Chapter 79 – Quinton
QUINTON
Istood in front of Azaria’s door for what felt like an eternity.
My mind spun with regret, anger, hope, and dread, each one feeding the next.
I tried to force them down. It didn’t work.
I could’ve turned back and pretended this conversation wasn’t waiting for me.
Pretended she wasn’t waiting on the other side of this door.
But no. I’d promised myself—no more running.
I’d changed before coming here. Clean shirt, no blood, no dirt. Like that would somehow make this easier.
It didn’t.
So, on what felt like the tenth fucking try, I finally lifted my fist and knocked. The sound was deafening in the night. A moment later, the door opened, and there she was.
Azaria.
Her hair was pulled back in that damn ponytail that always did dangerous things to my self-control, loose strands framing her face.
She wore a soft blue shirt tucked into brown trousers, sleeves rolled to her elbows, just like always.
Just like all those other nights I’d come here, when things were simpler, when we’d share a drink and talk about nothing and everything.
It felt like a lifetime since I’d stood in this doorway.
Her eyes—icy blue, steady as ever—scanned me, taking in every inch. I could feel her seeing the exhaustion in my frame, the bruises left by the fight, the weight I still carried from the artifact. She saw it all. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she stepped back, opening the door wider.
I hesitated for a heartbeat, then stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind me. I heard the wards hum, a low pulse sealing us in. No escape.
Azaria walked ahead toward the sitting room. Our sitting room. The fire was already lit, golden light flickering across the old wood. She’d been expecting me. Shadows stretched along the walls, but the warmth barely touched me.
She went straight to the bar cabinet and poured two glasses of wine: one for me, one for herself. When she handed mine over, our fingers brushed for a split second. Her gaze met mine, steady and unreadable. I caught a faint red stain on the rim of her glass. Not her first pour tonight.
So I wasn’t the only one struggling.
She stepped back, leaning against the table in the center of the room; the same table where, just weeks ago, I’d had her sprawled beneath me, flushed and shaking. The memory hit me like a fist. I took a long, steady breath, but my blood still burned.
Azaria watched me in silence, and let the space between us grow heavy enough to choke on.
I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know if she wanted me to say anything. So I did what I always did—I watched her. I tried to read past the careful mask she wore, but the weight of the rune bracelet on her wrist still held firm, still shutting me out.
The air was heavy, like an unspoken challenge, daring me to break first. And fuck, I was close.
Then she set her glass down. Took a breath. Her fingers flexed at her sides, like she was steeling herself. The moment she spoke, it was like the godsdamn floor vanished beneath me.
“I’m sorry, Quin.”
I blinked. Once. Twice.
I’d braced for anger. For her to yell, to tell me to fuck off.
Not this.
Anger, hot and ugly, clawed up from my gut. She still blamed herself. She still thought this was her fault. And I couldn’t stop the words. They burst out before I could think.
“You’re sorry?” My voice was hoarse, rough as gravel. “You’re fucking sorry, Azaria?”
She stiffened. Her grip tightened around her glass, knuckles white, but she didn’t cut in. So I kept going. I had to.
“You’re sorry? No, don’t do that. Don’t stand there and act like you’re the one who needs to make this right.
I hurt you. I lied to you. I broke your trust, and you shut me out for weeks.
You walked past me like I didn’t even fucking exist. Do you know what that did to me?
Every day I kept hoping you’d scream at me, hit me, tell me to fuck off—anything, Azaria, anything except acting like I was nothing.
But you didn’t even give me that. You just closed the door and left me outside, and now you’re here apologizing to me? ”
I slammed my glass down on the fireplace mantle. Too hard. Wine sloshed over the rim, and I didn’t give a shit.
“What the fuck do you have to be sorry for? For feeling hurt? For being human? Because if you’re standing there blaming yourself, if you’re taking the weight for what I did—I can’t. I won’t.”
I took a step closer, helpless to stop myself.
