sanctuary | on hold indefinitely

seventeen | trust

Farah hadn't spoken to Filix once since she had gotten in his Range Rover an hour ago. She sat still as stone, her hands crossed over her chest, her eyes fixed on the grey lanes of the motorway in front of her. A large, purple bruise had spread over her jaw from where he had hit her last night, and though she had tried to cover it with makeup, it still peeked out from her hair. Stupidly, a part of her wanted him to see it so that he might feel guilty.

The radio thrummed rhythmically with the bass and drums of Filix's familiar playlist, just loud enough to cover the hum of the car's engine. He had barely acknowledged her foul mood.

He sighed as the traffic came to a standstill, glancing down at the time, which glowed orange against the dashboard. 15:33. "Bloody traffic," he muttered under his breath, tapping his fingers against the black leather of the steering wheel and peering out of his window impatiently. Then, as though only just noticing her presence, he eyed Farah, lifting his hand off the gearstick to nudge her arm roughly. "And what has you in such a grump this morning, love? Wake up on the wrong side of the mattress?"

She glared at him, adjusting her seat-belt so that she wouldn't have to look at him.

"Oh dear," he grimaced, feigning guilt. "You're not still upset about last night, are you?"

"You treated me like dirt. What do you expect?"

His black eyes glistened as they set off again, only to stop a moment later. "Perhaps in the future you'll know not to lie to me."

"Perhaps in the future you and I will not speak at all."

"Is that a promise?" he teased.

Farah ignored him, glaring as the windshield wipers began to swipe raindrops from the window. The weather had been unstable all morning, sunny one moment and raining the next. It made her feel cold and damp, uneasy. Clouds rolled over the motorway, the trees a distorted patch of golden as the windows battled both condensation and rain.

"Come on, Lee, enough of the scowling. You're ruining the road trip."

"Strange way to apologise."

He scoffed at this, scraping his hair back so that his scar was visible, raised and pale against his hairline. "You're expecting an apology? I think it's you who owes me one. Lying to me the way you do, it's as if you don't care for me at all."

"I don't," she answered stonily. The sharp, clean smell of his car air freshener, appropriately titled Black Ice, was dizzying as she inhaled.

"You and I both know that's not true, love," he smirked, tracing his hand up her thigh until he was interrupted by the moving traffic. "You and me, we have something special. It disappoints me when you lie to me."

"Just as it disappoints me when you threaten to turn me into kindling," she spat, though his words and touch had caused her to soften slightly. "My sister's business has nothing to do with you. I see no need to keep you updated on her dramatic runaway narrative."

"You're lying and you know it. You're protecting her." Forcefully, he punched a button on the radio, cutting the music out so that there was nothing but silence. "Why?"

"Why?" she repeated, frowning.

"Why are you protecting her, Farah?" His voice was no longer angry or threatening as it had been last night: it was curious. "Do you think that she would do the same for you? She ran away because she doesn't care about you. She only cares about herself. She thinks she is better than the rest of us because she's half-Healer. You have always known your place—with me, where you belong. She is yet to learn hers. So tell me, why is she worth all of this?"

"I'm not protecting her," Farah sighed, shaking her head. "What difference does it make to you if she's gone, anyway? Why do you care so much, Filix?"

"She is a traitor. Traitors need to be punished." His voice was matter-of-fact, as though it was something he had been taught to say until it was ingrained in him rather than something he truly believed.

"What is it with you and bloody traitors?" She rolled her eyes, glad when he took his eyes off the road long enough to look at her. "Why does this matter so much to you?"

"Do you think this is where it ends, Lee? You think she's run away to live a peaceful life in a bloody convent or something? No." His knuckles whitened as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. "She knows our secrets—all of the things we've done. These are the makings of a war, a revolution, and if she is not with us, she's against us—one of Them. That means she will be killed with the rest of Them. I won't have her roaming freely, whispering to others about the things we've done, plotting against us."

She narrowed her eyes, wondering not for the first time what it must be like to live in Filix's head, where everything was built on wars and opposing forces; where everything must be controlled by him. "You're paranoid. Just because she isn't here anymore, doesn't mean she isn't still Dark. She will always have that in her. Devan is simple, uncomplicated. If she has run away, it won't be to start a bleeding revolution: it's because she wants peace—maybe not in a convent, mind you. Couldn't quite picture her as a nun."

"You are so quick to believe the easiest explanation. Your relationship with her affects your judgement." The traffic stopped again, and this time he looked her dead in the eye as he spoke. "You and I both know she has changed from what she once was. She was withdrawing far before she ran away. I won't risk our security based on the off-chance she's strutting around in tie-dye t-shirts or shovelling manure on a farm somewhere. I want her here, where I can see her, where I know she cannot betray us for the other bloodline in her. You forget there is blue in her eyes."

"There is blue in mine, too. Doesn't mean I'm a traitor."

"You have always been more accepting of the darker parts of yourself. Your sister is different."

Farah deliberated for a moment, shuffling in her seat and thrusting her hands into her pockets. A small, folded piece of paper fell into her palm, feeling heavier than she was sure it was. "Are you saying you trust me?"

Filix glanced at her from the corner of his eye, hesitating. His voice was strained when he spoke again. "Can I trust you? I worry if it came to it, if she asked it of you, you would choose to walk away and follow your sister."

"You're wrong." His honesty had taken her aback. She swallowed, pulling the paper out before she could decide against it and placing it in Filix's free hand. His fingers were cold as he took it. "I found Devan looking at these letters a few weeks ago. Our father wrote them to Shar years ago. They have his address on them."

He inhaled, his jaw tightening as he unfolded the paper and skimmed the writing. "You didn't tell me when I asked."

"I'm telling you now. This is all I know, Filix, I swear. If my sister is not in Chester, then she is here, and if she is not here, I am willing to bet my father knows where she is. There is no other reason she could have been holding onto these letters—there's nothing in them worth reading, not really."

He looked at her, his eyes burning into her as he folded the paper back up and slid it into the pocket of his jacket in satisfaction. "You are full of surprises, love. Anything else you'd like to tell me?"

"No," she whispered. "No, there is nothing else. I want you to trust me, Filix. I am with you. I will always be with you."

Filix slid his hand into hers, the same hand that had collided with her cheek and left the purple bruise on her jaw only last night. His knuckles, she saw, had not bruised as easily as her face. He reached to the mark now, tracing a light thumb over the tender spot. His eyes glinted and Farah wondered if it was from guilt or pride.

"I trust you," he said. She could not tell if he meant it.