The possessiveness threaded through that statement should have unsettled me. Instead, it steadied something in my chest that had been spiraling. So much so that the pressure building inside me finally gave way, and I let out a soft breath that warmed the fabric of his shirt.
“I hate that this is what breaks me,”I admitted on a whisper, my forehead finally resting against him.
“I can argue with demons and judges and whatever else you throw at me, but carved marble and I fall apart like a child,” I added, scolding myself as I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it.
But hearing this, his hand moved again, slow and rhythmic now, up and down the center of my back in a quiet, soothing motion. One that did more to calm me than his earlier command for me to breathe.
“Fear does not measure itself by scale,” he said it softer this time, as though he were trying to wrap me in silk and shield me from myself.
“It attaches itself to memory,” he finished, and I swallowed hard as the truth of that now rested heavily between us.
“It was a museum,” I confessed before I could stop myself, the words slipping free because he hadn’t laughed, because he hadn’t dismissed me as most people would. He hadn’t tried toconvince me of my irrational fears like people had done in my past. He simply accepted it without trying to belittle me for it. Offering comfort, regardless of how silly it must have sounded to a demon. So, because of that, I carried on, giving him more of myself, and taking him back to the day my fear first took root.
“I got separated from my mother in one of the sculpture rooms. There were too many of them. Faces everywhere. I couldn’t tell which way I’d come from, and they all looked at me… judging me silently… eyes watching, they had been everywhere…faces almost alive.”My breath trembled faintly despite the steadiness of his hold.
“It was only a few minutes, but it felt endless.”
His fingers stilled at my back.
“You were only a small girl, yes?” he asked gently, as if he already knew the answer and was seeing that day play out for himself.
“Yes.”
“And you believed no one was coming for you.”
I nodded at his assumption, as the memory rose sharp and unwelcome. The echo of footsteps, the silence pressing in.
“I know it sounds foolish now, I’m an adult, after all, but back then I didn’t know if anyone even realized I was gone, and every time I see them, I just… just revert back to that scared little girl… You know?”
His hand shifted again, sliding from my back to cup my jaw properly this time, tilting my face up just enough that I had no choice but to meet his eyes. There was no amusement there. No condescension. Only steel-like focus.
“First, you are not foolish,” he said, and the firmness in it left no room for argument.
“You were frightened, and just because that memory clings to you, it doesn’t make you weak.” The simple distinction caught me off guard.
“I should be past it,” I murmured, though my grip on him had not loosened. Not when I felt so safe, which was ridiculous, seeing as he was the reason I was here in the first place. But right now, my mind would let me see him as anything but my protector, not the captor he was.
“Why?” he asked, and the word held no authority now, only a flicker of genuine disbelief.
“Because time has passed?” His thumb brushed lightly across my cheekbone.
“Fear does not expire on schedule, Eliza.” The low, intimate way he spoke my name settled deep in my chest before I could brace for it.
I exhaled slowly, feeling the tremor ease fractionally beneath the steady weight of his hands. The statues still stood behind him. The hall had not changed. But my breathing had.
“I don’t suppose, erm…” I began carefully, my voice steadier now,
“…that there’s another way around, is there?”
His gaze held mine for a moment longer before he finally glanced past my shoulder, taking in the hall in one measured sweep. I felt the subtle shift in him as he assessed the space around us. When his eyes returned to mine, the answer was already there.
“No,” he said quietly. The word should have tightened my chest again, but it didn’t this time. Because I knew, this time, I would have his hand in mine. I would have him by my side, keeping me safe.
That I could…could do this.
Although Oblivion had other ideas, as before I could even tell him I was ready, his thumb stilled against my skin.
“But it has been decided,” he told me, his voice lowering a fraction as his hand slid from my jaw to the back of my head once more, fingers spreading more securely into my hair.
