Chapter 6 #2
Godsdamnit. I had wanted answers, but now I had even more questions.
How had I survived the Amplifier? Had Julian woken me up?
And if he had, why wait three weeks? Did James know about any of this?
And if he did, why the hell hadn’t he told me?
Had the Amplifier somehow altered my translation, or was that Julian’s doing too? What had happened to me?
I shook my head, still very confused but grateful. “Justine, thank you so much for talking to me. I don’t understand what happened to me—or my body—and I have no clue where to start looking for answers.”
Justine paused, then offered, “Why don’t you start at the library?”
“The one at the Academy?” I asked, already doubtful it would hold anything useful.
She shook her head. “No, the Forum has a much larger collection. Every book and text ever written on translation is preserved there. You might even find some stuff about the Elder.”
I frowned. “The Forum? I didn’t know it was open to us.”
“It’s not open to everyone,” she said with a hint of a smirk. “But I’m sure you can get in. Especially if our Leader-to-be has a say in it.”
I gave her a look. “So you're saying I should exploit my boyfriend for restricted library access?”
She shrugged. “I mean, if you're not using the perks, what's the point of dating a future dictator?”
“Okay, rude,” I said, deadpan. “He prefers the term benevolent autocrat.”
She snorted, and I gave her a grateful nod. “Thank you, Justine. I really appreciate this.”
And for the first time, she smiled, a real one that reached her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
I hadn’t seen James in days, but I needed to talk to him right now. Which is how I found myself pacing outside his loft, waiting, the hours dragging on until it was almost three in the morning.
James finally appeared, walking up the stairs to his loft, and spotted me standing at his door. His steps slowed, and surprise flickered across his face as our eyes met.
"Emma?" His brows furrowed in confusion. "What the hell? It’s late—are you okay?"
I almost didn’t register his question, my heart racing as the words tumbled out. "We need to talk," I said sternly. My impatience was bubbling right beneath the surface.
His brows lifted as he unlocked the door, clearly taken aback by my abruptness. "Uh, okay? Nice to see you too?"
The door clicked open, and without waiting for an invitation, I stepped inside. The familiar scent of him—clean, crisp, with a hint of something darker underneath—wrapped around me, but it did nothing to ease the coil of frustration in my gut.
James followed, then shut the door behind him. "Don't play with me, James," I snapped, crossing my arms. "I’m not in the mood for games."
His expression immediately sobered. The lightness in his tone vanished as he tossed his jacket onto the back of the couch and took a step closer. "What’s going on?"
I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my racing thoughts. The loft was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the exposed brick walls, but all I could focus on was him.
"Did you fight with Julian, after the Radicals attacked?" My voice was low but firm.
James blinked, clearly caught off guard. He shifted his weight, looking rather uncomfortable. “What?”
I held my ground, my arms still crossed, refusing to let him sidestep the question. “When I was in a coma… The night before I regained consciousness, did you physically fight with him?” I repeated, more forcefully this time.
A pause hung in the air, and then his jaw clenched, as if bracing himself. “Yes.”
I closed my lids, the confirmation hitting me hard. I took a shaky breath, before asking. “Why?”
James looked away. “You know why,” he muttered, his jaw tightening again as he took a few steps toward the window, staring out as if searching for anything else to focus on.
I did. Because of me. Because of the True Bond I’d formed with Julian instead of him.
Standing there in the center of the room, the atmosphere between us was almost suffocating, my arms still wrapped around myself as if I could hold myself together. “Is that why he left?” I asked, the words almost a whisper now.
He kept his gaze on the window, but I could see his muscles tense. “Yes,” he said, his voice low.
I shifted on my feet when the question I’d been dreading slipped out before I could stop it.
“James. Who healed me?”
James turned to me, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. “What do you mean?”
I groaned in frustration. “It’s a simple question. Who healed me? Who woke me up? Was it Julian?”
He took a step closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “What?” His tone was biting. “Of course not.”
“Then how am I awake?” I asked, while I tried to keep my voice from rising with frustration. “Because I talked to Justine, and she told me she has no idea how I came by. But she did mention a few interesting details about the night before. Like you and Julian requesting the room for yourselves?”
