Chapter 18 #3
I knew it was coming. And still I hoped that we could end the conversation where it was. A stupid hope.
“But the way you did it, Cel. Like it cost you nothing. Like you weren’t even trying. That’s not something you just learned, is it?” The accusation falls like ash from his tongue.
I look down at my hands, not knowing what to say.
He sits up straighter, his voice low but edged. “I asked you to be honest with me, remember? From the beginning. And I feel like I’m the only one keeping that promise.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Elemental state manipulation is advanced magick, Cel,” he cuts in.
“Dangerous if not completely controlled. I’m one of only a handful on campus who can do it.
And I’ve trained for years. I’m not angry you did it.
It’s astounding, the power you showed today.
I’m angry that you felt like you had to hide it.
Because you’ve clearly been able to do this for a long time. With no training. No help.”
I stand, the pressure too much, and walk to the window. The lake glows silver under the moonlight, calm and distant—so unlike what’s building inside me. I try to find the right words. “I was fourteen,” I say finally. “And I did have help. Gavrail taught me.”
His head snaps toward me, his expression a storm of disbelief. “Fourteen? That’s… that’s unheard of. I don’t think anyone’s ever been documented that young.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Do you even realize what that means? What you could be capable of?”
His breath stalls. I see it—the moment it all connects. His expression falters, eyes darkening with realization.
“The headaches… They aren’t from trying to force your magick out. They’re from trying to keep it all in. It hurts you… to keep it in,” he says quietly as his eyes lock on mine, like the truth stings more than he expected.
I bite my lip and nod, then take a step toward him. “Please. I’m trying—”
But he stands abruptly, the movement sharp, like he’s been burned.
“No, Celeste.” His voice is trembling with restraint.
“You’ve been lying. Again.” He takes a step back, shaking his head, jaw clenched.
“First about being a Magick. Now this.” His hands curl into fists at his sides. “What else are you keeping from me?”
There it is, in his voice, his posture—the fury, yes, but underneath it: hurt. Deep and raw and clawing its way out.
I hesitate. Just long enough.
He sees it. And the worst part is—he waits. Three whole seconds. No pressure. Just patience. Time holding its breath.
“Celeste,” he says, softer now. “Whatever it is—just tell me. I can handle the truth. What I can’t handle is lies—or silence.”
I want to speak. I almost do. But my mouth stays closed. My heart pounds. And I say nothing.
And that’s it—that’s the moment it breaks.
He exhales, but it’s not relief. “You don’t trust me,” he whispers, shaking his head.
“Even now. After everything.” He laughs, bitter and low.
“The worst part is, I think I would’ve forgiven you if you’d just said something.
” His face is stoic now, a quiet mask of betrayal.
“I told you—this only works if we’re being honest with each other. Really honest.”
My chest tightens, aching like something’s splintering inside me. “It’s not that simple—”
“I gave you a chance,” he says, voice flat. “And you chose not to take it.”
“Noa, please. Let me explain,” I plead. Tears prick the corners of my eyes.
But it’s like talking to stone.
“I don’t think there’s anything left to explain,” he says—clipped, cold, like each word is severing something between us.
“If you can’t be honest with me,” he adds, voice cracking just slightly before he steels it again, “at least be honest with yourself. I thought we were in this together. But I guess I was wrong.”
The ice in his eyes is far more painful than any fire ever has been.
He grabs his jacket from the hook by the door.
And then he’s gone.
The door slams behind him, leaving only the echo and the hollow ache of everything I couldn’t say in time.
The silence he leaves behind is louder than his words.
I sink to the floor slowly, knees folding beneath me. This wasn’t how I thought this would go. My hands grip the edge of the couch cushion, not for comfort, but just to hold on to something—anything—before the guilt and heartbreak swallow me.
I didn’t mean to lie. Not really. But lies don’t always wear disguises. Sometimes they sound like protection. Sometimes they sound like survival.
I press the heels of my palms to my eyes, trying to hold it all in—tears, shame, panic. But it leaks through anyway. My breath hitches. My chest feels like it’s splitting open. And for a terrifying moment, I don’t know if I’m going to scream or sob.
He’s gone. And this time, I don’t know if he’s coming back.
And maybe worse than that…
I don’t know if I deserve for him to.
A pop and a hiss draw my attention to the fireplace. The flames in the hearth sputter, then die—leaving only embers and a room gone cold, laced with shadow.