Page 51 of Awakened Destiny
"Maybe," I say finally. "But it’s going to take time. And effort. From both of us."
"Fair enough," she says, nodding. "I’ll take whatever shot you’re willing to give me, Brigid. Because whether you believe it or not, I care about you. More than you know."
"Then show me," I say. The challenge in my tone surprises even me. "Show me that I can trust you again. Don’t just say it. Prove it."
Fiona’s lips twitch, almost like she wants to smile, but she holds it back. "Alright," she says. "Challenge accepted."
There’s a pause between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. Something settles in the space where my anger used to sit. Not quite forgiveness but not resentment either. A tentative truce, maybe. An opening.
"Thanks," I say, the word coming out awkward and stiff, but I mean it. For once, I mean it.
"Don’t thank me yet, girl," Fiona says, her grin returning just a little. "You might regret it later."
"Probably," I say, a flicker of humor creeping into my tone. It feels strange, but not unwelcome.
"Good," she says, standing up and stretching. "Now, how about we get a cup of coffee? For old time’s sake."
I hesitate. But then I realize there’s nothing I want more right now that to feel some kind of normalcy. To remember who I was. Who I am. "Ok," I say, surprising myself. I push out of the chair, rising to my feet. My legs feel steadier now, like the ground beneath me isn’t quite so shaky.
"Good," Fiona says again, this time softer, like she's surprised I agreed. She adjusts the scarf around her neck, a nervous little gesture I don't think she realizes she does. "Coffee is a start."
“I’ll try,” I say, though my voice lacks her confidence. It’s not that simple, no matter how much we both might want it to be. Trust isn’t something you just summon into existence. But maybe it's something you can build.
Fiona watches me closely, probably reading the hesitation in my face. She doesn't push. Instead, she nods. "One step at a time," she says. It's more to herself than to me, but I hear it anyway.
I glance at the door. My hand brushes against the cool brass handle before I pause.
"Fiona." Her name slips from my mouth before I realize I’ve said it.
"Yeah?" She glances up, her glasses catching the light.
"Don’t lie to me again." My voice is steady, firmer than I expected. "Not about anything. If we’re going to do this—whatever this is—I can’t deal with half-truths. Not anymore."
Her expression doesn’t shift right away. For a second, I wonder if she’ll give me another one of her evasive answers, some quip meant to deflect the seriousness of what I’m asking. But then she exhales, hands resting against the edge of her desk.
"Fair," she says finally. There’s no sarcasm in her voice, none of the usual bravado. Just an honesty that feels almost startling coming from her. "No lies, Brigid. I mean that."
"Okay." The word leaves my throat like a sigh, quieter than I intended. I turn the handle and step out, my footsteps echoing faintly in the hall beyond, and hold the door open for my former friend.
I don’t know if we’ll ever get our friendship back, but right now I’m in no position to turn away a potential ally.
Fiona falls into step beside me. The silence between us feels less like a void and more like something we’re both carefully navigating. The hallway is quiet and I can’t tell if it’s just the time of day or if the building itself seems to hold its breath around us.
We make it to the dining hall without exchanging another word, and I watch every head turn as we walk in together.
The room buzzes with low murmurs and the clatter of dishes, but it all seems to quiet the moment Fiona and I step inside. Heads turn, eyes glance in our direction, and then quickly look away.
Fiona, ever the queen of not giving a damn, strides ahead like she doesn’t notice. I follow, keeping my gaze fixed on the back of her head, willing myself to ignore the whispers that start up as we pass.
The smell of coffee mingles with freshly baked bread and pastries. The coffee station is tucked in the far corner, near the tall windows that let in thin streams of pale sunlight. Fiona grabs two porcelain cups. She hands one to me without a word. I take it, the warmth seeping into my palms as I watch her pour the dark liquid from an oversized carafe. The smell is rich and bitter, and for a moment, it almost feels normal. Almost.
Out of habit, or maybe paranoia, I glance around the room again. That’s when I see her.
Laria stands near the far wall, her pale blonde hair catching the light like a halo. She’s leaning casually against one of the pillars, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—those pale, devoid of warmth eyes—are fixed directly on me. She’s not glancing or pretending to be occupied with something else.
She’s watching me, steady and unblinking.
Like a predator
