Twenty-Two
Ara
It’s a beautiful day in Walius. The garden of Hope Springs is filled with children as they run around in their thick coats, their laughter filling the air with pure joy.
The trees around us move slightly with the breeze, the nip in the air reminding all of us about the upcoming winter in a few weeks. Even as I watch Cas sit under a birch tree, drawing something on his sheets with a small smile on his adorable face, my heart refuses to settle.
It has been this way since that night. Restless nights where Burke’s words played inside my head incessantly. My mind was unable to forget a certain Titan who followed me home. I never saw him, but I could feel his gaze poking at the back of my neck with every step I took.
And instead of hailing a cab like I should have, I walked all the way home. In heels, without a coat and in a dress, that did very little to help me keep warm.
I try not to fixate on the fact that when I stepped inside to buy myself a coffee to keep me from dying of hypothermia, I found a coat draped neatly on the railing of the cute coffee shop. I wouldn’t have stopped to give it any attention if not for its size.
I’ve been given something similar, and there was only one person I knew to be that large that all his clothes seemed to be custom-made. And the coat had a distinctive scent that belonged to him and had me whiffing at it like a dog before I put it on.
And after that little gesture, despite the bad night that I had, despite the hurt, a small smile played on my lips all the while I walked home. Just to ebb my curiosity to see how long he would stay, I made him tea. I left the takeaway mug and his coat on the chair on my little lawn. By the time I quickly rinsed myself, both his coat and the mug were gone. Is it foolish to admit that it had been the highlight of my night?
I groan and bury my face in my hands.
What is wrong with me? Why did I text Sean and suggest that we just be friends when he could be good for me? Why can’t I stop thinking about the man who would be nothing but wrong for my life? Not to forget a man who is NOT interested in me.
“If you pull on your hair any tighter, you’ll become bald.”
I turn to see Harley walking towards me, a small amusing smile playing on her face. Even though it has only been a little a few months since we met, there is an unknown bond that seems to link us together. Where Ivy struggles to understand a certain twistedness inside my head—but always sits to give me her silent support—Harley sees it.
She has a certain darkness of her own, which I see lurking beneath the surface of those unique grey-blue eyes of hers. She tries to hide it, but I see the hollowness in her. A darkness I cannot name.
Both of us never push each other for secrets, but we know we can rely on each other. Maybe it is true when they said when two people face similar hellholes, they form strong connections rapidly due to their shared experiences.
I smile at the lightheartedness that is slowly coming out when she is with me. Despite the unease that sometimes rushes forward that I brush off, Harley is easy to talk to. She is wise, and her outlook on life and people is…different. The good kind.
I move to give her space on the iron bench installed on the periphery of the gardens. From here, we can see the kids playing, the tree line that leads into the thick forest and feel the gentle sway of the wind. Harley plops down beside me, covered only in a thin sweater.
I frown at the material and turn even more confused when I don’t see her shivering. I’m wearing a thick coat and have a thick woollen shirt underneath, and I still feel cold. This woman is barely covering herself and still doesn’t shiver.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“Not really.” She looks down at her sweater.
“The temperature is in the negatives! You need to put on a thicker coat, Harley.” I admonish.
“I’ve been through worse,”
Before I can ask what she means,
“Is that what you want to talk about?” She turns to raise her brow at me.
I chuckle slightly and settle back into the chair.
“There is no reason to talk about senseless things,” I say.
“If something is occupying your mind enough to want to make yourself bald, then I think it is important that we talk about it.”
She playfully bumps her shoulder with mine. I shake my head at her and turn to look at the light grey sky. For a moment, it makes me wonder if Zagan’s eyes were ever in this colour. I’ve only seen them dark, angry and at the most emotionless.
“How long did it take for you to trust a man?” I ask.
“I will let you know once I do,”
Both of us laugh at her answer and her tone, but she sobers faster than me.
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m afraid I’m attracted to a man that might be bad for me.”
“What makes you think so?” She tilts her head slightly.
I look at her for a brief second before I turn back to the clouds.
