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I trailed my fingers over some of the spines. His choice of literature was, well, unconventional. There were volumes on mythology from all around the world, including epics from ancient India and Italy.
The section on Rilke really surprised me. I didn’t think I’d meet someone who’d hold his essence in their library. He was so underrated, but in this space, it was like I’d found a fellow proponent ofno feeling is final.
The bookshelves themselves were made of rich mahogany, their surfaces polished to a mirror-like shine.
I could see that the shelves were not only filled with books, but also with small trinkets and curiosities. There were antique globes, framed photographs, and even a small, intricately carved chess set.
But it wasn't just the bookshelves that made Elijah's study so beautiful. The room itself was decorated with an impeccable sense of style.
Elegant and understated, it included plush armchairs and a deep leather sofa that looked incredibly inviting. Landscapes and still-lifes adorned the walls, each telling a specific story.
I noticed a small fireplace tucked into one corner. Made of a deep, rich stone, it looked as though it had been carved by hand.
Above the fireplace hung a large, ornate mirror that reflected the sunlight and made the room feel even brighter and more spacious.
Despite the room's obvious beauty, however, it was clear that Elijah actually used the space for work.
There was a large wooden desk pushed up against one wall, its surface cluttered with books and papers.
A comfortable-looking office chair sat behind the desk, and I could easily imagine Elijah spending long hours in the room, surrounded by his books and his thoughts.
It was an idyllic space, if only he weren't consumed by what I knew was his obsession. He stood near one of the shelves, his eyes burning with questions.
Part of me thought he could already tell what I wanted him to know.
“Elijah,” I finally began. “Can I tell you something?”
“You can tell me anything, Rory.”
“A few days ago, when I saw that journal of poem entries, I came across something that caught my attention. To anyone else, it could have just been a random piece of nonsense. Not important, not relevant. I wasn’t anyone else. I needed to know where you were coming from.”
He remained silent.
And then I told Elijah everything. About Emory Abbot, meeting Emma, coming to terms with Noah and Benjamin—all of it. I talked and talked until my voice felt hoarse, and it felt like an hour had stretched into four.
Toward the end, when I couldn't speak any longer, I sat down on a chair, my hands clasped together.
“I know why you’d want to keep so much hidden from me. I can’t tell what I’d have done in your place. It would eat up my whole life, the urge for revenge. But I also know I wouldn’t want to do it alone.”
He continued to look at me with that strange expression in his eyes. I almost expected him to tell me I was a child who had no idea what she was doing.
Or to tell me I didn’t need to get involved in his business. Even though this was tied to me, too. Every part of it was tied to me.
But the first thing he said was, “I think I could kill Emory Abbot for trying to repeat the same shit he always has, and with you.”
He came up to me and pulled me into his arms. I stood there, breathing in the scent of musk and pine, breathing slow, breathing long.
“Rory. Rory. Rory.”
He called out my name I don’t know how many times until finally, he looked in my eyes and made me cry.
“You have been impossibly brave. To have found out all of this on your own? I couldn’t have done it. I couldn’t have gone from one shallow end to the other, not knowing if things would ever feel deep.”
Then, he sighed.
“Do you know what hurt me the most when I lost June?”
“Talk to me,” I whispered.