“Do you know how many nights—fuck, Azaria, how many nights I lay there replaying it? Trying to figure out what I could’ve done differently? How I could’ve told you?”
Her throat bobbed, but she stayed silent, standing there and taking it.
“I would’ve taken the hit for you, Azaria. I would’ve let you scream, throw every ounce of anger you had. Gods, I would’ve let you break me apart if it meant you’d look at me again—anything but what you did.”
My voice cracked.
“You should be angry with me. I want you to be angry. I need you to be angry, Azaria, because that means I still matter. That means this still matters; that means we still matter. Your apology? It feels like you’ve already written me off, like you’re trying to smooth it over and move on, and I—fuck, I can’t do that.
I’d rather you hate me than watch you blame yourself for my mistakes. ”
I raked a hand through my hair, breathing rough and uneven.
“And then—“ The memory punched through.
The fight. The ambush. Her, covered in blood, looking at me like I was hers.
“The way you charged in. The way you killed those bastards.” My voice dropped, lower, dangerous. “The way you looked at me after. Like I was something to be protected. Like I belonged to you.”
My chest burned.
“And you did, Azaria. You did.”
I forced a breath, tried to steady my hands, but the fury inside was still tearing through me.
“And now, after all of it—after everything—you’re standing here telling me you’re sorry?”
I laughed bitterly; the sound scraping out of me like broken glass.
“No, Azaria, you don’t get to apologize to me. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m the one who fucked this up. I need you to see that. I need you to fight me, scream at me, do something—anything except stand there and blame yourself!”
She didn’t move. She didn’t speak.
She was taking every word—every scrap of my rage, my frustration, my agony—and absorbing it, like she always did. Like she was used to this. And it wrecked me even more.
I was panting, chest rising and falling too fast, clawing for air that wouldn’t come.
Everything inside me felt too tight, too raw.
I raked my fingers through my hair again and started pacing; the floorboards creaking beneath my feet.
I couldn’t stand still, because if I did, I might explode all over again.
Then I looked at her. And my stomach dropped.
She was standing there. Head slightly lowered, shoulders curled inward like she was bracing for another hit—not a physical one, but the kind that got under the skin and settled deep.
That same resignation was stamped across her face. Like she’d given up. Like she was accepting everything I threw at her—not because she was fighting back, but because she thought she deserved it.
No.
No, no, no, NO.
“You are not doing this again, Azaria.”
I crossed the distance before I could stop myself. She didn’t move.
“You are not shutting down on me. You are not swallowing this down and pretending it’s fine?—“
She finally looked up at me; her blue eyes were tired but challenging. “What do you want me to do, Quin?” Her voice was low, calm, and empty.
And fuck—that stoked my anger higher.
“I want you to stop acting like you deserved any of it!” I snapped. “I want you to stop looking at me like you’ve accepted some kind of punishment you never should’ve taken!”
Her jaw tightened, lips pressed into a thin line.
“It’s done, Quin.”
“It’s not done, Azaria!” My voice shook, raw and desperate. “It’s never going to be done! You don’t just move past something like that and pretend it doesn’t exist! I know you!”
I took another step closer, couldn’t help it.
“You fight for everyone else. You fight for your team, your people. You fought for me. But when it comes to yourself? You just… take it. You let it bury itself inside, like you were always meant to carry this alone.”
A muscle ticked in her jaw. Still, she said nothing. I couldn’t stand it.
“Say something, Azaria!”
Her eyes locked on mine—cold and defensive. But she finally met me there.
She stared at me. And then she exhaled slowly. But something shifted. When she finally spoke, her voice was cold. Resigned.
“What do you want me to say, Quin?”
My gut twisted.
“That I hated you for what you did?” she breathed. “That I was angry—so angry—that you never told me the truth?”
I flinched. My hands clenched at my sides. But she wasn’t done.
“Because I was, Quin. I was furious. I wanted to claw that truth out of you; I wanted to scream, to fight, to demand?—“
Her voice broke, just for a second. Then she steadied.
“But I didn’t.”
