52

52
“You left him.”

“I didn’t leave,” I said.

Celeste raised an eyebrow as she poured me a cup of tea in the small sitting room she’d claimed as her own. “You walked out of a room, Ana. That counts.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m gone.”

“No?” She handed me the cup. “Because Julian hasn’t moved from that hallway in over an hour. Staring after you like you carried the last of his soul out with you.”

I looked down into the tea. It was too hot to drink, but I held it anyway, letting the warmth seep into my palms.

“He lied to me.”

Celeste sank onto the chaise across from me, her expression uncharacteristically gentle. “Yes.”

“You knew.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t need to,” she said. “You were never going to believe it until you saw it.”

I nodded once, then stared out the window. The sky was turning the color of ash. The storm hadn’t broken yet, but it would soon. I could feel it.

“Why didn’t he just tell me the truth?”

Celeste’s voice was soft. “Because he was afraid it would ruin the only good thing he had left.”

“And what am I supposed to do with that?”

She didn’t answer.

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re Ana.”

“But which Ana?” My voice cracked. “The girl who loved Julian? Or the one who…” I swallowed. “Who might have loved Elijah?”

Celeste’s lips pressed into a line. “You were never in love with Elijah.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was there.”

I blinked. “You?”

She nodded. “You were turning into something you didn’t want to be. He wanted to use that. Twist it into devotion. But you never gave in. You fought him. Every day.”

I set the tea down, my hands suddenly too unsteady to hold it. “Then why can’t I remember that part?”

“Because those memories are the darkest.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “Julian didn’t erase them because he wanted to control you. He did it because he thought they’d destroy you.”

I looked away. “Maybe they already have.”

Celeste stood and crossed the room, kneeling beside me. “Do you want to remember, Ana?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can help,” she said gently. “Not force anything. Just… guide it.”

I stared at her. “You can do that?”

“Yes.”

I hesitated. “Will it hurt?”

“Truth always does.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

She placed her hand on mine. “Close your eyes.”

I did.

“Breathe,” she said.

So I breathed.

And the memories came.

The room was cold. Stone walls. Chains. I was on the floor, my back against the wall. Blood stained my hands—someone else’s, not mine. Or maybe both.

Elijah stood over me.

“You’re stronger like this,” he whispered. “No more pain. No more guilt. Just power.”

“I don’t want this.”

He crouched down, his fingers brushing my cheek. “You say that now. But soon, you’ll beg for it.”

I slapped his hand away.

His eyes darkened. “You were supposed to be mine.”

“I was never yours.”

“You will be.”

“I’d rather die.”

He rose, his face a mask of fury. “Then die.”

I gasped and opened my eyes.

Celeste caught me before I could fall. “Easy.”

“I remember.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“I hated him.”

“I know.”

“I wasn’t his.”

“No.”

“And Julian—he saved me.”

“Yes.”

I covered my face with both hands, shaking. “I’ve been so angry.”

“You had every right to be.”

“But not at him.”

“No. But that’s what grief does. It confuses things.”

I looked at her. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Because you asked him not to.”

I froze.

“You begged him to take it all. And he did. Because he loved you.”

Tears burned behind my eyes.

Celeste touched my shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

I wiped at my face. “I’m going to find him.”

She smiled. “Good.”

I found him exactly where Celeste said he’d be. Standing at the end of the hall, facing the window, motionless. The light from outside framed him in silver.

He didn’t turn as I approached.

“I remember,” I said softly.

Nothing.

I stepped closer. “Julian.”

Still, nothing.

“I remember Elijah. What he did to me. What I asked you to do.”

He finally turned.

His face—God. I’d never seen him look like that. Like he was too afraid to believe what he was hearing.

“You remember?” he said, so quiet I barely heard it.

“Yes.”

He took a breath. “And?”

I reached for his hand. “And I’m sorry I made you carry it alone.”

His hand trembled as he gripped mine.

“You were trying to protect me.”

He shook his head. “I failed.”

“No,” I said. “You gave me peace when I couldn’t handle the pain. You gave me time to be human again.”

He looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was real.

“I love you,” I said.

His breath hitched.

“Even when I couldn’t remember why, I loved you.”

He stepped forward, pulling me into his arms, holding me like he was terrified I’d disappear.

“I thought I lost you.”

“I thought I lost myself.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me. “Are you still angry?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Good. Because so am I.”

I kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t perfect.

But it was honest.

And it was real.

When we pulled apart, he whispered, “You came back.”

“I never left.”

His arms tightened around me again. “Then let me protect you now. Let me finish what I started.”

I nodded. “But this time, I fight with you.”

He smiled—tired, aching, but beautiful.

“Yes,” he said. “This time, we do it together.”