Page 91 of The Light Within

Cinn wasn’t.

But, hehadalmost died, Julien supposed, so he went to fetch the materials before disabling the smoke alarm. Its activation was the last thing they needed right now.

Leaning out of the window, Cinn smoked with a shaky hand, the cigarette’s ember glowing softly against the night air. He offered it to Julien, who took one quick drag to steady his still pounding heart.

Grimacing, Cinn made a tsk sound as he brushed his fingers over the arm of his new silk pyjamas, now splattered in blood. “I don’t think these are rip proof after all.”

“What?” Julien moved Cinn’s fingers. The blood on the silk wasn’t from the men—it was Cinn’s. His blood turned to ice.

What have you done?

“It’s just a scratch,” Cinn said quickly.

A scratch from a bullet you exploded.

And if that bullet fragment had ‘scratched’ an artery in Cinn’s neck…

“I almost killed you,” Julien stated calmly. It was a fact.

“Julien—”

“I didn’t think, I just acted, just like last time.”

Julien stood, turning away from Cinn to press clenched fists against the wall.

Softer now, Cinn repeated, “Julien,” but Julien ignored him, leaving to find something to bandage Cinn’s arm.

He returned with a scrap of sheet he’d cut with scissors, then carefully wrapped the makeshift gauze around Cinn’s arm, ensuring it was tight enough to stem the bleeding.

“Julien!” Cinn’s voice, insistent now, forced Julien to look at him. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am.”

Cinn flicked the butt of his cigarette out of the window, closed it with a slam.

The noise was loud. Had anyone heard all the earlier commotion? The shattering of metal had created a sharp, jarring sound, then a clatter of debris had hit the walls and floor. Hopefully, the other guests slept through it.

“So… these bodies… they’re dead,” said Cinn, rather unnecessarily. He nudged one body with his bare foot. “Should we… call the police?”

“Non.” Julien tried not to look exasperated, buthonestly.

Calling Eleanor was the first idea on the tip of his tongue, before the gut-wrenching knowledge of her betrayal came flooding back to him.

“Alright. No. Course not. So whatarewe going to do?” The panic in Cinn’s voice only amplified Julien’s own. “Fuck!”

“I’m sorry to say this,” Julien said as calmly as he could manage. “You don’t quite know how sorry I am. But we’re going to have to put them in Maz’s boot.”

The shock on Cinn’s face hammered home to Julien just how horrific the idea was.

“No.” Cinn shook his head. “No!”

“Well, what else are we going to do with them?” Julien snapped. Then wanted to kick himself, because it washimthat had just straight up murdered two people, leaving Cinn traumatised at best, arrested again at worst, with no Eleanor to rely on for backup. Overwhelming tidal waves of emotion that he’d so far repressed bubbled to the surface.

What have you done?

“I’m so sorry,” Julien croaked out, between the fingers that were now pressed over his mouth. This date was supposed to be perfect,wasperfect, but now there were dead bodies, and he’d hurt Cinn, and everything was falling apart.

Julien felt his knees hit the floor before Cinn caught him, pulling him onto an armchair and wrapping his arms around him. Cinn pressed Julien’s face against his chest. He repeatedly worked his fingers throughJulien’s hair, murmuring things like, ‘Hey, you saved me,’ and ‘I would be dead by now if it wasn’t for you.’

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