Page 145 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
My silence says more than I mean it to. And Callum knows it. He tips his head, the corner of his mouth pulling in the faintest, smug echo of a smile.
“But I know we aren’t the same,brother.”
The word lands with weight, not spoken with affection—but as a challenge. As if to remind me that while I hesitate, he would tell her every dark, gnarled truth without flinching.
“No,” I say, quietly. “We’re not.”
His gaze cuts away abruptly, as if the sight of me disgusts him.
“She’s everything to me,” I say, softer now. “And if protecting her means carrying the weight of this alone, I’ll do it. Even if she hates me for it.”
He glances toward the tent flap, his voice quieter now, tinged with something close to regret.
“She thinks she’s making choices,” he finally says, almost to himself. “But we’ve already made most of them for her.”
Callum steps back, shaking his head once before turning away. He doesn't look at me again as he slips through the flap, letting it fall closed behind him. Silence settles in the air as the guilt gnaws at me from the inside, relentless and consuming. The feeling of not being worthy of her, of not being enough, burns with every breath. I want to protect her, to keep her safe from all this madness—but the truth is, I don’t even know if I can anymore.
The plans in motion are too big. Too treacherous. There are forces at play far beyond the scope of what she and I are, and I can’t help but feel the crushing weight of it all. Callum doesn’t see it, doesn’t understand. But when the time comes, I will tell Lailah everything. She will know what’s really at stake, and she’ll see that there’s more than just us at the heart of this—there’s a war brewing, one we may not survive. But it’s our duty, and we must endure it.
Together or apart—we must survive.
32
LAILAH
As I step into the tent, I’m met with the familiar sight of Jason sitting on the edge of the bed. His damp, off-white shirt clings to his body, accentuating the strong lines of his chest and shoulders. The room, once a place of comfort and laughter, feels charged with everything that’s transpired. It’s cold, distant—like the echoes of our earlier conversations have been swallowed by the very air. I glance around, but everything about this place feels foreign now, tainted by the realization of just how far apart we’ve drifted. The whiplash of our relationship, always swerving between lightness and tension, grips me again.
Jason’s golden gaze meets mine, his eyes intense, but confused, as if he’s searching for something in me that isn’t there. His brows furrow, his expression pulling into one of concern. I sigh, a deep exhale that settles in my chest like a stone, and clench my jaw in frustration. Without looking at him, I move toward the dresser, my hands brushing the wood as I open it. Inside, I find a pair of brown slacks and a dark shirt, almost black, ready for me to change into. The feel of the dry clothes against my skin is both a relief and a reminder of the gulf between us. I close the dresser with a soft click, and evenwithout turning around, I feel Jason’s gaze sear into my back, hot and possessive.
I turn to face him, my gaze flicking to the corner of the tent to find a place to change. His watchful eyes follow my every move, his edginess palpable. I feel wary, but it’s not just because of the man in front of me—it’s because of everything that’s happened, everything I still don’t understand.
Jason notices my unease almost instantly.
“I’ll turn away,” he says, his voice respectful in its own way, as he faces the entrance and gives me privacy.
I peel off my cold, damp clothes quickly but carefully, despite the chill clinging to my skin. As I tug the wet fabric down, Jason’s voice breaks through the silence again.
“Where are you going?”
The question is pointed, with an accusatory edge that catches me off guard. My hands still, and I bite the inside of my cheek holding back my own frustration.
I roll my eyes, irritation flaring. How could my plans matter when he's the one going off on his adventures with his lover, careless about who sees? I pull the new pants on, the fabric soft and dry against my skin, but it’s only a partial relief—my gloves still make everything feel distant, as though I’m not fully in control of the moment. The silence continues, tense and uncomfortable, before Jason speaks again.
“Are you going tohim?” he asks, suddenly turning back toward me as I finish buttoning the pants.
I don’t answer immediately, choosing instead to pull my shirt off, the wet fabric sliding off my skin. I keep my back to him, not letting him see my bare chest. The shirt falls away, and I quickly slide on the dry tunic, the fabric falling over my waist as I move quickly to cover myself.
As the tunic falls into place, I feel a hand grip my elbow, pulling me around abruptly. I’m not prepared for the pain in his eyes when I meet his gaze. There’s a flicker of hurt there, as though my distance has pierced him more than I expected.
I rip my arm away and turn toward the entrance, my heart pounding. I don’t have time for this.
“So you’re just going to—” Jason begins, but I cut him off, my anger bubbling to the surface.
“Be awhore, like the one warming your bed?” I snap, the words harsh and unforgiving.
Jason clenches his jaw, his anger mixing with a flash of regret, but he shakes his head, trying to collect his thoughts.
“I was going to say… are you just going to pretend today never happened? You’re not going to talk to me about what you saw?” His voice trembles with frustration, and his brows pull down hard.