James’s face remained unreadable, but there was a flicker in his expression, something guarded. “We did. We simply wanted to make sure everything was okay since we’d left the room, but I have no idea how you woke up, Emma.”
I studied him closely. Was he lying?
“I don’t believe you,” I said, taking a step toward him, the distrust gnawing at me.
James’s eyes softened as he stepped forward too. “Sweetheart, I promise you—I have no idea how you survived the Amplifier. No idea how you came out that coma. And no idea how your translation went from hardly existing to all-powerful.”
My heart stuttered. Those were very specific responses to questions I hadn’t even asked yet. My mind whirled, but deep down… I had no reason to distrust him. Did I?
“Swear to me,” I demanded, my entire body almost trembling, while my hands were clenched into fists at my sides.
James’s frown deepened. “What?”
“Swear to me you don’t know any of those answers,” I insisted. Gods, my pulse was racing as I stared at him, searching his face for any hint of deception.
His eyes flickered with hurt for a second, before the hardness in his features softened. “You don’t trust me?” His words quieter now, but there was a raw edge to them.
“I do, but—”
“There shouldn’t be a ‘but’ when it comes to trust,” he interrupted, his tone more cutting than I’d expected. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair as frustration rippled through him. “Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me, Emma? Have I done anything to make you distrust me?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words caught in my throat. “No, but—”
“There’s that ‘but’ again,” he said, cutting me off, his whole presence radiating exasperation. He crossed the room, and when he neared the edge of the coffee table, his hands braced himself against it as he turned back to me. “I’ve stood by you, fought for you, and you’re still questioning me?”
The viciousness of his words hit me, and my chest tightened. I could see the pain I caused him, mixed with frustration and something deeper—something making me scared like I was losing him, like the ground between us was crumbling.
But underneath the panic, something else stirred. A small sliver of defiance.
Yes, he’d stood by me. But so had I. I wasn’t some clueless bystander in this relationship—I’d fought just as hard. Bleeding, breaking, putting myself on the line every step of the way. If I was questioning things, maybe it was because I deserved answers—not because I was paranoid.
He sighed deeply, fingers dragging through his hair again. “You have no reason to be this paranoid. A relationship doesn’t work if there’s no trust, Emma.”
Panic flared inside me. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? Was he questioning us now?
He looked at me again, and though his voice was softer now—almost a whisper—the intensity behind it made my heart race. “So the question is… do you trust me?”
I swallowed, throat tight. My instinct was to nod, to say what he needed to hear. And I did—but slower this time. “Yes,” I said, more grounded now. “I do. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop asking questions when things don’t make sense.”
“You’re questioning me, Emma. And that shit hurts.”
I held his gaze, unflinching even as my chest ached. “Then talk to me. Give me something—anything—to believe in.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he said, “I’m trying. But I’m carrying things I’m not always allowed to share. It’s not about keeping you out—it’s about me protecting the people I’ve sworn to lead.”
I let out a shaky breath, working to calm the frustration rising in my chest. I had to remind myself—he wasn’t just James, he was the Leader-to-be of the entire Collective.
Carrying classified information came with the role.
And just because he couldn’t tell me everything didn’t mean he was hiding something about me or my translation.
“I know…” I rubbed my hands down my face. “But it’s still frustrating—being told there are things I’m not allowed to know.”
I paused, then muttered with a scowl, “Especially when I’ve built my whole personality around knowing everything.”
James let out a quiet chuckle, but it faded into a heavy sigh. Then he opened his arms.
I stepped into them after a second of silent hesitation, and pressed myself against the solid warmth of his body. His hold was firm, protective, his hands sliding down my back as if grounding me, but the unease still coiled in my stomach, a whisper of doubt I couldn't bury.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured near my ear, “I wish I could tell you everything, but there are simply things I’m not allowed to divulge.”
I nodded against his chest. “I’m trying my best to be respectful of that.”
He kissed my forehead, and breathed a soft, “I know.”
For a moment, we stood there, breathing each other in. His fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, and his heartbeat was steady beneath my palm. Then, wordlessly, James took my hand and led me toward the bedroom.
