The Oracle's expression softened.
Rafael slowly sat back down and wrapped his shaking hands around his coffee mug.
"Thanks," I muttered. "That was very..."
"Stupid?" Rafael suggested.
"I was going to say knight-in-shining-armor, but stupid works too."
His knee brushed mine under the table. Neither of us moved away.
Diego shifted uncomfortably. Jasper pulled out a cigarette, took one drag, and the Oracle gave him a look that could have curdled milk. He stubbed it out.
Rhadamanthys turned from the window. "I need air."
He stormed out of the kitchen and a moment later, the screen door banged shut.
The Oracle stood, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "I'll be back. You boys sit tight," she said and followed him out.
Diego cleared his throat. "Come on, guapo. Let's give them some space."
He grabbed Jasper's arm and pulled him toward the front of the house. Diego stage-whispered back at us, "We'll just be in the other room. Not listening. Definitely not listening."
Then it was just me and Rafael in the Oracle's kitchen.
Rafael stared at his untouched coffee. His mouth was tight, hands trying to strangle the mug.
"Thank you," I said.
His eyes came up to meet mine. "For what?"
"For defending me. Back there. With the Oracle." My throat went tight. "Nobody's ever done that before."
"She was out of line."
"Maybe. But she wasn't wrong." I reached for another beignet just to have something to do with my hands. "I did kill him. I did choose to live instead of dying with honor."
"You were manipulated." Rafael's voice came out rough. "Constantine gave Azevedo that coin and set this whole thing up. You didn't have a choice."
"I had a choice. Die or kill him. I chose."
"That's not a choice. That's a trap." His hands tightened on the mug. "I don’t blame you for what happened to my father. Not any more. My father is dead because Constantine manipulated both of us. Because the system we served used us as weapons against each other. Because we were never supposed to be people, just tools."
"You really believe that?"
"I'm trying to." He finally looked at me. His eyes were red-rimmed, exhausted. "I'm trying to hold both things at once. That I'm grieving him. That I'll never stop grieving him. And that you were forced into an impossible situation."
"That's not forgiveness."
"No. But maybe it's a start." His hand moved across the table, stopping just short of touching mine. "I don't know how to do this,Lorenzo. I don't know how to grieve him and want you at the same time. How to hate what happened and not hate you for it."
"Is that why you've been pushing me away?"
"Yes." The admission came out barely above a whisper. "Every time I look at you, I see him dying. But I also see you. And I can't reconcile those two things. So I just... shut down."
My hand moved across the table and took his. His fingers were cold, trembling slightly. "You don't have to reconcile them. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
"Then what do we do?"
