Page 43 of Fractured Loyalties
“I don’t know why I didn’t,” he murmurs.
I swallow hard. “Maybe because some part of you still remembers how to stop.”
A long silence stretches between us.
“He’s not done,” I say eventually. “He won’t just disappear.”
“I know.”
“But you didn’t kill him.”
“No.”
I stare out at the clearing. The spot where Caleb had been. The place where he could have died.
“Does that make you weak?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, it’s a whisper.
“I don’t know anymore.”
The drive back is wordless.
Elias doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak, and I don’t press him. His grip on the steering wheel is tighter than before, knuckles white against the leather, his jaw locked like it’s holding back more than words.
The night swells thick around us, forest slipping past in a blur of shadows and pale light. Every turn of the road feels like it should bring relief, but it doesn’t. My heart stays coiled tight.
When the house reappears through the trees, it feels unreal—like something remembered in a dream. Familiar, but now altered by what it’s witnessed.
He cuts the engine. We sit there a moment longer, the hum of the motor replaced by the soft ticking of cooling metal.
I glance over.
His face is unreadable.
I speak first. “You didn’t have to bring me.”
“You needed to see it.”
“Did I?”
He finally looks at me. His eyes are tired. Unfiltered. “You needed to see what I’m capable of.”
I nod once. “And you needed to see what you’re still capable of stopping.”
That hangs between us.
He exhales hard and climbs out. I follow. We walk inside together, but it doesn’t feel like together. The door shuts behind us with a sound too final.
I peel off my coat. Hang it on the hook by the stairs.
“I’m going to make tea,” I say, just to fill the quiet.
Elias stands in the center of the living room, unmoving.
“Do you want some?”
His voice comes low. “No. Thank you.”