She shifted, gripping the edge of the table behind her like she needed something—anything—to hold on to.
“Because deep down… I knew.” Her fingers tightened. “I knew why you did it. I knew you weren’t trying to take my choice or use my feelings against me.”
My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack.
“What hurt me… “ she whispered. “What hurt was that you didn’t tell me. That you let me find out that way. From everyone else, but not you.”
Her voice was softer now, aching.
“I felt betrayed, yes. Not because you did it, but because you hid it.”
The floor felt unsteady beneath me. My stomach knotted so tight I could barely breathe.
“I know, Quin,” she continued. “I know what I did to you after that. I know I shut you out, that I made you suffer. And I know I can never take it back.”
I swallowed hard. My breath came rough. Uneven.
“I know I hurt you.”
Those words—they wrecked me. Because they were true.
She broke me.
And yet she was standing here, looking at me like she was the one who should be asking for forgiveness.
“I know I’ve done unforgivable things.” Her fingers trembled. “And I don’t expect you to want anything to do with me after this. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away and never looked back.”
The world tilted.
“But I needed you to know.”
A pause. And then—a confession.
“I missed you.”
My heart stopped. I took a step toward her before I could stop myself.
“I missed our conversations, the way you made me feel like I wasn’t something to be used, something to be tossed aside when I stopped being useful.”
Her voice shook now.
“I missed your touch.”
Fuck. My hands shook.
“Your warmth. I missed all of it, Quin. And it killed me inside. But I made my choice. And I felt like I had to stick with it.”
I couldn’t move. She swallowed, straightening.
“That’s why I’m sorry.”
Her words were barely a whisper now.
“I’m sorry for ruining whatever we had.”
Silence.
Loud, crushing, suffocating silence.
I stared at her.
At this woman who had broken me apart and put me back together a thousand times over.
At this woman who didn’t even realize that I was never going to walk away from her.
I couldn’t take it anymore. The way she was looking at me, like she’d already let me go. Like she’d already decided that this—us—whatever fragile, unspoken thing existed between us… was over.
No. Fuck no.
Before she could move, I reached for her and grabbed her arms. Not rough, but firm. Enough to make her look at me. And then—I broke.
“You think you ruined it?” My voice was raw, ripped from somewhere deep. Somewhere only she had ever reached.
Her lips parted, surprised by how fast I moved, but I didn’t let her speak. I couldn’t stop the words now.
“Do you have any idea what it was like?” I growled. “What it felt like to watch you turn your back on me? To walk past me like I never existed? Like I was nothing to you?”
She flinched. I tightened my grip, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep her grounded. To keep her from retreating into herself again.
“You think I walked away because I wanted to?” My voice cracked.
Her chest rose and fell, breaths uneven, like she was struggling to keep up with the torrent raging inside me.
I didn’t stop.
“You don’t get it, Az. You don’t get it.” I shook my head. “I hated myself every single day since the moment I realized what my magic was doing, what it was taking from you.”
Her eyes widened at that, a flicker of something I couldn’t name passing through them.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. Her breath hitched. Her hands clenched in my grip. That wrecked me more than anything.
“You shut me out.” My voice was barely a whisper. “You let me sit in silence for weeks, watching you walk away from me every single day. And I let you.”
I swallowed hard.
“Because I thought you needed space. Because I thought you needed time. But Azaria…”
I exhaled, slow and ragged.
“…I need you.”
Her breath caught. I didn’t give her time to process.
“I needed you then, I need you now, and fuck, I don’t even know when it happened, but I can’t imagine my life without you anymore.”
Her eyes widened, her fingers twitching where they rested against mine.
“So if you think you ruined whatever was between us, you’re wrong.”
My hands came up, caught her face, and made her look at me.
“The only way this is ruined is if you tell me to walk away right now.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak.
She stared at me, torn between every emotion swirling inside her.
I couldn’t feel a damn thing from her. The bracelet still blocked me out, leaving me blind to whatever was raging inside her. And I waited.