CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Davien
WE CONTINUED OUR pattern of training in the evenings and I continued to push her hard, until she snapped. She’d managed it twice—the magic. And on the second occasion, it hadn’t been a fluke. She’d controlled the air enough to knock me off balance with a gust of strong wind.
It had been promising, and a small part of me believed things were starting to look more hopeful. She could do this.
But in those same days, she’d withdrawn.
Treated me to nothing more than one word answers and silence.
She did what I asked of her, stopped arguing and I should have been happy about that, but… I didn’t like it.
No more sharp remarks were thrown my way for the sake of it. No more deliberate attempts to get under my skin. No more questions. Nothing.
I couldn’t understand it. I thought that now—more than ever—she’d be happy. She was doing well in her training, getting a hold of herself more and more.
The days had grown too quiet.
Just as it was now.
Quiet.
We’d moved locations again in the early hours of this morning. Much of the same—this was the seventh place now, and I wasn’t sure how much longer we could run like this. We were running out of time and I knew that. It was part of the reason I’d been pushing her so damn hard.
I was going over notes Marlette had dropped off again—if I could maybe figure out this part of the puzzle, the rest of it might start making more sense—when I heard it.
Faint and muffled.
Easy to miss, if I hadn’t been listening out for anything and everything these days.
Crying, coming from the bathroom.
I stilled, just listening, and every instinct in me lit alight, pulling my focus toward the closed door down the short hallway.
The sounds were soft and small, like she thought if she kept them small enough, contained, they might not be real. Like she didn’t want me to hear.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down my face as I stared at the wall.
This was my fault.
At least, partly.
I’d pushed her too far. Pushed her harder than I had any right to, considering what she was already dealing with, all that she didn’t know. What I wasn’t telling her.
Fuck.
Anger I could take, all day and night, but genuine sadness and crying… not so much.
My feet moved before I’d fully decided to act, carrying me a few steps down the hall before I stopped just short of the door.
Why the fuck did I care?
I could hear her more clearly now.
The hitch in her breathing, the quiet uneven sobs.
My hand lifted to the door but I paused, hovering there.
What was I doing?
She wouldn’t want me here.
And what was I supposed to do?
Knock? Casually pretend I hadn’t eavesdropped.
Offer comfort? No, she definitely wouldn’t want that from me.
She’d hate the intrusion, hate her vulnerability being heard.
Hate me.
I knew that much at least, so I stood there for another awkward moment until finally, I lowered my hand, stepped back and turned away.
It didn’t matter that I’d wanted to comfort her, that I didn’t like the sound of her crying. That I didn’t like the idea of being the cause.
I grabbed my leather jacket, pulling it on as I slipped out onto the streets. The air was cool and the sun had just dipped below the horizon, the city alive in its usual way.
It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for, a little corner shop with a bored cashier barely sparing me a glance as I bought a pack of cigarettes.
By the time I made it back, the lights inside were dimmed, the flat quiet but the bathroom door was open.
No more crying.
Thank fuck.
I stepped out onto the small balcony, leaning against the railing as I lit one of the cigarettes I’d just bought, the flame briefly illuminating my hands before it caught.
I didn’t seek her out, instead I let her approach me.
I took a second drag when I heard the sliding creak of the door behind me.
“Have I been too hard?” I asked, not turning.
There was only silence for a moment, and I wondered if I should have just kept my mouth shut.
But she stepped up beside me, leaning against the railing too, and she let out a quiet breath as I held the pack out toward her without looking at her.
She took one and I flicked the lighter again, shielding the flame from the gentle breeze as she leaned in, the tip catching before she pulled back, exhaling slowly.
Then we just stood there, side by side, smoking, looking out over the city.
Below us, people moved in clusters and laughter drifted upward, the distant hum of traffic weaving through it. Christmas lights had begun to appear in shop windows and on lampposts, soft and warm against the dark.
“I used to love this time of year,” she said eventually, her voice quieter than I was used to.
“Used to?” I echoed.
She shrugged, taking another drag. “Claire would go all out. Decorations everywhere, matching mugs, the whole thing. We’d argue over what film to watch on Christmas Eve, even though we always watched the same one.”
A faint smile tugged at her mouth.
“Sounds… nice,” I said.
“It was,” she replied. Then, after a beat. “What about you?”
I stilled slightly. I hadn’t really thought about Christmas in a long time.
“I’ve had a few,” I said, deliberately vague. “They blur together after a while.”
She glanced at me like she knew I was skirting around something, but she didn’t push.
“I’ll take you to a phone box,” I said instead, shifting the focus. “So you can call her again, your sister.”
She shook her head almost immediately. “No.”
“You should.”
“And say what?” she countered, a hint of her usual sharpness returning. “Hi Claire, just checking in—no longer human, being hunted, in hiding with a jerk, learning how to weaponize air?”
I almost smiled.
“It might do you good to hear her voice.”
“It won’t,” she said quickly. “Drop it.”
So I did.
Realisation suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t even bothered to ask her about her human life.
Was Claire the only person dear to her that she was leaving behind.
Did she have a boyfriend? She hadn’t mentioned one, but then again I hadn’t asked or cared to listen too closely when she spoke during those first few days.
“Is there anyone else you want to call?” I asked. “Like a boyfriend or something?”
She let out a strange little laugh, like the idea of a boyfriend was ridiculous. “No, I don’t do relationships.”
I nodded, taking a drag from my cigarette. She didn’t need to explain any further. I got it. I was the same.
“For what it’s worth,” I said after a while. “I’m sorry. Sorry that you can’t be honest with her. I take it you two are close?”
“Yeah,” she breathed. “We were.”
“What’s it like?” She asked, catching me off guard. “In the vampire families? You said before that it isn’t kind to women. What about the children?”
“They’re coveted, kept close. I’ve actually never seen one,” I said, absent mindedly rubbing at my jaw. I truly didn’t know much about vampire offspring. As a turned one, I wasn’t permitted anywhere near them. “But, from what I’ve heard, their childhood isn’t great. Even worse if they’re girls.”
“Oh,” she said, a sadness etched on her face. “So I was doomed either way.”
“You didn’t have a good childhood?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. I knew it was none of my business, but with everything that I knew was going to happen, I hoped that she’d at least experienced joy and had a good life—up until now at least.
She shrugged. “My upbringing wasn’t all sparkles and unicorns.”
I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. I understood more than she’d ever know, but that wouldn’t be of comfort to her. Did I even want to comfort her? I still wasn’t sure, though I felt strangely compelled to.
“All we had were each other,” she added. “Our mother was the type of woman who shouldn’t have had children. It broke her and in turn, us.”
She didn’t need to expand.
I felt the weight of her words and couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow at the fact that she’d somehow managed to escape the fate of one horrible up bringing only to be dealt another. I had wrongly judged her human life as a good one.
We stayed out there—watching people go about their ordinary lives—a little longer before resuming our routine.