Chapter 26 Zaria
ZARIA
Callum turns back onto the main road, and neither of us speak.
The warehouse, the candles, the chanting, the blood, it all disappears into the night like it never happened.
The dashboard lights glow soft blue. The windshield is like a black mirror reflecting our silhouettes. His hands are steady on the wheel and controlled, knuckles pale where his grip tightens at random moments, like he's wrestling his own thoughts into submission.
I stare out the window and try to breathe normally.
It doesn't work.
My mind keeps replaying the kiss like it's a command I can't disobey.
Like it didn't just split something open inside me.
The way his hand gripped the back of my neck. The way his mouth crashed into mine like he needed me to kiss him back or he'd stop breathing.
And I did.
I kissed him like I'd never kissed anyone before. Not because I had to. Not because someone told me to. Not because it was part of a ritual or a punishment or a transaction, but because I wanted to.
It was supposed to be acting. It was supposed to be a cover, a lie, a trick to keep us alive.
But I wasn't acting.
I know it. He has to know it too.
He had to have felt it.
Over and over, I can't make it stop.
I glance over at him.
His jaw is tight, the muscle flexing beneath the stubble shadowing his face. His gaze is fixed on the road ahead, but I can tell he's not seeing it.
I wonder what he's thinking about.
If he's replaying the kiss too. If he felt the same heat I did, the same pull, the same terrifying, impossible want.
Or if he's regretting it.
I turn away and shake my head to rattle the thoughts from my mind.
The one thing that unsettles me isn't even the kiss, not really.
It's the look he gave me afterward.
When he pulled back and held me against him like the world could burn and he'd still keep me there.
For a second, just a second, I didn't feel like Sister Omega.
I didn't feel like leverage.
I didn't feel like the cult girl people whisper about, the broken thing with scars, the problem someone has to decide what to do with.
I felt like Zaria.
Just a person.
The girl I was before thirteen. Before the Greyhound bus. Before I left Idaho and before I walked into Cormac's arms thinking I'd found a father.
The thoughts make my heart beat too fast, like it's trying to outrun everything that happened tonight.
Callum doesn't look at me once.
Not until the iron gates of the estate come into view and his headlights sweep across them, and the car glides forward like this is just another night.
We pull up in front of the house, and I glance at the clock on the dash.
3:45 a.m.
Callum turns the car off, and the silence becomes unbearable.
He sits for a moment with both hands on the wheel, then he opens his door and steps out.
He comes around the front of the car, opens my door, and holds out his hand.
I stare at it for a moment, his palm, his fingers, the dried blood still under his nails.
Then I take it.
His grip is firm, warm, and I hate how much I want him to keep holding on when I stand.
He doesn't.
His lips part like he's going to say something, but he just looks at me, his expression unreadable, then turns and walks toward the house.
I follow.
Inside, the estate is quiet, the only sound the soft click of our shoes on marble.
Callum doesn't call for Tommy or any of the other guards. He doesn't hand me off or issue orders.
He walks me up the stairs himself. Each step feels like I'm climbing out of one life and into another.
When we reach the top, I notice immediately.
No one is there.
No guards flanking the door. No one sitting in the chair across the hall watching.
I stop, confused.
"Where are the guards?" I ask, my voice low.
"They're gone," he says simply.
He unlocks my door and pushes it open. He turns and motions for me to walk in.
I walk past him inside.
"They won't be guarding your room anymore," he continues.
I turn to look at him, and my stomach drops.
The old instinct flares up. The one that says when something changes, it's because you did something wrong or it's because you failed.
"I'm sorry if I did anything," I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
Callum's eyes narrow. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze sharpening like he's trying to read something written across my face.
"You have nothing to be sorry about," he says in his low tone. "I assigned them to other jobs."
I blink, trying to process his words. Trying to understand what this means. "Oh."
He stands there in the doorway watching me, and I have the strangest, most humiliating thought.
Please stay.
Not because I'm scared, but because in the car, in the warehouse, in the chaos, he was the solid thing.
And now I'm back in the room with my thoughts.
Hell, even if it's just to talk about this kiss, let me know he felt something too and I'm not going crazy.
But he doesn't give me anything to ease my mind.