The moment we stepped through the threshold, the mood between us changed. I barely had time to register the way his eyes darkened before his hands were on me—tugging me closer, tilting my chin up as his lips found mine.
It started slow, deliberate, his mouth moving against mine with aching precision, tasting, teasing, driving me crazy.
Then, all at once, the restraint snapped.
His kiss turned urgent, possessive, his hands sliding beneath my shirt, fingertips skimming my spine, pressing into the small of my back as if trying to mold me to him.
A soft gasp escaped me as he guided me onto the bed, his weight shifting over me, his body heat swallowing me whole. My hands roamed instinctively—tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt, gripping his shoulders as his mouth trailed lower, his breath hot against my jaw, then my throat.
"Emma," he murmured, his voice husky, raw with an emotion I couldn't name.
The sound of my name on his lips sent a shiver down my spine, and I arched into him, fingers fisting in his shirt. His lips found mine again, hungrier this time, his teeth grazing my bottom lip before deepening the kiss, tongues tangling, breaths coming faster.
I kissed him back with everything I had, trying to drown in the sensation of him—the way his hands explored, the way his body moved against mine, the way he knew exactly how to unravel me.
But even as heat pooled low in my stomach, even as I surrendered to the moment, the doubt still lurked in the back of my mind, a shadow right out of reach.
I wanted to believe him. I needed to.
So I let him pull me under, let his touch and the rhythm of his heartbeat lull me into a daze dangerously close to surrender.
His hands roamed, mapping every inch of me with a slow, deliberate reverence leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
My shirt was the first to go, then his, the heat of his bare skin against mine igniting something deep and desperate.
His mouth followed, tracing the curve of my shoulder, the dip of my collarbone, before capturing my lips again in a kiss I never wanted to end.
I pulled him closer, nails pressing into his back as he shifted above me, his weight delicious and grounding. Every brush of his fingers, every whispered exhale against my throat unraveled me further, until I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began.
Gods, I wanted him. Every fiber of me ached to give in, to let him take me apart and put me back together again. But…not like this. Not while this sliver of doubt still whispered in the back of my mind.
Slowly, I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing him back, my breath unsteady. His gaze caught mine, dark and questioning, and for a moment, I hesitated. The words were foreign, unnatural, as I forced them past my lips. "I’m not ready yet."
His eyes softened instantly, understanding flickering through them. He didn’t argue, didn’t push—he just stayed there, steady and certain. "We have all the time in the world."
He kissed me then, slow and lingering, his lips both firm and unbearably gentle, as if telling me without words he wasn’t going anywhere. When he finally pulled back, he moved beside me, wrapping me in his arms. My head rested against his chest, right over the rapid pounding of his heart.
For a while, the intensity faded into a comfortable stillness, our bodies entwined in quiet warmth. Sleep crept in at the edges of my thoughts, but even as I lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, my mind wouldn’t rest.
Had Julian healed me? I still had doubts, convinced James hadn’t told me everything. And even if he had spoken the truth… what had really happened that night?
The questions chased me into an uneasy sleep.
When I woke the next morning, the space beside me was empty, the sheets cold. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my lids, and saw a note on the pillow, James’s handwriting unmistakable.
Emma,
I love you. I hope you never doubt me again. I’ll see you soon.
—James
I stared at the note, my heart sinking while a sharp pang of guilt twisted inside me. I had doubted him. The man who’d been by my side through everything, the one constant in my life, and I’d let my doubts creep in.
A wave of dread swept over me. What if my doubts cost me more than trust? What if I lost him? James was everything I had in this world, the one person I could count on. And now… I was terrified of losing him because of my own distrust.
I clutched the note in my hands, the words blurring as tears pricked at my eyes. I couldn’t lose him.
Dragging myself out of bed, I left his loft and returned to my own room.
The emptiness seemed to echo around me, amplifying the loneliness. I spent the rest of the day replaying everything in my mind, while I tried to escape the fear of having him pushed away.
I didn’t hear from James. Not that day. Not the next. Not for the rest of the week.
And the silence was deafening.