Chapter 53 053

Chapter 53 053

Rayna
I saw it before I felt it, and even though I tried to convince myself that it was okay and there was no need to panic, it didn't work.

I was indeed panicking, internally anyway, but you get the point.

Zero’s hands, resting on his knees like they always did, tightened, just after the words had slipped past my lips. I wasn't sure which part of my story had done it, but I watched his fingers curl slowly and deliberately, until his fists were clenched hard enough that the tendons stood out beneath his skin. His knuckles blanched, pale against the dim light.

I realized what it was immediately, and I hated that I didn't know what to make of it.

Whatever Zero was going through was silent fury, in its most dangerous form.

It rolled off him in waves, contained but unmistakable, and my breath hitched, not in fear this time, but in something sharper.

He was listening. Not tolerating, not enduring, but actually listening to me this time.

The realization settled into my chest with a strange, dangerous warmth. I hadn’t imagined it. My mind hadn't picked the worst times to play a joke on me, because unlike the others, this was real. The shift was real, the room hadn’t changed, but he had, and for the first time, I felt like my words were landing somewhere other than the floor between us.

I didn’t move closer. I didn’t test him with a touch. Instead, I stayed where I was, seated on the chaise, my hands folded loosely in my lap, and my voice steady because I forced it to be.

“She hated the cold,” I said softly. “Lila, I mean. She said it made her bones ache, and every winter she’d steal my sweaters even though they were always too small for her.”

A faint, almost smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it. The memories were rushing in now and this time, I actually let them.

“She’d stretch them out and swear she’d return them, but she never did.” I continued after a little while, and i didn't try to fight the wistful smile on my lips. It was bittersweet, but I actually let it. “I used to get mad, but now I wish I’d let her take all of them.”

His fists tightened further. I watched the movement with careful attention, like reading a language I was only just beginning to understand.

“She wasn’t gentle,” I continued. “Not in the soft way people expect from sisters. But she was… present, and loud. Protective to the point of recklessness. I never told her that, but it was one of the things I loved and admired about her.”

I glanced at him, and his eyes were on me, not drifting, not guarded behind indifference, but fixed.

I'd caught his gaze a lot of times since I walked in here, but this was different, a million times different from the others.

“She believed the world was cruel by default,”My pulse skidded, but I forced myself to remain calm as I spoke again. “And that if you didn’t meet it with your teeth bared, it would swallow you whole.”

“When she died, everyone kept telling me she’d want me to move on.” I exhaled slowly. “ To forget the anger, to forgive whatever it was that took her.”

My fingers curled into the fabric of my dress.

“They didn’t understand,” I whispered. “Lila didn’t forgive things. She remembered them.”

His jaw tightened, and I could swear that I saw a muscle jump there once or twice. It was probably out of place and maybe I was expecting too much, but I felt a terrible, hopeful thought rise in my chest.

“Say something”, I begged silently, like he could actually read my mind in all of this. “Anything. Please.”

I leaned forward slightly, not to invade his space, but to bridge the distance with intent.

“I miss her,” I said simply. “Every day, even on days I pretend I don’t. I tell myself that I'm strong, but on most days, I feel like the weakest piece of shit.”

The admission left me raw, exposed in a way stripping never had. I searched his face for cracks, for any sign that this mattered enough to pull sound from him.

He didn't speak, but I saw the way his fists trembled. It was barely there, but enough to make my heart stutter.

“You’re angry,” I said quietly, not accusing. Observing. “I can see it.”

His shoulders remained rigid, but the air around him felt tighter, coiled.

“Sometimes I wonder if you knew her,” I went on. “Not the way I did. But… adjacent. Like paths crossing without touching.”

I hesitated, something heavy pressing against my ribs. There was one memory, one truth, I’d never said out loud. Not here, not anywhere.

I had no idea what was pushing me now. Deep down I knew I wasn't meant to say that. The chances of me getting into trouble if the words were to ever get out were high, but it still didn't dull the feeling of wanting to let it all out.

I drew in a breath.

“There’s something about her death that never sat right with me,” I began my voice lowering. “Something I….”

The words barely left my mouth, when the room shifted with the number one plot twist I didn't even see coming at all.

“Time's up.” The Mistress’s voice cut through the air, sharp and absolute, filling every corner of the space. I knew for a fact that she could see me, but it didn't stop me from cursing underneath my breath and scrunching up my face in what could easily pass as mild anger. “The night has ended.”

The sound hit like a blade.

I froze, my heart slamming painfully against my ribs, the confession aborted on my tongue. I hadn’t even finished the thought, hadn’t crossed the threshold of whatever truth I’d been about to bare.

I looked at Zero.

His fists were still clenched. His expression unreadable. But his eyes, they burned.

Not with indifference this time, and not with detachment either, but with something furious and contained and awake.

For one suspended second, I was certain, absolutely certain, that if the Mistress hadn’t spoken, if the room hadn’t reclaimed its rules, he would have broken his silence.

Then the moment shattered.

I stood slowly, legs unsteady, and smoothed my dress out of habit. As I turned toward the door, fear crept in, quiet and insidious.

Not fear of him, but the fear of what it meant that he was listening now.

And beneath it, just as sharp, just as dangerous was pity.

Because whatever rage he was holding, whatever truth sat locked behind his clenched fists and sealed lips, it was costing him something to keep it there, and I had the unsettling sense that next time, the silence might not survive.