Something clicks in my mind as I realize that this may be the reason he’s so guarded all the time, using sarcasm and cool detachment as a defense mechanism rather than simply doing it to get on my nerves. I’m sure it’s easier to keep everyone at an arm’s length rather than expose yourself to the vulnerability of losing someone you care for. I can’t imagine falling in love while knowing I’ll eventually have to witness that person’s death, especially after already experiencing that pain once before.
Not that I think he lovesme, but with the two of us being in such close proximity all the time, it’s hard not to have some sort of fondness for each other.
“What about you?” He asks after a minute of silence. “With Joel?”
“I’m not sure I ever truly loved him,” I admit. “I thought I did once, but I think I loved the promises he made me and the vision he sold me more than I actually lovedhim.”
“That makes sense.”
“It sounds ridiculous, but this is the first time in my life that I’ve felt like there’s any sort of hope for my future.”
“And what will you do with this future you imagine for yourself?”
“I’m not sure.” My gaze drops. “I haven’t quite figured it out yet. I’ve spent so long just trying to survive that the thought of having full control of my life is a little intimidating.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. You still have plenty of time to figure it out.”
I nod but say nothing. Maybe I should start planning my next steps soon, but the thought of leaving here and never seeing Ambrose again is strangely disheartening.
We sit in heavy silence for a minute or two before Ambrose says, “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“At the masquerade event we attended in the mountains, when I killed that man… I had a reason for doing so. But the way you looked at me that night, as if I was a heartless, evil monster, has been weighing on me since then. I just wanted to let you know that he wasn’t as innocent as he seemed to be.”
“What did he do?”
“Someone has been watching me recently, and he was working for them. I’m not sure why I’m being watched, though I have my suspicions, and I doubt their intentions are wholesome. When I left you alone with him, it was a test to see if he’d try to gather information about me through you, and he did.”
I attempt to keep my expression neutral, because I know exactly who is watching him. The angels. But if he killed a man simply because he was acting as a spy for someone whose intentions he doesn’t fully know, would he do the same to them? The last thing I want to do is put myself in the middle of some celestial war because Ambrose killed an angelafter I told him their business. I don’t believe Ambrose is as evil as they say, but I also don’t believe their intentions are entirely selfless.
“So you killed him because he was spying on you on behalf of someone else?”
“Technically, I killed him because he refused to tell me who he was working for or why. I also didn’t particularly like watching him flirt with you.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
Ambrose shrugs. A few moments later, he stands, places the book back on the shelf, and pins me with a look I can’t quite decipher.
“Well, if we’re not planning on sleeping for a while, would you care to join me in the kitchen?”
“Uh, sure.”
Taking his outstretched hand, I stand, then quickly drop it once I’m on my feet. Even if it was just a friendly offer to help me up, every touch with him feels too intimate now, and I’m not sure if it’s all just in my head or if he feels it too.
Honestly, I’m not sure if I evenwantto know. It might be better to pretend none of this is affecting me. It would be easier that way.
I follow Ambrose to the kitchen, resting in one of the chairs at the dining room table and watching as he brews a pot of coffee and moves about the kitchen with ease. The sky outside is still dark, but the blackness has lightened almost imperceptibly. Sunrise will be here soon.
“You doing okay?” he asks when he notices me staring at him.
I give him a genuine smile. “Yes.”
Maybe it’s just my post-adrenaline, sleep-deprived brain, or maybe it’s the heavy emotion from the poetry and our conversation, but I’m overwhelmed with a profound sense of comfort and rightness in this moment. Like I belong here in some twisted, fateful sort of way.
Ambrose returns my smile before crossing the kitchen to the record player in the living room. He flips through the stack of records before finding the one he’s searching for, and he places it on the turntable. Meanwhile, the coffee pot gurgles, and he returns to the kitchen to pour us both cups just as the music begins to play.
The first song starts, relaxed and slow, before the second one picks up pace with a stronger beat and heavier guitars. I tap my foot to the music and sip my coffee, reveling in the tranquility of the moment.
