightened instinctively, its familiar softness grounding her in this moment that felt too big to believe.

She wasn't naive, while she wasn't quite the best at interacting with other humans, years of navigating the minefield of her stepfather's wrath had taught her to trust slowly, to question everything. People lied. People pretended. And while this man had kind eyes and a warm voice, Aurora knew better than to trust a stranger—especially one claiming to be family.

Blinking up at him, suspicion hardened her gaze. Her silence spoke volumes. She didn't need to say a word for him to understand her hesitation.

Elias chuckled softly, reaching into his pocket with a calm that eased her nerves just a little. He pulled out his phone and, with steady hands, showed her a series of texts exchanged with the police officer who had brought her here. She studied the messages carefully, her sharp eyes darting over every word, every timestamp, until the knot of doubt in her chest began to loosen.

It was enough.

Tentatively, she let a smile creep onto her face—though "smile" might have been generous. It was more of an awkward twitch of her lips, as if the muscles weren't used to the motion. But she tried. She really tried.

Elias's face softened further, his amusement tinged with something deeper—something tender. "God, you're still adorable," he murmured, his voice quiet but thick with emotion. His gaze drifted to the stuffed bunny cradled in her arms, and a flicker of something—nostalgia, perhaps—crossed his features.

"Aiden's going to be so happy when he sees that you still have that bunny," he said, his voice breaking slightly.

Aurora blinked, her eyes burning, but she shoved the feeling down. Years of holding herself together had taught her not to let the cracks show. Not yet.

But for the first time in a long time, she felt the faintest glimmer of something she thought she'd lost long ago: hope.

Elias extended his hand toward her, his gentle smile encouraging but cautious, like he knew she might bolt if he moved too quickly. Aurora hesitated before taking it, her small, trembling fingers slipping into his. He led her out of the bustling airport and into an expensive black car that gleamed like it had never known a single imperfection.

She slid into the backseat, pressing herself against the corner like she could disappear into it. Her tattered clothes and scuffed shoes felt like an insult to the polished leather, and she made herself small, careful not to leave a mark. She didn't belong here. Not in this car, not in this world.

As she adjusted, she caught Elias watching her from the driver's seat. His smile was soft but sad, and it made her stomach churn. Was she already doing something wrong? She bit her lip until the metallic tang of blood stung her tongue.

Don't mess this up. You can't afford to mess this up.

Seven brothers. Seven means fourteen hands. Hands that could hurt her, grab her, touch her. 

Her throat tightened, and she had to blink hard to fight back the rising panic. She didn't want hands, didn't want fists, didn't want any of it. All she wanted was a clean slate—one that wasn't smeared with bruises and broken promises.

The drive passed in silence, broken only by the soft hum of the car's engine. Aurora's fingers worked nervously at Thumper's worn ears, the familiar texture grounding her as the unfamiliar world outside whizzed by. When they finally stopped, her breath caught.

The house—no, the mansion—loomed before her like something out of a dream. Or maybe a fairy tale. Immaculate and sprawling, it stood surrounded by meticulously arranged flowers in every color imaginable. Aurora's chest tightened again, but this time with something warmer, softer. She loved flowers. She always had.

Elias must have noticed her wide-eyed awe because he chuckled softly, stepping out of the car before opening her door. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder as he guided her out, but even the gentle weight made her flinch. She hoped he didn't notice.

"You ready to meet the rest, hon?" he asked, his tone warm, though his eyes flicked toward the guards scattered around like silent sentinels.

'No,' she wanted to scream. No, I'm not ready. I'll never be ready. But her lips only managed a weak, crooked smile as he led her toward the mansion.

Her heart thudded louder with every step until the massive door swung open. Inside, six men waited in the living room, their gazes sharp and curious, cutting through her like shards of glass.

Aurora froze, clutching Thumper tightly against her chest. She felt their eyes, the weight of their attention, and for a moment, her breath faltered.

Seven brothers. Seven faces. And no way out.