"Door stays unlocked now," he says, pulling the key from the lock and slipping it back into his pocket. "Don't make me regret this."
My chest tightens.
Unlocked? He's leaving it unlocked?
A million thoughts race through my mind, tangled and frantic, but I can't grab hold of any of them long enough to speak, so I just nod fast.
He looks at me for a moment longer, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek, and just when I think he'll do something, he takes a deep breath and nods.
"Good night, Zaria," he says, and shuts the door.
I stand there, staring at the handle, waiting to hear the lock, but it doesn't come.
I wait five seconds, then ten.
I try to listen for his footsteps retreating down the hall, but I can't hear anything over my own breathing.
Finally, I move.
I walk to the door, my hand trembling as I reach for the handle.
I grip it and turn it slowly. It moves.
The latch clicks, and the door opens an inch.
My heart rattles in my chest, wild, and I shut the door quickly.
What are you doing? He's testing you. He's waiting for you to fail.
I shake my head, trying to clear the panic, and open it again.
This time, I peek my head out and look down the hall.
It's empty.
No guards. No Callum. No one.
Just silence and shadows.
I shut the door again and lean against it, my legs shaking.
The unlocked door terrifies me more than the locked one.
Because now I have to choose whether or not I want to stay.
I slide down to the floor, my back pressed against the wood, and pull my knees to my chest.
In the Order, choice was a myth. Everything was decided for me. Where I slept. What I ate. Who touched me. When I bled.
Cormac made sure I understood that freedom was an illusion, that rebellion was futile, that my body and my will belonged to the Morrígan.
And when I tried to choose, when I dared to say no or hesitate or question, I was punished.
The burn on my arm throbs faintly, a phantom ache that never fully fades.
I rub it absently, my fingers tracing the raised scar tissue.
But this, this unlocked door, it's not a gift.
It's a test.
Callum is giving me the chance to prove I'm not who he thinks I am. That I'm not a threat. That I won't run back to Cormac or betray him or disappear into the night.
And if I fail, if I leave or make the wrong move, he'll lock me back up. Or worse.
I press my forehead to my knees and close my eyes.
Stay. You have to stay.
But the voice in my head, the one that sounds like Cormac, whispers something else.
You don't deserve this. You're broken. You're worthless. You're nothing without me.
I grit my teeth and shake my head, trying to silence it.
But it's loud.
I think about the kiss again, clinging to the memory like it's a lifeline.
Callum makes me feel like me.
Like the girl who loved books about history and dreamed of teaching. Who wanted to be a professor and wear sweaters and drink coffee in quiet libraries. He actually listens to my ramblings.
The girl who didn't know what it felt like to be hurt or beaten or told she existed only to serve a goddess who didn't care if she lived or died.
I want to be her again. I want to believe I can be.
But I don't know if that's possible anymore.
I stand slowly, my legs still shaky, and walk to the bed.
I sit on the edge, my hands gripping the comforter, and stare at the door.
I could leave. Right now. I could walk out of this room, down the stairs, out the front door, and disappear into the night.
Callum wouldn't stop me. He said so himself. The guards are gone.
But where would I go?
Back to the Order? Back to Cormac?
He'd make an example of me. He'd drag me in front of the congregation and burn me alive like he did to that girl. The one who screamed and screamed until her voice gave out and all that was left was the smell of charred flesh and the sound of chanting.
I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself.
No. I can't go back.
But I can't stay here either. Not really.
Callum is kind now, but that could change. It always changes.
In the Order, kindness was a prelude to pain. A soft word before a slap. A gentle touch before a burn.
I learned not to trust it.
But Callum is different, isn’t he?
He didn't hurt me when he could have. He didn't use me when I offered myself.
He gave me clothes, food, and a bed.
And he kissed me because he wanted to, I think?
It just so happened we needed to.
God, even I know I sound slightly delusional.
I sit for a few moments in silence, and then I stand.
If I want to be this new Zaria, I need to take risks, act differently than I have.
And my first risk is leaving this room.
I know exactly where I'm going, the one place I have a shot at being accepted. The one place I want to be now more than ever.
I walk to the door and open it slowly.
I pause in the doorway.
If I step out and do this, there's no going back.
I stare down the hall, breathing, and with everything I've got, I force myself out of the room and begin walking.