Page 45 of Silent Oaths
“Yeah, whatever.”
Icarefully tear my eyes away from the sketch to look at him. “Whendid you start drawing?”
“WhenIwas a kid,” he says simply, picking up his pencil and tapping it lightly against the arm of the chair. “Moreafter my mom died.”
Mychest tightens at the bluntness of his words. “Whatabout your dad?”
“Neverhad one.”
“You’rean orphan,”Imurmur, the realization dawning on me.
Juliandoesn’t react at first.Hejust keeps tapping the pencil against the chair, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the floor.
Finally, he nods. “Yeah.”Noelaboration, no details.
Ifeel a pang of guilt for howI’vetreated him sinceI’vebeen here.Notthat being kidnapped warrants politeness, but... still.Outof all the brothers,Julianhas been the kindest to me, the least threatening.Andnow, seeing this other side of him—the quiet artist, the boy who grew up without parents—it catches me off guard.
“Ididn’t know,”Isay softly, unsure whyIfeel the need to say it at all.
Helooks up at me. “Whywould you?”
Idon’t have an answer to that.
Iglance down at the sketch again, my fingers brushing the edge of the page.Thedetail in it, the care...It’slike he sees more of me thanIwant anyone to see.
“You’rereally good at this.”
Juliangrunts, like he’s not used to compliments. “It’sjust somethingIdo to pass the time.”
Mygaze drops to the tattoos lining his forearms, intricate designs that curl over his knuckles and peek out from under his sleeves.There’sa fresh one, still covered in a thin layer of clear wrap, inked into the skin near his wrist—a small, detailed moth with its wings spread wide, perched just above a burning matchstick.Itilt my head, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Whatdoes it mean?”Iask.
Heglances down at it. “Beingdrawn to something you know will destroy you, but going to it anyway.”
Thewords hit harder thanIexpect, sinking under my skin like the ink on his.
Iknow he’s talking about more than the tattoo.Andworse—Iknow exactly what he means.
“Didyou draw it?”
“Yeah.”Apause. “Iinked it myself.”
Mybrows lift. “Youtattooedyourself?”I’mequal parts impressed and horrified.
Thecorner of his mouth twitches. “Sometimes, you’ve got to take things into your own hands.”
“Ican’t tell if that’s impressive or insane,”Imutter, shaking my head.
Helaughs, and it’s entirely unexpected.Itcatches me off guard, wrapping around me in a wayIdon’t like.Thesound is so foreign coming from him, and it tugs at something in my chest, somethingIdon’t want to acknowledge.
Ishouldn’tbe warming up to him.Ishouldn’tcare about the way his voice dips when he speaks or how the warmth in his eyes lights up like a flame that could just as easily burn me.
Myhead feels crowded with too many thoughts, most of them centering around this strange, quiet man in front of me.
“Youshould sleep,”Juliansays abruptly, breaking the moment. “It’slate.”
“Yeah.Thanks... for this.”Ihold up the sketch, offering him a small smile.
