Chapter 15
Elena's POV
I shook my head quickly, my throat too tight to speak for a moment, and forced myself to take a step forward. He tensed immediately, his body coiling like he was ready to bolt—or fight—and I froze.
"I'm not—" I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. "I'm not here to make fun of you."
His eyes narrowed, and he didn't say anything. Just watched me with wariness.
I reached into the pocket of my dress and pulled out the little crystal ball I'd brought with me—a stupid thing, really, something I'd gotten from a street vendor a few weeks ago because I thought it was pretty. It would glow when you pressed the button. I'd been carrying it around ever since, turning it on sometimes when I couldn't sleep, because the soft, bluish light reminded me of moonlight.
I pressed the button.
The crystal ball lit up in my palm, casting pale light across the tower, and for the first time, I could see everything clearly: the silver manacles hanging from the walls like some medieval torture device; the deep gouges in the stone; the rust-colored stains that weren't rust at all.
I felt sick.
"Here." I held the crystal ball out toward him, my hand shaking slightly. "Take it. So it's not so dark when they... when they lock you in here."
Caleb stared at the glowing ball in my hand like it was a trap, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he didn't move, didn't speak. His eyes were full of distrust.
"I don't need it," he said flatly.
The words hit me harder than I expected. I wanted to argue, to tell him he did need it, that no one should have to sit in the dark like this, but the look on his face stopped me. It wasn't anger. It wasn't even resentment.
It was worse.
It was the look of someone who'd stopped expecting kindness a long time ago.
I set the crystal ball down on the floor in front of him, not trusting myself to speak, and took a step back. My chest felt too tight, my throat closing up around words I didn't know how to say.
I wanted to apologize. For that day with Damon's friends.
But the words wouldn't come. They sat lodged in my throat like stones, too heavy and jagged to force out, and I knew—I knew what I could say would erase what had already happened.
"Don't sit on the floor," I said instead, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's too cold. There's... there's straw in the corner. It's not much, but—"
I stopped. He wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on the crystal ball, glowing softly between us, and I couldn't tell if he was going to pick it up or kick it away.
I backed toward the door, my hand finding the edge of the heavy oak frame. For a moment—just one moment—I considered leaving it open. Letting him walk out. Letting him be free, even if just for tonight.
But then I thought about Isabella's face, cold and furious. About my parents, who'd be horrified if they knew I'd interfered. About how much worse it would get if we were seen as troublemakers.
I thought about all the reasons it was safer to close the door.
And then I closed it.
---
The phone woke me at five in the morning.
I fumbled for it in the dark, squinting at the screen. Damon Vance. New Message.
For a second, I just stared at his name. My thumb hovered over the notification, then I swiped it open.
Elena, I'm sorry about today. She was too aggressive. Scarlett didn't mean what she said—I know you'd never do that. Get some rest. We'll talk soon.
I read it twice. Then locked my phone and dropped it face-down on the nightstand.
The apology should've made me feel better. It didn't.
What kept me awake wasn't Damon's half-hearted sorry. It was Caleb's voice, cold and flat in my head: I'm used to it. You're all the same.
I pulled the blanket over my head and tried to sleep. Failed. Tried again. Failed again.
By the time pale gray light started leaking through the curtains, I'd completely lost any chance of sleep.
---
The phone rang at 7:47 a.m.
I was still in bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. When I saw Damon's name on the screen, my first instinct was to let it go to voicemail.
But old habits die hard.
"Hello?"
"Good morning." His voice was bright, confident. Like yesterday hadn't happened. "Come downstairs. I'm outside your building."
I sat up too fast. My head spun. "What?"
"I'm taking you to breakfast. There's this new place downtown. You'll love it."
I pushed back the curtain and looked out the window.
There it was. That goddamn midnight-blue supercar, parked right in front of the dorm entrance with the engine still running. The low rumble carried all the way up to the third floor.
Damon leaned against the driver's side door, phone pressed to his ear, wearing a black leather jacket that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Even from up here, I could see the way people walking past gave him a wide berth, like he had an invisible force field.
"Elena?" His voice pulled me back.
"I—" My throat felt tight. "I have plans today."
"Plans?" He sounded genuinely confused. "It's Saturday."
"Library. Self-study."
There was a pause. Then a laugh. "You're always studying. Come on, take a break. You've been so stressed lately—"
"I said no."
The words came out sharper than I meant them to. On the other end of the line, Damon went quiet.
"Elena—"
I hung up.
My hands were shaking. I stared at the phone like it had burned me.
What the hell did I just do?
Before I could spiral, it started ringing again. I rejected the call. Ten seconds later, another one. Rejected. Then a text: What's wrong? Come down so we can talk.
I turned the phone face-down and got dressed.