I glance at him, surprised by the care in his tone, like he understands exactly how close this moment came to going the other way.
Shiloh stays where she is, leaning against the counter with her arms folded. Her gaze doesn’t leave the doorway. “She won’t say it, but it matters to her more than you think.”
The words are simple, but they land heavily. Maybe I wasn’t wrong.
Linkin steps in closer, his voice dropping low enough that I know he means every word. “That being said, if you hurt her again—if you even start to undo what you just gave her—”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to.
Rowan nods his head like he agrees with Linkin, and Shiloh doesn’t move other than to slightly tilt her head as she studies me.
The warning settles in my chest, heavy and very obviously a line drawn by people who love her, and expect me to remember exactly where I stand.
Rowan folds his arms, his tone sharp, steady. “You’ll be sleeping with the fishes before you know you’re drowning.”
Shiloh’s silence is louder than words; the look she gives me is enough to make my throat tighten.
I meet each of their stares in turn, holding steady. “I’m not going to hurt her again.”
Linkin narrows his eyes, weighing me like he’s not sure if he wants to believe it.
“I don’t have to prove myself to any of you,” I add, jaw tight. “But I will spend every damn day proving it to her if I have to.”
The silence stretches, taut and uncomfortable, until Shiloh finally exhales, shoulders easing. “Good. Because if you screw this up, Lucian? Your life is forfeit.”
Linkin’s mouth curves, faint and humorless. “Glad we understand each other.”
Rowan gives me one last look before turning away, muttering something about needing alone time after dealing with all the fucking children.
They scatter out of the rig, the air shifting with them, but I stay where I am. My eyes drift toward the back door where Celeste disappeared, fighting the pull to follow her.
The rig goes quiet after they leave, the door shutting with a dull thud that seems to echo through the walls. I sit there for a long moment, staring down the hall at the closed door to her room. I can still feel Linkin’s glare, Rowan’s warning, and Shiloh’s silence, still pressing against me. I meant what I said. I’m going to prove it to her. Maybe that starts now.
I lock the door to the rig before walking to the end of the hallway. I take a deep breath and brace myself before I knock gently against her door. “Celeste?”
There is no answer from the other side of the door. I hesitate, then press my palm to the wood. “I’m coming in, okay?” The handle turns easily, and I step inside. She’s sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, her shopping bags untouched around her, like she couldn’t even bring herself to unpack. Her hands are curled in her lap, knuckles pale, and her gaze is locked on the floor.
“Celeste,” I say softly.
Her head lifts, and fuck, it guts me. Her eyes are glassy, her mouth pressed tight like she’s trying to be quiet and hold it all in.
“It’s not mine,” she whispers. I slowly move closer, like she’s a skittish animal that might bolt if I’m too fast.
“What’s not yours?”
“This.” She gestures vaguely around the rig. “This isn’t my rig. It’s new. It smells new. It’s just…” Her voice cracks, and she shakes her head, looking away. “Everything I had, everything I loved, it’s gone. James destroyed my home to get to Korbyn, Lucian, and now I’m supposed to what… just pretend this is fine?”
I kneel in front of her, close enough that my chest is brushing her knees, but I don’t reach for her. “You don’t have to pretend,” I say.
She lets out a bitter laugh. “You went through all this trouble to make this place feel like my old rig, and I can’t even—”
Her words choke off, and she presses a hand to her mouth, like she’s trying to stop the sob that slips past anyway. That’s enough for me, I can’t sit across from her and listen to her sob and do nothing. I reach for her hand, gently pulling it away from her face.
She doesn’t fight me, just lets me take it, her fingers cold in mine. “Hey,” I murmur. “It’s okay to be upset. It’sokayto hate this right now.”
Her breath hitches, her shoulders curling forward. “I keep telling myself it’s just stuff, but—”
“It’s not just stuff,” I interrupt softly. “It wasyours. It was a part of you.”
