Chapter 67: Voices Come to Light – Part XIII

Lucas arrived punctually. This alone caused Noah’s stomach to contract. The man they initially encountered at the train station had arrived late, uncertain, as if testing their patience. Tonight, he approached with deliberate steps, a jacket zipped to his chin, eyes scanning the surroundings before settling on them.

Silas offered only a nod, acknowledging that silence often conveys more than words. Noah, restless, raised a hand halfway before letting it fall again.

“You came back,” Noah said. The words slipped out too rapidly, too eagerly, and he immediately regretted them.

Lucas did not respond immediately. He adjusted the strap of his shoulder bag, his posture stiff. “Don’t read too much into it. I am not here for you. I am here because if I do not say it aloud, it will haunt me.

Noah blinked, surprised by the bluntness. Silas, however, merely inclined his head, as if granting permission.

Lucas’s jaw clenched as he searched for words. “She did not begin with chains. That is crucial to understand. She started with kindness— a gift here, a promise there. She made it seem as though she saw me, as if she knew my vulnerabilities and sought to mend them.” He let out a bitter laugh, devoid of humor. “I believed it was love.”

Recognition struck Noah with force, closing his throat. He wanted to step forward, to say 'me too,' but Silas’s steady presence kept him in place.

Lucas’s eyes flicked between them, filled with suspicion. “I do not know what you expect from me. I am not here to provide closure. I am here to unburden myself just enough to breathe again.”

He adjusted his bag once more, seemingly preparing to leave.

Lucas remained standing as if sitting would anchor him in place. His hands compulsively adjusted the strap of his bag—tightening, loosening, then tightening once again.

“She knew precisely where to begin,” he stated. “With minor gestures. A new coat when mine was worn out. A meal I hadn’t paid for. She would offer it as if it were trivial, as if she were not keeping score. However, she was indeed keeping track.”

His mouth contorted. “It felt secure. That is what I detest most when I reflect—how secure it felt. She did not confront me with anger. She approached softly. Like a refuge I had been pleading for.”

Noah’s chest clenched at those words. He could almost visualize it: Adrienne’s smile, the warmth of her hand on an arm, the way she made kindness seem a deserved act. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

Lucas looked at him, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “You appear to understand what I am referring to.”

“I do,” Noah acknowledged, his voice gravelly. “She had a manner of convincing you that you were special.”

“Special,” Lucas repeated, with bitterness. “Yes. Until you were not. Until the gifts became burdens, and you were unsure when the weight had grown so oppressive.”

Silas shifted his posture, remaining silent and observant. Lucas’s words grew sharper, rushing like water defined by a dam.

“She called it generosity. Yet every acceptance bonded you to her. And she never allowed you to forget it. That coat? That meal? That reassuring touch on your shoulder? All reminders. All obligations await settlement.”

Lucas’s breath hitched, and for a moment, his expression faltered—grief exposing itself through the bitterness. He gazed downward, knuckles white, gripping the strap.

“I cannot recall the initial request she made. Only that by then, declining was no longer an option.”

Lucas’s grip on the bag strap tightened until the canvas groaned. His voice dropped, rougher now, each word pulled from a place he’d tried to bury.

“She took years from me,” he said. “Not just time—years. I can’t tell you what I did with half of them. They’re gone, stripped out of my head, replaced with her voice telling me who I was supposed to be.”

His eyes lifted, sharp and wet. “You think I don’t know the world kept turning while I was stuck in her orbit? Friends got married. Families had children. I blinked, and all of it passed without me.”

Noah’s throat tightened. The ache in Lucas’s voice mirrored his own memory—standing in the wreckage of years he couldn’t get back, the bitter taste of a life rerouted by someone else’s hand.

Lucas’s jaw clenched hard enough that a vein stood out in his temple. “You can forgive losing money. You can forgive losing sleep. But time? You don’t get that back. It’s a theft you can’t repay.”

He dragged in a shaky breath, the bitterness burning through him. “She didn’t just steal my years. She made me complicit in losing them. Every choice felt like it was mine, even when it wasn’t. That’s the worst part. I lived her commands and called it living.”

Silas didn’t interrupt. His steady gaze stayed locked on Lucas, letting the words hang heavy. Noah wanted to reach for him, to offer some fragile comfort, but he knew better. Lucas wasn’t asking for comfort—he was spitting out poison before it killed him.

Lucas shook his head, backing up a step. “And don’t tell me it gets better. Don’t tell me I’ll heal. I don’t want a sermon. I want her gone from every corner of me.”

Lucas’s words remained suspended in the air as he abruptly adjusted the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder. His gaze shifted past them, already searching for the exit. “That is all you will receive tonight,” he stated, his voice clipped. “Do not follow me.” He turned away before Noah could respond, his steps brisk and uneven, resembling a man running without intent to show it. The station doors engulfed him, leaving only the echo of his retreat and the sharp silence he carried with him.

Noah exhaled a long breath, unaware he had been holding it. “He is breaking apart,” he murmured. “Every word appeared to cost him to utter.”

Silas’s gaze remained fixated on the vacant doorway. “Breaking apart signifies he is not hollow. Hollow men do not burn this intensely. He is still resisting her even now.”

Noah rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uneasy. “But resistance does not equate to trust. He does not believe us yet. Half the time, I suspect he perceives us as yet another trap.”

“Perhaps he does,” Silas conceded. “But he has shown himself twice now. That signifies something.”

They stood amidst the fading sounds of the station, the last trains rattling in the distance. Noah sensed the weight of Lucas’s voice pressing against his chest—the stolen years, the enduring rage. It represented progress, albeit jagged and fragile, which could cut them as easily as it injured Adrienne.

Finally, Silas approached the exit, his tone calm yet resolute. “He will return. Men who burn with such intensity invariably circle back. The fire prevents them from resting.”

Noah followed, though doubt persisted in his eyes. Lucas was nearer, indeed, but proximity did not equate to safety.