Page 100 of Priest

Blue’s brow furrows slightly.

“But Ace did,” I add.

My mouth pulls tight.

“He was behind his desk. She was on his lap. And he looked right at me.” My voice flattens. “Held my gaze. Smiled.”

Blue inhales slowly through her nose.

“He didn’t say a word. Didn’t stop. Just made sure I understood exactly what he was doin’. That it was intentional.”

I look down at my hands again.

“I walked away,” I say. “Didn’t confront her. Didn’t confront him. There wasn’t anything to say.” A pause settles in my chest. “Sadie thought I left without knowin’. She only found out recently that I saw. That I always knew.”

My thumb rubs once over Blue’s ankle, grounding me.

“In Joker’s office, I overheard plans that finished it for me. Traffickin’. Expansion. Things Cain would’ve burned the world down to stop.” My voice drops. “Between that and what my brother showed me about who he was, I knew I had to leave.”

I lift my eyes to hers again.

“So I did. Enlisted the next mornin’. Texted Sadie once. Told her I was gone.” My jaw tightens. “I didn’t explain. Didn’t accuse. There wasn’t any point.”

The room feels smaller now, but Blue remains steady inside it.

“The only reason I feel any obligation toward Sadie now,” I say firmly, “is because she’s Cain’s daughter. He saved me. Tried to shape me into somethin’ better. He made sure I wasn’t a reflection of Joker. I won’t dishonor that.”

My hand settles over Blue’s foot, warm and still for the first time since I started talking.

“But Sadie isn’t my family,” I say. “She isn’t my future. And she isn’t my heart. That ended years ago.”

Her gaze holds mine.

“My history, that’s what shaped me,” I continue, quieter now. “It’s why when people get close, I brace for the moment they’re taken from me or turned into a weapon against me.”

The admission costs more than I expect.

“That’s why I build walls. Why I put rules between me and people. Why I try to control everything.” I shake my head once. “It isn’t because I don’t care. It’s because I care too fuckin’ much.”

The words sit heavy between us.

“I loved before,” I add, because she deserves the truth. “And it taught me that love gets people killed. Or used. Or ruined.”

Blue’s thumb traces the inside of my wrist, right where my pulse jumps.

“I’m not him,” I say, and the words feel like a question even as they leave my mouth. “But I’m scared every day I might become him if I stop watchin’ myself.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“That’s what shaped me,” I finish. “That’s my damage. No excuses. Just facts.”

The room goes quiet, full in a way silence usually isn’t. Blue doesn’t rush to reassure me. She doesn’t contradict me. She studies my face like she’s reading something written in a language she respects.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says finally.

The words land differently than I expect. She doesn’t rush to patch over what I’ve given her or make promises she has no reason to make. She just holds the truth carefully, like it matters, like it costs something, and somehow that cuts deeper than reassurance ever could.

“I’m still here,” she adds gently. “And so are you.”