marked me like a bloodstain
She shakes her head, not to dismiss him but because he truly doesn’t understand, and it’s all too much to explain. Plenty of people have been called difficult, complicated, hard to love—but none of them have the kind of track record she does. No one else has had a crown of broken promises pressed so tightly into their skin that even kindness feels like it might splinter beneath the weight of their choices. Her breath hitches, eyes shining with unshed tears, and then she turns sharply toward him, her voice rising louder than she intends.
"I am responsible," she says, the words breaking loose before she can soften them. "Because I’m the one who makes the choices. Not just for me, but for them." Her fingers curl again into the fabric of her dress, as though she could squeeze the memory from her hands, could press it all down deep enough that it might finally be still. "Before the war, Enzo told me he’d go wherever I wanted. And I wanted Torchline. I wanted freedom and adventure. I wanted something bigger than the life we had, and he said yes like he always did, and now he’s gone."
She shakes her head again, this time smaller, more fragile, like she’s trying to erase the thought before it forms too clearly. "Jack got caught up in all of this because of me. Because of my choices. Because I was too loud, too reckless, too me. He was targeted and killed by Pierce because of me."
Her voice falters, caught on the edge of something too raw to shape, and when she opens her mouth again, the words are almost too quiet to carry. "Even with you—" But the rest doesn’t come.
She thinks about how she was the one who asked him to stay that night, how it was her idea to blur the line that had once held them safe. She had kissed him. She crossed the boundary they’d so carefully drawn, and even if he says he doesn’t regret it, even if he tells her he’s still here, she can’t shake the sense that she’s the common denominator in all this unravelling. The hand that keeps tugging at the seam until everything splits open.
Her gaze drops once more to the water, where their feet still drift together, toes tangling like roots in salt and silence, and though she doesn’t say another word, the truth is there in every breath she takes: she wants to believe him, wants to let herself rest in the space he offers, but he's just one voice not loud enough to drown out those of her parents, of Jack, of the Deimos's and Hadama's of the world saying no, no, you fucked up.
"I am responsible," she says, the words breaking loose before she can soften them. "Because I’m the one who makes the choices. Not just for me, but for them." Her fingers curl again into the fabric of her dress, as though she could squeeze the memory from her hands, could press it all down deep enough that it might finally be still. "Before the war, Enzo told me he’d go wherever I wanted. And I wanted Torchline. I wanted freedom and adventure. I wanted something bigger than the life we had, and he said yes like he always did, and now he’s gone."
She shakes her head again, this time smaller, more fragile, like she’s trying to erase the thought before it forms too clearly. "Jack got caught up in all of this because of me. Because of my choices. Because I was too loud, too reckless, too me. He was targeted and killed by Pierce because of me."
Her voice falters, caught on the edge of something too raw to shape, and when she opens her mouth again, the words are almost too quiet to carry. "Even with you—" But the rest doesn’t come.
She thinks about how she was the one who asked him to stay that night, how it was her idea to blur the line that had once held them safe. She had kissed him. She crossed the boundary they’d so carefully drawn, and even if he says he doesn’t regret it, even if he tells her he’s still here, she can’t shake the sense that she’s the common denominator in all this unravelling. The hand that keeps tugging at the seam until everything splits open.
Her gaze drops once more to the water, where their feet still drift together, toes tangling like roots in salt and silence, and though she doesn’t say another word, the truth is there in every breath she takes: she wants to believe him, wants to let herself rest in the space he offers, but he's just one voice not loud enough to drown out those of her parents, of Jack, of the Deimos's and Hadama's of the world saying no, no, you fucked up.
