Chapter 20 #2
Silence stretches, disrupted only by the distant sounds of the city: a cart wheel, a dog barking, and one of the guards at the front door coughing loudly.
He likes to protect broken things.
Am I broken? I’m certainly lost and more confused than ever, ever since deciding I wouldn’t choose one of those two damn threads.
“I’ll stay,” I say finally, nodding to myself mostly. “And I’ll do it with my eyes open now. Thank you for telling me, Derrick.”
His shoulders loosen, tension leaking out of them like a heavy weight was suddenly lifted from his chest. “Good,” he murmurs, feet shifting awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do now that I agreed. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
He glances toward the window once more, noting the darkening sky outside, then back at me. “I’m going to put something together for dinner. Not sure when the colonel will drag himself home, but I can at least keep you from starving.”
I’m hardly listening to him and nodding absentmindedly as my thoughts mull over the fresh perspective he’s given me. I don’t realize he’s already walked all the way to the door until he drags my focus back to him once more.
“Do you want to come downstairs?”
The question lands strangely in my chest, as if it’s a foreign concept.
It’s such a small thing—an offer for dinner—but the idea of standing in the kitchen while someone other than Ryoden moves around that stove, stirring pots and chopping vegetables, feels like stepping into an uncanny version of the past week.
I can see Ryoden there in my mind, sleeves rolled, brow furrowed in concentration as he pretends not to notice me watching him from the table.
A silly, mundane routine that somehow became ours. Now even that is shifting.
“I think I’ll stay up here,” I say after a beat. “If that’s all right. I’m still…trying to sort through everything.”
Derrick nods, as if he expected that. “I figured,” he says. “I’ll bring food up when it’s ready.”
He moves into the hall, beginning to pull the door closed behind him but then pauses. When he glances back, his eyes are softer again, the stern officer giving way to the begrudging acquaintance.
“For what it’s worth,” he offers gently, “I don’t think he regrets trusting you, even now. I think he’d do it again if he had the chance to change fate.”
The words lodge in my chest, painful and impossible to ignore. Little do they know that that’s exactly what I’m supposed to be able to do. To change small moments that somehow build us toward a better future.
A thought settles in my mind: Even if I was tapped into my powers still, I don’t think there’d ever be a thread for me to pluck for Ryoden. He always seems to make that choice on his own, choosing what’s right, even if it's the harder path.
But what if I’m leading him down a path that he can’t come back from? Could I take it all back and change our fateful meeting if I were able to connect once more with my powers?
“Thank you,” I manage to answer as emotion swells within me.
He dips his head and slips out, closing the door with a quiet click.
I stand in the center of the room for a few moments, listening to his footsteps recede down the hall and the faint creak of the stairs as he descends.
Eventually, I move back to the bed and sit on the edge.
The sheets are still rumpled from this afternoon’s countless failed attempts at rest. I lie back, staring up at the ceiling where a hairline crack crawls across plaster, as if the house itself bears scars of time.
I close my eyes and reach inward, down, toward the place where the earth’s presence used to hum in my bones like a second heartbeat.
Please, I think, letting the word reverberate through the hollow space inside me. Show me what to do. Tell me I’m not just making things worse.
I wait.
Nothing answers, still. Just the soft rush of my own breathing and the faint murmur of the city outside.
A frustrated tear slips from the corner of my eye, tracking down into my hairline. I drag the heel of my hand across my cheek, swiping it away as if that can erase the helplessness that came with it.
“What if I’m just making everything worse for everyone,” I whisper into the empty room. “For the kings. For Ryoden. For the humans I’m supposed to be learning. For the earth.”
The ceiling offers no opinion as it stares lifelessly back at me.
Time drifts again in that strange, stretched way it has since I came to this house, marked only by the slow dimming of the light from the window.
Somewhere on the first floor, I hear the clatter of pots and the muffled rhythm of someone moving around the kitchen.
The scent of something savory eventually curls up the stairs—the rich, familiar aroma of broth, the warm yeast of bread.
A bit later Derrick knocks once more, gentle as before, and peeks in only after I answer. He brings a tray with a steaming bowl of hearty broth and a thick slice of bread already glistening with butter. The warmth hits my face as he sets it on the small desk.
“Eat what you can,” he instructs as he steps back toward the hall. “He’ll kill me if I let you starve.”
He tries for a joke, but worry still lines his eyes.
I manage a small smile. “I’ll eat,” I promise.
True to my word, I do. Not with enthusiasm, but with the mechanical awareness that I need fuel to keep going, to keep fighting. The broth is rich and salty, heat pooling in my stomach as I swallow spoonful after spoonful. The bread is soft and dense, filling the remainder of my stomach space.
When I’m done, Derrick returns to collect the empty dishes with a nod of approval and no further questions.
Alone again, I stretch out on the bed, staring at the way the gray-blue of evening deepens into full dark with the light of the moon spilling in.
I must doze for a little while, because the next sound startles me: the front door opening downstairs, the low murmur of male voices threading up through the floorboards.
I roll onto my side and hold my breath, listening.
Derrick’s tone is low but animated, a faint edge of concern coloring his words. Ryoden’s voice is rougher, like exhaustion and frustration are driving his tone. I can’t make out every word, but bits float up clearly enough to piece together.
“…HQ…” Derrick.
“…trip…leave within a day…” Ryoden.
“…you sure about this?” Derrick again, but sharper.
A pause, then Ryoden’s answer, quieter and too muffled to catch.
My heart starts a slow, heavy pounding. He’s leaving.
“…we’ll finalize in the morning,” I hear him say clearly. “I need to talk to her first.”
My breath hitches as I suddenly remember the overdue conversation we’re meant to have.
I hear the familiar rhythm of Ryoden’s steps on the stairs. My mind supplies the routine from memory: he’ll go to his room, strip off his uniform, wash the day from his skin, then—
But for the first time his boots don’t turn toward his own door, they keep coming closer.
My heart jumps into my throat as the footsteps continue until they’re just outside of my door. A soft knock comes. I push myself up to sitting, legs folding beneath me and my palms pressing into the mattress to anchor myself.
“Come in,” I squeak out as my nerves get the better of me.
It’s like I’ve suddenly forgotten every scenario and word I ran through all day.
The door is cracked open a few inches, just enough to show a thin slice of the dim hallway and the wash of warmer light from the hall.
His body fills that line a moment before he pushes the door open fuller, one hand braced on the doorframe.
The light falls against his profile, revealing his mussed, dark hair, with a few strands falling over his forehead.
The bruises on his throat have darkened into deeper reds and purples, stark against the open collar of his uniform.
He looks tired—exhausted, really—but when his eyes find mine, a small, gentle smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Hey,” he greets softly. “Did I wake you?”
The question is so mundanely caring that it steals my breath for a second and I lie. “No.”
It pops out of my mouth before I can even understand why I’m lying—that I don’t want to burden him needlessly any more than I already have.
“Good,” he says quietly, as if that small victory matters.
“I think it’s time we finally have that talk.”