His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 60

**TITLE: Betrayal Births by Joseph King**

**Chapter 60**

**Claire’s POV**

Two weeks had slipped away, each day blending into the next, shrouded in a suffocating silence that wrapped around me like an oppressive fog. The mornings arrived with a monotonous regularity, each one heavy with the kind of stillness that follows a shattering event—where something cherished has fractured, and no one knows how to piece it back together.

Naomi’s phone remained eerily quiet, no matter how many times I dialed her number, each attempt echoing my rising desperation. The messages I sent piled up like autumn leaves, each one a silent cry for help that went unanswered. At first, I clung to the flimsy hope that she was simply preoccupied with family matters or that her phone had somehow gone missing. But as the days dragged on, those comforting thoughts began to crumble under the weight of a harsher reality. I found it increasingly difficult to maintain any semblance of hope, especially with Elijah’s unsettling remarks about rogue activities near the southern border gnawing at my mind.

Elijah had mentioned that scouts were still on high alert, that there were whispers of dangerous movements near the border, hinting that perhaps, just perhaps, Naomi had been swept into something perilous. Yet, deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was merely trying to placate my fraying nerves, offering half-hearted reassurances amid the chaos that surrounded us.

The images he had shared haunted my thoughts, replaying nightly like a relentless loop: Naomi, meeting with one of those rogues, exchanging what seemed to be a folded piece of paper, her smile—a smile that felt foreign to me now. It stung like a sharp blade, cutting deeper than I had ever imagined possible. What hurt more: the betrayal itself or the cruel realization that I had been blissfully blind to it all?

In response to the rising tension, Ethan had tightened security around the estate. No one was allowed to leave without explicit permission. Guards patrolled the perimeter, standing sentinel at the gates, and even monitored the school grounds while I attended classes. This was intended to instill a sense of safety in me, yet it only served as a constant reminder that the outside world had morphed into a treacherous landscape. The atmosphere in the house was thick with an unshakeable tension, a weight that lingered even when the surroundings appeared deceptively calm.

Elijah had grown increasingly distant, his words becoming sparse and measured. Our training sessions, once filled with laughter and camaraderie, had devolved into a strained formality. He still corrected my posture and footwork, but his tone lacked its usual warmth, his movements almost languid. The energy that had once crackled between us seemed to dissipate, replaced by a heavy silence that I struggled to interpret—was it patience or sheer exhaustion? Despite the tension, there was a strange connection between us; small gestures during our training sparked feelings within me that I found difficult to comprehend. The silence that enveloped us became a peculiar comfort, yet it also mirrored the unresolved emotions we both carried regarding Naomi’s situation.

That particular morning, I found Elijah already in the training room when I arrived. The air was thick with the familiar scent of sweat and dust, a testament to the hard work that had become our routine. He was engaged in a sparring match with two guards, his movements sharp and precise, a mesmerizing dance of skill and strength. Upon noticing my entrance, he dismissed the guards with a curt nod and turned his full attention to me. His breathing was steady, but his eyes held an inscrutable depth.

“You’re early,” he remarked, wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel, his voice carrying a hint of surprise.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied, gathering my hair into a ponytail, the simple act grounding me amidst the chaos.

He scrutinized me for a moment, his gaze searching, before suggesting, “Let’s start with something light.”

We began with basic defense drills, his voice calm and steady as he offered succinct instructions and corrected me whenever my stance faltered. The space between us felt electric, charged with unexpressed thoughts. Each time he stepped closer to guide me, I felt my pulse slow, a soothing rhythm replacing the frantic beats of earlier days. His hand brushed against my shoulder as he adjusted my position, and instead of quickening my heartbeat, it steadied it, calming the storm within me. It was strange, this newfound tranquility, yet I chose not to question it. Perhaps it was easier to let the silence envelop us.

As we continued, my arms grew heavy, weighted down with fatigue, and my legs burned with exertion. He didn’t push me harder than necessary, just enough to keep my focus sharp. When he finally called for a break, I collapsed onto the mat, my chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He handed me a bottle of water before settling beside me. The silence that enveloped us felt comforting, not awkward—an understanding forged in our shared grief.

“Any updates?” I ventured, even though I already anticipated the answer.

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “No. The trackers haven’t found anything yet.”

My grip tightened around the water bottle, frustration bubbling within me. “So she’s just… gone?”

His expression remained unchanged, steady and resolute. “For now, yes.”

I turned to face him, desperation creeping into my voice. “Do you really believe she was involved in this?”

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