Her soft exhale resonated loudly in the space between them.
“You can hate me for what I’ve done. For what I still do. But I will never repent to you.”
A single tear fell from Lux’s lashes to travel down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away. And Shaw didn’t see it.
He was already gone.
Chapter thirty-six
The wrinkled dress glimmeredagainst the surrounding black fabrics, and Lux shut the door of her wardrobe against the brightness of it. She collapsed on the bed, her heart aching. A hand rubbed the throbbing area before falling back to her lap.
Her conscience hadn’t left her alone since Shaw’s words. He had spoken so quietly he may as well have shouted. She didn’t think anything—anything—he could say would sway her beliefs. Yet, here she sat, questioning, as another aspect of her life that was once so black and white had fallen to grey.
She blew out a slow breath, catching herself before she completed her wish to return to a time where she was so sunken within herself, wallowing in darkness and sorrow, that she cared for no other living soul. Nobody could cause her pain because no one could ever reach her. But the loneliness…
It was tenfold.
A world where she’d begged to be invisible. To never be truly found or acknowledged orseen.They hadn’t understood her then. How could they?Shehad been the one to do something unforgivable.
But now—
Lux raised a hand to her throat; she felt it thicken.
It was true she didn’t care for many. But she cared for a few. She cared for Riselda, even as she was odd and secretive. She’d glorified her aunt as a child, and she still looked up to her for her meticulous sculpting of her healing brilliance and her fearlessness. She may even care for Shaw’s ill-mannered sister. A watery smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, recalling Aline’s fighting words and small fists against two boys twice her weight. She reminded Lux of herself.
And she cared for Shaw.
Undeniably.
Maybe even irreversibly.
Lux fell back into the pillows. She should change, her damp collar told her as much, but her muscles remained languid, stretched out upon the bed, unwilling to follow her demands. Yet, sleep wouldn’t come. When she closed her eyes, she saw every person she’d given life back to, and every one she hadn’t. Their faces flipped like pages inside her head.
Ghadra’s history flipped like pages.
She was pulling the door closed behind her before she even knew where her feet led when it dawned on her at last: she would go to Shaw. She would…apologize. She couldn’t say whether she agreed with his actions or not, but he didn’t deserve her continued judgement any longer. And she must tell him exactly that.
Night descended, and the raucous street at her back faded to hushed silence as she entered the Dark. A gaunt man peered at her from a sagging stoop. A street over, and a woman’s hollowedeyes stared down from a third-story balcony. Rats pilfered through trash, doorways and windows were boarded, and the ominous feel of Death lingered like a patient scavenger, knowing it would soon again be fed.
So many were dead. The Dark smelled of nothing but cloying jasmine and rot.
Lux stood before the familiar worn door in the familiar worn alley with her fist poised in the air.Knock,she told herself.You’ve done it before.Which was all well and good—but for the part that would come after.
She wasnervous.How had it come to this?
Her fist met the wood, harsh and scraping her knuckles, and she dropped her hand afterward, pushing it into her pocket.If he doesn’t answer, you’ll leave. He never needs to know.
The door swung inward on her next breath. Tawny eyes, stunned then cold, stared back at her.I—Her lips parted, but no words tumbled out.
“What are you doing here?”
Lux fought against her shoulders, pushing them back. “I had something I wanted to tell you.”
The door opened further, revealing Shaw’s full height, his upper body shrouded with a dark coat and a bag slung over one shoulder. “Write a letter. I can’t talk right now.” He stepped out, practically into her, pulling the door closed behind him. The soft click ricocheted off ramshackle walls.
If he thought she would relinquish the barest distance then he didn’t know her at all. Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
He bent, the heat of him enclosing her, and maybe Lux didn’t even know herself, because she stumbled back and into the alley. Or she would have—if his hand hadn’t reached out to grasp the damp collar of her dress, drawing her in.
