Sweet Innocence and Gentle Sin || 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑

Chapter 35: Your Name Is Rowena

When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears. When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears

~)(~

It was bound to happen eventually. I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair with uneven legs and stared at my fingers as I picked away the skin around my nails. My leg shook uncontrollably, making the chair wobble. The room was, for now, empty. The table was barren, save for the collection of candles standing on melted wax, and the other three chairs tucked nicely around me.

I worried my lip enough to taste blood and sighed. Four days, and not a single word about that operation. A task I considered the worst failure of my life. It felt like I was stuck in a stagnant pool of thick sludge, slowly decaying as the hours passed. The dread ate at my chest and filled my head with a million "What ifs?"

I hadn't spoken to anyone yet, content to hide in my bare room and imagine all the scenarios of my worst fears. Speaking meant explaining. Explaining meant reliving. And I was terrified.

The door opened with a creak—honestly, could Jurian find a more ancient place to set up camp—and the sound made me freeze and look up.

"—been standing out here cause you're too afraid of the big bad wolf?" Cassians' words echoed into the room as he opened the door. His smile dimmed a bit when he saw me, but his voice stayed as high as ever. "Are we early, or is Jurian just taking his sweet time?"

I shrugged and glanced up at the large clock hanging from the wall. It was a dull wooden rectangle with no decorations, a plain clock face with needle-like hands, and cracked glass. It ticked obnoxiously, with every other tick sounding slightly longer than it should have.

The two Illyrians sat and eyed each other warily, and I pretended not to notice Cassian's attempt to communicate with his eyebrows. Part of me wanted to shout at the two for acting like I was some fragile thing not to be messed with, and part of me wanted to curl up in my chair and hide away.

I hated it, really hated it. This confusing, contradictory thought process spinning me around in circles until it ends with me stuck in the center of a whirlpool. I wanted to scream, yet I knew if I did, I'd have to explain. I wanted to be alone, yet I was desperate for someone to talk to.

My fingers stilled from the rubbing of the pendant around my neck when the door opened with a loud creak that made all of us look up. Jurian closed the door with his foot and dropped a stack of papers on the table. The thud and pause were obviously for dramatics.

He sat down and said, "We're fucked."

The shadowsinger reached for the top of the pile—a neatly folded envelope with a wax seal. He turned it over, finding no writing on it. Cassian picked up a few of his own and skimmed over them, his brows furrowing.

I knew what was written without needing to read them. So I just met Jurian's eyes and said, "he knows, doesn't he?"

He nodded, a familiar darkness lingering there. When I stared at myself in the mirror, let myself think of the past, that same darkness found me. The past.

Cassian looked up at me with a frown and said, "So... it's true, then."

"And now the whole world seems to know," I commented, eying the stack of letters with the desire to set them alight. Had I just gone numb? This odd calm feeling washed over me as the seconds ticked, and I just wanted to stop thinking, stop doing anything.

It didn't matter anymore what I thought, what I felt. There was nothing I could do—no one would believe if I tried to die again. I could run, but then I'd never stop running, and that was a pathetic waste of life. So, what was there to care about? What was there to fight against?