“He dabbles in…immoral career.”
To put it mildly.
He kills as a profession and rules this city as a condition. I don’t think it would be wise for her to know his name. It is feared for a reason, and I don’t wish to scare away my friend, who is more jumpy than I. And that’s something.
Harley nods in understanding, without any judgement. She might be imagining he could be a lawyer advocating for selfish businessmen or a corrupted politician or anyone else who I’m sure wouldn’t even reach the man I cannot stop thinking about. Because who in their right might would gravitate towards the man whose name evokes bone-deep terror from people?
“And you think there are other careers out there with higher moral standards?” She raises her brow at me.
“With the history I have, I shouldn’t want a dangerous man. I’ve seen what men with power are capable of. I should stay far away from them, not want them.”
When I turn to her, Harley gives me a look that is almost…pitiful?
“What is the fault in liking a man who could protect you against something you’re scared of?”
I knew she would open a new perspective that I know I’d think once I’m home. It still catches me off-guard. But I shake my head at her, denying it.
“I don’t need someone to protect me. And what if, down the line, he would turn out to be the one I need protection from?”
She shrugs. "We may never know, but what I meant was, it’s not wrong to be drawn to a man who can stand between you and any possible future threats. To someone powerful enough for you to depend on. And if he’s morally grey, so be it. This world’s full of idiots who wouldn’t hesitate to trample others for their own gain."
I look down at my lap, playing with my fingers. Harley’s hand pats my shoulder comfortingly.
“You’ve been in a helpless situation before, Ara. And acknowledging where you lack doesn’t make you powerless. It makes you wise. In a world filled with monsters, what is wrong to want a monster of your own?” She winks.
I shake my head at her, smiling. As poetic as her words were, it is unfathomable to even entertain such thought. Wanting a monster in my corner sounds appealing. But it only applies to someone who would be able to tame them or at least control them. Because if one cannot, one is devoured.
“What kind of a partner would you want?” I ask, diverting the topic.
She sees through me but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she shrugs lightly.
“I’ve been self-reliant for so long. There isn’t anything I cannot do myself that I’d require a man for it,” Harley turns to look at the kids, an odd sort of emotion inside her eyes.
“Having a partner is much more than needing someone to do things for you, Har.”
I know how she feels. I’ve been taking care of myself and Iyra for so long that I’ve forgotten how to rely on someone else. Just because I can manage alone doesn’t mean I don’t crave being pampered, understood, or cared for.
But trusting someone more than myself will be a gruelling process. A man must show consistency to earn my trust, and only then will I submit—never for anything less.
She turns to look at me, and it is now my turn to shed some wisdom. Something Ma had told me long back.
“Having a partner means having someone whom you can share your darkest fears with. You can sit down with them and tell them about your deepest secrets, nastiest thoughts and unforgivable sins and not be afraid of judgment. The idea of being able to find a person who not only accepts the skewed parts of us but also celebrates them is exciting, isn’t it?”
“We are fucked in the head more than the normal population, right?” She asks.
I nod and shrug helplessly. We were dealt with an unfair hand. Nothing can be done about it other than accepting it.
“Then would you think a straight-laced man who preaches goodness and warmth would understand us?”
I see a slight smirk on her face. I try to glare at her, but I cannot help but be impressed by the way she turned the conversation.
“No,” I answer honestly.
She lets out a light laugh at my dilemmatic expression.
“Immorality is nothing but a change of perspective, my sweet Ara. And often, people who get painted as villains are tagged such because they refuse to bow down to the norms imposed by tyrants. In a world filled with misguided perceptions of right and wrong, I’d prefer a villain who remains loyal to what he believes than a man who blindly follows the norms set to control the mob.”
“You are sneakily wise,” I pout.
Usually, it is I who points out reasonable truths and sheds wisdom. It feels weirdly nice to be on the receiving end of it.
Harley laughs again, the sound making me smile. I’m glad she found a friend in me.
“There is also another reason I favour the villains,”
“What is it?” I raise my brows.
