Chapter 10 Wren #2
“I want to believe that,” he replies, leaning back in his chair for a beat before continuing. “I almost do. But every time I get close, something new reminds me how little I actually know about you.”
My fingers toy with the edge of my napkin in my lap, folding it and unfolding it. Of all the paths I’ve walked that led me to this table, in this house, across from a man who keeps doing the right thing even when it makes my life harder, I had to go and choose this one.
“You keep saying you don’t want to do this,” I say softly.
“But do you remember when you told me it sounds like a really sad way to live…assuming the worst about people?” Silence settles between us, heavier than before with the weight of the building tension.
“That’s exactly what you are doing with me, and it has become a sad way to live under that logic of yours. Caged in this house.”
His eyes search mine, something raw flickering there before he looks at the table, jaw clenching.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, before his throat bobs with a heavy swallow, “I don’t like being the man who locks you in that room.”
“Then don’t be,” I say, the words simple and heavy all at once.
His gaze snaps up to mine. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.” I let out a heavy exhale. “It never is to any of you.”
If only they knew the complexities I’m fighting. How much easier it would be to just say to hell with it all. They have no idea of what isn’t simple.
Outside, somewhere beyond these walls, the war I was sent here to judge still burns.
Inside, in this small, quiet room, another kind of battle digs in and waits.
The light throws soft shadows over his face, catching on the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. He watches me for a long moment, the muscle in his cheek flexing.
“I could have put you in a cell,” he says quietly. “I didn’t.”
“And I’m supposed to be grateful?” I ask, my tone sharp once more at the insinuation of my ungratefulness.
I can’t help the curl of my upper lip. “Sorry, my gratitude is a little thin these days, considering no matter how decent you are, I’m still not allowed to walk out that door right now, as a free woman. ”
“Do you think I like this?” he presses, voice rising to match mine. “That I get off on keeping you trapped here?”
I don’t dignify that with a response, because he won’t like my answer.
He exhales slowly through his nose. “You have been close enough to danger that I would be a fool to ignore it,” he argues. “You’ve been present at two major engagements between my people and supernaturals. You walked in from the border. You know things you’re not telling me. You—”
With each repetitive thought that I’ve heard from his lips before, my patience for this conversation evaporates. We’re just going in circles.
“Stop,” I bite out, my chair scraping softly as I shift back and stand. “You don’t have to list all the reasons you don’t trust me, Ryoden. I’m very aware of your suspicion.”
“I don’t—” He cuts himself off, teeth sinking into his lower lip for a second before he frees it. “This isn’t about me not trusting you. It’s about me not having enough to trust you with an entire city on the line.”
I can’t help the dry laugh that falls from me as my head shakes at his words.
“They’re not on the line because of me. They were already on the line long before I showed up at your gates.”
His hand curls into a fist on the table, knuckles blanching. The tendons in his forearm stand out, the gold chain at his throat glinting as he rises to his feet.
“Every piece of information I get pulls you tighter into the center of this, not further away,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine as he splays his hands against the table top.
“And what do you want me to say?” I snap, throwing my hands in the air. “Do you want me to tell you I stumbled here by accident? That I tripped and fell into your war?” I laugh once, short and bitter. “Would that make you feel better?”
“I want the truth!” he fires back with narrowed eyes.
He means it, but what he’s asking for isn’t small, and he doesn’t understand that.
A humorless smile tugs at my mouth. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
His head tips, eyes narrowing further. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I insist, the words suddenly flowing out of me that have been pent up all week.
“You’re doing math in your head because one soldier from Pennsylvania recognized me.
You want to tie everything back to something you understand, and I can promise you this—” I press my palm flat against my chest, feel my heart beating hard against it.
“What’s happening with me is not something you’re ready to understand. ”
He takes a step around the table and his long strides eat up the space between us until he’s staring down at me.
“Try me,” he says, voice low. There’s no command in it this time, just something close to a plea wrapped in his unraveling restraint.
“You say I wouldn’t believe you, but you don’t even give me the chance.
I’ve given you the space you’ve wanted without demands to try to earn your trust, but I don’t know what else I can do, Wren. ”
Heat crawls up my neck, anger and something almost like grief tangling together. His words are wrapped so tightly with anguish that for a moment I actually wonder if he would hear me out and believe me.
My chest feels too tight and I hate the emotion that begins to clog my throat. Would it even matter if he believed me?
I had people who believed in me before, and look how that worked out for me. My hands drop to my sides. Maybe I need to stop thinking that I’m in need of allies, when there’s the possibility I’ll have to wipe the earth of every living soul.
“You don’t want to believe I’m dangerous?” I ask, my voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “Here’s a thought—maybe I am.”
I can feel the heat from his body, the tension rolling off him in waves. My hands are shaking and I curl them into fists at my sides so he won’t see.
“Wren, don’t try to shut me out now,” he murmurs. “Let me in. Just a little. I can’t keep you here forever like this, and I don’t want to.”
A horrible, fragile part of me wants to lay it all out. The gods. The earth. The threads of fate burning behind my eyes. The choice I’m supposed to make about this world and everyone in it. The four kings whose faces haunt me every time I blink.
But I see the ending to this conversation already, no matter how many ways I try to shift it. I watch his eyes harden in a way that I won’t be able to reverse and see him putting me in the real cells of this city at the end of this.
“I can’t,” I whisper as my shoulders droop, my eyes falling to the floor. “I won’t.”
“Won’t,” he echoes. “You won’t.”
“I can’t afford to let you close enough to hurt me,” I answer, and the truth of it tastes like ash. “Not with what’s already on my shoulders. Not after…” My throat closes around the rest. “This is as much as you get.”
I glance up in time to see the hurt that flashes across his face. A quick tightening around his eyes. The way his mouth presses into a thin line. He looks away, his gaze shifting to some point over my shoulder, like he needs the distance even if it’s only in his eyes.
When he looks back, the change is there, even without my secrets laid out for his judgment. It’s subtle, but it’s the difference between the man who walked me through how to use his shower and the Colonel the entire city salutes.
The warmth drains from his expression, leaving something composed and careful in its place. It’s not cruel, but it is…removed.
“Very well,” he says, voice even. “You’ve made your choice.”
The words land heavier than they should.
“For now,” he continues, each syllable precise, “you’ll remain under house restriction. You may move between your room, the washroom, and this floor under guard. I’ll continue to revisit your status as I gather more information from other sources.”
My stomach churns as I realize I’ll have to begin plotting an escape in earnest now.
“I see,” I manage, forcing my voice not to crack under the disappointment flowing through me. “Thank you for the clarification, Colonel.”
The title tastes bitter in my mouth as I force myself to walk away. The old wooden boards creak under my bare feet, and for the first time since stepping into this house, I feel every inch a prisoner.