“Balor was not a soldier of merit. Balor took the black to abuse his authority over others. Unfortunately, that is something that happens when certain people gain power. They become obsessed with wielding it and bending others to their will.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not sorry he’s dead, but I am sorry you’re the one who killed him. His reign of torment should have ended long before he ever came in contact with you.”
“I’m fine.”
“I saw you struggle to rinse your hands of his death, even long after the blood had cleared.”
“I just… don’t want to be so vulnerable again. He almost killed me several times, the others want me dead, and I’m just so tired of relying on luck to protect me. What happens when my luck runs out?”
I rubbed my arms slowly. Exhaustion was beating down on me.
“Perhaps I can help you feel you have a bit more control over your fate.”
I scoffed. “No one can control their own fate.”
“Being able to protect oneself is a way we can exert control in our lives. I can teach you to fight in hand-to-hand combat.”
“You would do that for me?” I scrunched up my nose. “Why? I’m your enemy.”
“Although I’ve always been your enemy, you’ve never been mine, Mavis.”
The stretch of silence in the room seemed never-ending. Pin-pricks raced up my arms and throat as I tried to swallow. I wasn’t sure how much of it was because of the truth session, and how much of it was stirred by Rowan’s quiet confession.
One thing was for sure—the lines between us had blurred beyond comprehension. Enough that I couldn’t even be disgruntled about sitting on his bed. Rowan made me forget about our titles and the color of our clothing. The importance of our distinction was skewed. And I didn’t know what that meant anymore.
Rowan cleared his throat and continued.
“There’s an old gym here. No one uses it since the newer one was built a few years back. It’s on the base level, at the end of the third corridor on the right. We can meet there once a week. We have to be discreet, though, you understand?”
“I know.”
“Good.” Rowan stood from his chair.
“Rowan, what’s going to happen to me?”
The vulnerability of my question startled him, as it did me. A few moments passed before he replied, a foreign gentleness coating his words.
“I’m not entirely sure. Once the blood transfusions start, peoplechange. Some become more aggressive, and others become more reclusive.”
“What about the faith and truth sessions?”
“The faith sessions are a ploy; they just want to test you and see if you will blindly believe everything they say. But the truth sessions—those shatter your mind. They want to rebuild you themselves. They call itenlightenment.”
“Great,” I murmured. It seemed it was only going to get much worse.
“The transfusions, though—those are different. They don’t just want to alter you mentally; they want to physically change you, too. By modifying you on a molecular level, they believe they can strengthen you, make you more durable. They say the goal is to geneticallyimproveyou and rid you of all disease markers.”
Disgust churned in my stomach. I swallowed back the nausea and spewed my frustration instead.
“How are you able to sit back and watch these horrors unfold? How can you do nothing?”
“I help when and where I can. I reckon that there are more eyes on me than there are on you,” he imparted. I opened my mouth to ask further, but he continued. “Let’s get you back to your bedroom before anyone notices your whereabouts.”
I followed Rowan to his door. He opened it and stuck his head out, scanning the hallway for any signs of others. Once he determined the coast was clear, he looked back at me and nodded.
His expression was back to being the guarded mask I knew so well, but also the one that made me the most uneasy. While his closed-off demeanor was what he showcased most often, I had grown accustomed to the relaxed conversation and small smirks he reserved for me. To see him barricade himself behind an emotional wall made me bristle at the unintended offense. Honestly, it wasn’t my place to be offended at all, but I couldn’t deny that a small part of me was disappointed.
He escorted me back to my room and hesitated at the entrance. A part of me wanted him to stay. Another part wanted to shove him through the door and bolt it shut. Instead, I let the silence press between us like a held breath, until he slipped away without a word.
Our interaction had been weighted, and I forced myself to push it to the back of my mind to dissect later. There was no sign of Talia in our bedroom. She had picked up craft-making in the recreation room. She even brought back a few bracelets and clay figurines that she had sculpted and painted. They were currently decorating the top of her dresser.