“They fuck the best,” she winks.
She walks away with an evil laugh, leaving me behind with flaming cheeks and unnecessary thoughts of a certain grey-eyed devil and his performance in bed.
* * *
I hum softly, singing one of Ma’s old songs as I move around the kitchen, preparing manicotti. Cas sits on the island, carefully helping me fill the piping bag with the stuffing. He’s so meticulous—my little angel who hates clutter just like I do. He says messes make his head hurt. I think it’s adorable, seeing him so focused on keeping the space as neat as possible.
All day, I’ve been waiting to get home and make this with him. I prepared the marinara sauce last night with a few little twists—a splash of balsamic vinegar for depth, a touch of honey to soften the tomatoes’ tang, and a sprinkle of smoked paprika because Ivy loves that hint of warmth. And I added sun-dried tomatoes just for Cas. I don’t care if it’s loaded with cheese; there’s only one life, and I’d rather meet my maker with a full stomach than in a haze of perfection.
I check the shells, pulling them off the stove just as they hit al dente, and transfer them to a plate. Cas has finished with the filling and hands me the piping bag, his flour-dusted face beaming with pride. I can’t resist kissing his cheek, and he scrunches his nose but grins up at me, proud as anything.
“Is the garlic bread done?”
I laugh, the sound both familiar and strange. I’ve laughed since I ran, but it’s never felt this real, this easy. No one makes me feel that way but my little miracle. I glance at the timer, showing four minutes left on the garlic bread.
“Not yet, sweetie.”
Cas nods, already staring at the oven with rapt attention. The kid’s obsession with garlic bread is borderline dangerous. I swear he’d eat it every meal if I let him. He gets his fix of buttery goodness, but I keep an eye on it, balancing his favourite treats with healthy meals. Ivy likes to roll her eyes whenever I say that I don’t spoil him, claiming that I do—but I think I’m doing okay.
In one oven, the garlic bread is baking. In the other, I preheat the temperature as I assemble the manicotti, filling each shell with the cheesy mix under Cas’s watchful eye. He kneels on the counter so he can see every move. Once the shells are stuffed and nestled in a layer of sauce, I cover them with cheese, place the pan in the oven, and just as I close the door, I hear my phone ring in the living room.
“I’ll get it!” Cas jumps from the counter and races to the phone.
I’m about to pull out the bread when he walks back in, his face crinkling with a slight frown as he stretches the phone toward me.
“It’s Ivy. She sounds… funny”
I take the phone, immediately on alert.
“Is everything alright?” I ask as I cut the bread, plating two pieces for Cas, who snatches them up with a kiss on my cheek before heading to the next room. But Ivy’s breathless voice brings me back, chilling the warm air around me.
“Ara, I’m in trouble.”
My blood runs cold. I can hear panic in her voice, and what might be shouting in the background.
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” she whispers, her voice thick with fear.
“I’m on my way,” I promise.
I hang up, heart racing, and scroll through my contacts. I pause over Eero’s name, hesitating. Despite everything, I can’t bring myself to involve him, not with Cas at home. I wouldn’t risk a single thing around my son. Nico’s out, too. Ellie? She’s with the kids now, and I know she’s stretched thin.
There’s only one person I can rely on. I dial, and Harley picks up on the first ring.
“Ara?” She sounds concerned.
“Hi, Harley. I’m so sorry for the last-minute call, but something urgent’s come up. Would you mind watching Cas for a bit?”
“Of course. I’ll be at your place in ten.”
I love how she doesn’t even hesitate. By the time she arrives, I’ve pulled on my jacket, found my gun and taken a deep breath, steadying myself. Cas runs over to me, and I kneel, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Baby, I need to step out for a little while.”
He nods solemnly, trying to hide his worry. I ruffle his hair, reassuring him, but my mind’s already half out the door. Harley smiles, patting my shoulder, her tone steady and comforting.
“I’ll keep him safe until you’re back. Don’t worry.”
And with that, I’m out the door, hoping I can reach Ivy before danger catches up with her.