I turned my hazel eyes back to her, but I didn't stare, instead I offered soft, pathetic eye contact. The kind a dog gives you when it knows it chewed the sofa and wasn’t allowed to.
"But I'm not apologizing for the door," I said softly. "Wood can be fixed. Locks can be replaced. And I'm not apologizing for stopping your heart from exploding last night, because the alternative was watching you die, and I wasn't going to let that happen."
Tessa’s grip on the lamp tightened, her knuckles white. "Then what? What do you want from me?"
"I want to apologize for the choir," I said.
The lamp dipped. Just an inch. Confusion rippled across her face, warring with the panic.
"The choir?" she echoed.
"I was in the middle of the back row," I said, letting the memory bleed into my voice, weighing it with years of leaden regret. "I was the tall kid who always looked at his shoes because he was terrified someone would notice he hadn't grown into his feet yet. I had a solo in the processional. I had a microphone on a stand right next to me."
I watched the recognition flicker in her eyes. She remembered. She remembered the geography of her own execution.
"I saw you shake," I continued, keeping my voice steady, a warm blanket of sound wrapping around her shivering form. "I saw the way you gripped that podium, the way the security guards started to move from the wings, looking like they were coming to take out the trash. I knew what was happening. I smelled it."
Tessa flinched, a small, wounded sound escaping her throat.
"I could have knocked my mic stand over," I said. "I could have started singing early. I could have faked an injury or like I was going to throw up. I could have doneanythingto draw the eyes away from you. To give you five seconds of cover to get off that stage with your dignity."
I took a breath, inhaling the scent of spiced chai that radiated from my own skin, the scent of safety that had been a lie for a decade.
"But I didn't," I confessed. "I stood there and let the silence hang in the air so everyone could hear you crying. I let them laugh at you because I was so scared that if I moved, they might look at me instead. I was a coward, Tessa. A big, useless coward who watched a girl drown three feet away from him."
A tear slipped from her eye, tracking through the dust on her cheek. The lamp lowered another few inches. It wasn't a weapon anymore; it was just a heavy object she was too tired to hold.
"I have hated that boy for years," I told her, putting my hand over my heart. "And last night… when we realized it was you… when I felt you shaking under my hands just like you shook on that stage… I swore I wasn't going to be him again."
Silence stretched in the room, heavy and grey. The storm outside had turned into a steady, weeping drizzle; the violence gone, leaving only the mess behind.
"You… you touched me," she whispered. The anger was draining out, replaced by a hollow, crushing shame that was harder to witness. "You all saw me. Like an animal. Grinding on the floor."
"We saw a woman in a medical crisis," I corrected gently. "We saw a fever. Biology isn't a moral failing, Tessa. It’s just mechanics. You didn't do anything wrong. You survived."
"But you know," she rasped. "You knowT.L. Roseis just… her. Graduation Girl."
"We know," I acknowledged. "And we aren't going to tell a soul."
"Why should I believe you?" Her voice cracked. "Anders is a businessman. He sells things. Simon is… Simon draws everything. And you… you're a voice people pay for."
"Because we’re stuck," I said, shifting the topic to the immediate logistics. Grounding her in the present. "The bridge is out, Tessa. The storm took the suspension cables. We checked the perimeter this morning while you were sleeping. We can't leave. And neither can you. Not until the county sends a crew, and with the roads washed out, that could be two days."
Her head snapped toward the window, her eyes widening. "Trapped?"
"Yes," I said. "But we are not your jailers."
I slowly, carefully shifted my weight, wincing as my knee popped, but I didn't stand up. I stayed rooted to the floor. That was what she needed; anyone with eyes could see that now.
"Here is how this works," I said, using the tone I used when narrating the rules of a fantasy magic system: absolute, immutable laws. "This bedroom is yours. It is a fortress. We do not cross the threshold. We stay in the living room. You have a lock on this door."
I nodded toward the heavy brass bolt on the inside of her bedroom door.
"You lock us out," I said. "We’ll sleep on the floor and eat the protein bars in the pantry while we will wait for the bridge crew. If you need anything, water, food, pills, you text us, or you shout, or you throw a shoe at the door. We leave it on the mat and we walk away."
She looked at the door, then back at me. Calculating. She was looking for the trap.
"And," I added, my voice hardening slightly, adding a layer of steel beneath the velvet. "If Anders tries to talk about the contract, you have my permission to hit him with that lamp. I’ll hold him down for you."
