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Cal’s eyes darkened, his shoulders hunched forward as if he’d taken a physical blow. “You think what I do... you think that makes me a monster, too?”
Her heart clenched in her chest, compressing her lungs and stealing her breath. The silence between them stretched thin, taut, filling the room with a palpable tension that prickled against her skin like static electricity.
“No,” she said finally. “I don’t think you’re a monster. I think you’re a good man... too good. You believe in people’s potential for redemption so much that you chose it over us. And that’s why I can’t love you again. ”
chapter
sixteen
That’s why I can’t love you…
If she’d taken a knife and carved his heart out of his chest, it would’ve hurt less.
That was it, wasn’t it? The crux of the matter. It wasn’t who he had defended or even what Jax had done. It was that he had chosen his belief in redemption over her. He had chosen ethics over love.
And that was a choice he would go on to regret for years and years to come.
For a few moments, he just stood there, letting the words wash over him, slowly removing the veneer of hope he had clung so desperately to. He wanted to say something, anything, but what could he possibly say that would make a difference? What could he say that would change the irrefutable truth?
He took a step towards her—a move born out of instinct more than rationale. But she held up a hand, her eyes hard yet glistening with unshed tears. “Don’t.”
His heart broke again at the sight of her pain, the pain he had caused. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him, and without a word, he turned and left the room.
The outdoors did little to provide him any solace. The trees were too tall, too big. Claustrophobic. The gardens appeared dull and lifeless, every vibrant color seemingly stripped away. He walked with no destination in mind and found himself in front of Vigil’s cabin.
Yes. This he could handle. Focus on the problem of the girl.
He went to the door and knocked. No answer, but that wasn’t really a surprise. Vigil was probably at the workshops like everyone else or patrolling the commune’s grounds or?—
A soft thump sounded from inside.
“Vigil?”
He raised his hand to knock again when the door creaked open an inch, then more, revealing the man himself. Behind him stood Sincere and a woman with short, sleek brown hair, high cheekbones, and dark eyes that seemed to miss nothing.
There was a pause, an awkward beat that went on longer than it should have.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Cal said, already backing away. “I’ll come back later.”
“No, no need,” Vigil said, stepping forward to hold the door wide open, his expression unreadable. “We were just wrapping up some business and could use a fresh perspective. Join us?”
The woman’s eyes bugged. “Is this a good idea?”
Vigil glanced back at her and lowered his voice. “He knows about the girl.”
She shook her head and paced away, rubbing her hands over her face. “Shit. This is bad. If newcomers already know?—”
“He’s here because of her.” He met Cal’s gaze. “Aren’t you?”
This meeting was not like the structured workshops, and these people didn’t radiate the practiced tranquility of the commune’s other members. Suspicion and fear lurked in the corners of the cabin, slithering underfoot, hanging heavy in the air.
Curious, Cal stepped in, shutting the door firmly behind him. “Yes, I am.”
The interior of Vigil’s cabin was simple and utilitarian. There was a single bed, a chest of drawers, and no other adornments. The room was lit only by a small window, and dust particles twinkled in the beam of sunlight streaming through it.
“You already know Sincere,” Vigil said, then nodded toward the woman. “That’s Clarity. She teaches our children.”
“More like indoctrinates them,” Clarity muttered. “And I really wish you’d stop calling me by my Embraced name. My name is Evelyn.”
