“I can take over the watch,” I say, clearing my throat.
He blinks at me and pushes to his feet, abandoning the chair. It’s not where it usually is—placed at the perfect angle to see the TV while remaining aesthetically oriented with the couch. He’s turned it to get a better view of the door and window at the same time.
It ruins my living room setup, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Silently, Alistair crosses the room until he looms over me, his clear blue eyes drilling into mine. Whatever he sees on my facemust tell him my mind is made up, because for once he doesn’t argue with me.
“It’s been quiet so far,” he says.
I nod and glance back at the couch.
“Malach hasn’t woken.”
“I should move him to the spare room,” I say.
Alistair frowns. “No, this is better. If there’s an attack, he’s easier to protect here.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Do you have a soft spot for him, Ali? After everything?”
Alistair looks away, pursing his lips. “I don’t want to be the way I’ve always been,” he whispers. “Rigid and unforgiving.” Every word drips with guilt. He’s being too hard on himself...
“It’s not your fault Ciprian left,” I say.
“Maybe not.” Alistair’s lips quirk into a wry smile. “But whether he comes back or not is a different story, isn’t it, angel?”
I glance away. “Forgiveness isn’t easy for some of us.”
“Tell me,” he says, “if there’s hope for me to change. I don’t mind if it’s hard, but if it’s impossible...” His voice is rough and desperate.
Something tells me we’re not talking about Malach or Ciprian anymore, but I can’t get into this right now. I break free from his tortured eyes and take the coward’s way out.
“I’ll wake you if there’s trouble. Go and get some rest.”
Alistair disappears down the hallway without a word, and my back itches more with every step he takes. I drop into the misplaced chair and sigh. I may be making messes right and left with decisions and communication, but if anyone tries to get through the door—no matter what face they’re wearing—I’ll end them.
FORTY
Unsent correspondence, translated to English, and addressed only to My Truth:
I carried the weight of my silence until I forgot how to walk with my head held high.
MALACH
The ache leaves no part of me untouched. Concentrated in my heart, it throbs with each beat. At first, that’s all I know. Then I shift, and the fabric of Celine’s couch grazes my arm.
I made it back to her.Barely, from the feel of it, but after everything that happened, it’s a miracle that I managed it at all.
“Take it easy,” Celine says. She’s moving around. I hear her footstepsin the kitchen. Her scent grows stronger as she walks over to me. “Try to drink this, Malach.”
The sound of her voice is such a relief. It overpowers the ache and gives me the strength to open my eyes and sit up. Her hair is tangled, and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. But she’s alive. She’s alive and here with me, holding a glass of water in one hand and a sword in the other.
“Are you okay?” I ask. The question comes out cracked and garbled.
“You’re stealing my lines...” Celine looks me over, and I scramble to button my shirt, thankful that no one took it off while I was unconscious. “You’re the one who crawled to the door and passed out.”
I swallow painfully. My mouth is dry and tacky at the same time.
“Drink the water, please.” Celine raises the glass to my lips, and I sip greedily. It burns my throat before easing some of the agony. “You were attacked?”
