Chapter 8
Eight
Ciaran’s thread burned brighter than the rest, flickering with something that felt sharper, more intense. Guilt? Regret? I wasn’t sure, but it was enough to latch onto.
He cared. I was certain of it. He had to.
I let the bond guide me, weaving through the empty void and depositing me in his dorm. The air was heavy, stagnant, as though it, too, bore the weight of his emotions.
His desk was cluttered with half-finished assignments and books left open to unread pages. Ciaran sat slumped in his chair, his head in his hands. His foot tapped against the floor in restless rhythm, his other hand twitching against his thigh as though trying to still himself.
“You feel it, don’t you?” I whispered, stepping closer. My voice was faint, a breath against the air, but I willed him to hear it.
He flinched, his head snapping up. His stormy eyes darted around the room, scanning the shadows, the corners, the cracks of light spilling in from the hallway. But he didn’t see me.
“Ciaran,” I said again, louder this time. “It’s me.”
Still, nothing.
The bond pulsed, urging me forward. I moved closer, close enough to feel the faint heat radiating from his skin, close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed against his leg.
“You have to feel it,” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “I know you do. You’re not like them.”
His head fell back into his hands with a frustrated groan. The sound pierced through me, sharp and raw, and for a moment, I thought he might break—might finally acknowledge what we both knew was there.
But he didn’t.
The bond trembled, a faint spark flickering between us. I reached for it, pouring every ounce of myself into the connection. The room grew colder, frost creeping across the window as the lights flickered faintly. Ciaran’s head shot up again, his gaze snapping to the window. He shivered, rubbing his arms as the chill seeped into the air.
“Ciaran,” I whispered, forcing every ounce of my remaining strength into his name. The bond flared, burning hot, and for a moment, his gaze seemed to linger—like he felt it.
But then he shook his head, running a hand through his hair, and the bond snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. The frost melted, the lights steadied, and I was left standing there, unseen and unheard.
Exhaustion hit me like a wave, pulling me back before I could make contact. My form wavered, and I collapsed into the darkness, letting it drag me back to the theater.
The familiar silence of the stage greeted me like a slap. I slumped against the edge of the stage, my chest heaving with phantom breaths.
“It’s not fair,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Why can’t you hear me? Why can’t you feel me?”
I pressed my hands to the floor, the cold wood grounding me as tears I couldn’t cry burned in my chest. The bond flared faintly, but I ignored it, too tired to follow its call. Instead, I let the despair wash over me, drowning in the weight of everything I’d lost.
I didn’t know how long I stayed there. Time had lost all meaning in this place. The theater seemed to hold me in its quiet stillness, its familiar shadows offering a strange sense of comfort in a world that had turned unrecognizable. When the pull of the bonds grew too strong to resist, I gave in, letting them guide me once more.
When the bond stirred again, I followed it without hesitation, letting it pull me back to Lucian’s apartment. Why was it always here?
The warmth of the place grated against me, the soft lighting and artfully mismatched furniture feeling like a cruel joke. Everything about it was designed to feel effortlessly lived-in, a sharp contrast to the icy hollowness inside me.
Lucian sat on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. A drink rested in his hands, forgotten as his sharp eyes scanned the room. The restless tapping of his fingers against the glass echoed faintly, a metronome for his simmering irritation.
Kael stood at the counter, pouring himself a drink with unhurried precision. He swirled the liquid idly, his posture deceptively casual as his gaze flicked toward the others, assessing.
Aeron perched on the edge of the armchair, his posture stiff, a pencil twirling in his fingers. A notebook lay open on the table in front of him, its pages blank save for a single word scrawled at the top. His lips pressed into a tight line as his dark eyes flicked toward Lucian, catching each subtle movement with unnerving focus.
Ciaran leaned against the wall by the doorway, one hand pressed against his neck as if trying to ease some unseen tension. His brows furrowed slightly, and his gaze kept drifting to the floor. Every so often, his fingers flexed at his side, as though resisting the urge to reach for something—or someone.
The air felt heavy with unspoken words, the kind that choked more than silence ever could. They were all waiting, the tension strung tight between them, but no one seemed willing to break it.
“She’s still not back,” Aeron said suddenly, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, but his words hit me like a blow. Are they finally acknowledging me? “Elise’s been asking around. Says she hasn’t seen Lily in days and that she was going out with someone that night.”
My heart warmed. Elise. My roommate. My friend. She cared. She noticed.
“She’ll figure it out,” Lucian said with a dismissive wave. “People disappear all the time.”
A flicker of irritation crossed Kael’s face. “She’s not exactly subtle, though. If someone starts digging?—”
“Then we’ll deal with it,” Lucian snapped, his voice sharp. “It’s not like she was anything special.”
The air grew thick, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t escape. The bond pulsed faintly, tightening around my chest like a vice. My gaze snapped to Ciaran. He stood rigid, his hands flexing at his sides, his eyes fixed on the floor. His silence cut sharper than any words, a prelude to something I wasn’t ready to hear.
“She was always too much,” he muttered finally, the words tumbling out like he hadn’t meant to say them. His voice was quiet, strained, but the impact was deafening. “We didn’t have a choice.”
The room tilted as those words sank in, heavy and suffocating. My breath hitched, my chest seizing with the weight of them. Too much. No choice.
My fists clenched at my sides, and the bond flared violently in response, a searing pain that stole what little strength I had left. I stumbled back, clutching at my chest as if I could claw it out. Their voices grew louder, sharper, cutting through me until all I could hear was a symphony of rejection.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I fled.
When I returned to the theater, I didn’t even bother looking at the stage. My legs carried me to the corner instinctively, and I collapsed against the wall, the cold wood pressing against my back as I curled in on myself. The dim light flickered above, casting jagged shadows across the empty room, but I didn’t notice. I didn’t care.
“They’re better off without me,” I whispered into the void, my voice trembling, hollow. “They don’t care. They never cared.”
My fingers dug into my palms, sharp and biting. The ache in my chest twisted, the familiar sting of despair morphing into something sharper, darker. It burned through me, stripping away the fragile hope I’d clung to, leaving only raw, unrelenting rage.
“They didn’t have a choice,” I spat bitterly, repeating the excuse that had shattered me. The words tasted vile on my tongue, like poison I couldn’t swallow.
The bond pulsed again, not a chain pulling me down but something far more dangerous—a weapon, volatile and waiting. For the first time, I wasn’t sure if it was going to destroy me.
Or if I was going to destroy them.