Chapter 242: What Matters Most.
I stepped around the corner and walked toward her.
The corridor lights cast long, jagged shadows across the polished floor, turning the space into something heavier, almost sacred in its emptiness. Sherry leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her upright, arms wrapped tight around herself, shoulders trembling with the quiet exhaustion of someone who had finally stopped pretending she could hold everything together.
"Bram."
I pulled her into me without a word. She buried her face in my chest, and the dam broke. Everything she’d been holding back came rushing out in hot, shuddering tears that soaked through my shirt. The last golden light of the day bled through the high windows, painting the corridor in dying fire and amber as she clung to me.
"I’m sorry," she whispered against my chest. It wasn’t for me. "I’m so sorry."
I held her tighter and stayed silent. Some grief simply needed to be felt in full—no words, no fixing, just presence.
I understood what that conversation had cost her. Max wasn’t just an old friend. He was the boy who had torn her from a soldier’s brutal grip back in Goth, the one who had spent years carving out safety and a home for her in a city that devoured the weak. Walking away from that kind of devotion—even honestly—left scars that went bone-deep.
And I understood what it meant for me. I had a new rival in Max Donman, one forged in years of blood and loyalty.
"It’s okay," I murmured into her hair. "You’re alright."
We stayed like that as the building slowly emptied around us, workers drifting past in ones and twos, casting curious glances but never stopping. When her breathing finally steadied, ragged edges smoothing into something closer to calm, I kept holding her until she was ready to pull away.
"I’ve broken him, haven’t I?" she whispered against my chest.
"It’s okay."
"He only ever asked for one thing," she said, her voice small and shattered. "And it’s the one thing I can’t give him." She drew back just enough to look up at me, eyes red-rimmed and glistening in the fading light. "I feel so bad for him, Bram."
I took her hands in mine, thumbs tracing gentle circles over her knuckles. "Look at me."
She did.
"He’ll get through it," I told her firmly. "People survive worse. He will too."
She nodded, not fully believing it yet, but clutching the words like a lifeline.
"Let’s go," I said, watching another small cluster of people move past us down the corridor.
I kept my hand on her shoulder as we walked out into the evening. Night was spreading across the sky like spilled ink, the last reluctant streaks of gold and crimson clinging to the horizon. The air had cooled, carrying the faint scent of the city settling into dusk.
"Do you think I’m a terrible person?" she asked, her voice lighter now but still tentative, as we descended the front steps. "He was there for me when things were hardest."
"No," I said without hesitation. "A terrible person would’ve lied to him. You didn’t."
She was quiet for a moment, turning the thought over in her mind. Then she slipped out from under my arm and laced her fingers tightly through mine instead, as if she needed to see my face clearly while she said what came next.
"Do you remember our first night inside these walls?" She glanced sideways at me as we walked, the city lights beginning to flicker on around us. "When I sat with you in that car heading to Hogsby?"
"Yes," I said. "I remember. I actually thought you were mute."
She smiled at that—small, surprised, and genuine, cutting through the lingering pain like a sliver of sunlight.
"I was scared," she admitted. "Sitting next to a complete stranger, heading somewhere I didn’t know, inside walls I didn’t understand yet." She paused, voice softening. "A foreign place inside a foreign place."
"I didn’t notice any of that," I said gently, giving her softer ground to land on. "All I saw was a beautiful girl. Short hair, crisp white shirt, navy skirt, black stockings."
"You remember all of that?" Her smile widened, warm and a little disbelieving.
"Every detail."
She slowed for half a step, then kept walking. "I was terrified of how I was going to survive without Max. And today, standing in that corridor... that same fear came rushing back."
I brushed my thumb across her fingers, steady and warm. That night before Hogsby, Max had pulled me aside and asked me to keep her safe. He had handed her to me without ever realizing what he was giving up.
"But you were afraid then," I said, "and you survived anyway. You built something without him."
"Exactly." She nodded slowly, the city lights beginning to glitter around us. "He taught me dependency. You showed me I was capable of more than that."
"Me?" I looked at her, surprised.
"You did," she said simply.
I thought back to the gates. Bala scanning abilities. Sherry standing there shaking, holding herself together with sheer force of will.
The right words didn’t come, so I gave her the truest ones I had.
"I love you, Sherry."
She glanced sideways at me, a small, tender smile tugging at her lips. "I love you more."
The apartment building came into view ahead, warm lights glowing from its windows against the deepening night.
I hadn’t let myself fully feel how much I loved her until that moment, and the realization settled heavy in my chest—beautiful and terrifying all at once. I rested my hand on her shoulder as we climbed the stairs, the weight of everything pressing closer.
The system had already warned me the Awakening was coming. This was only day two of thirty. And it was targeting ability users. Every single one.
Sherry is an ability user.
The thought hit like a hammer, stopping something cold inside me. This wasn’t just about purpose anymore. It wasn’t about my father’s mission, Eleanor’s instructions, or the system’s cold objectives.
It was about saving the people I actually loved. Sherry. May. Azure. Daphne. Annabelle. Mable. All of them ability users. All of them standing directly in the path of a storm only I was positioned to stop.
Damn.
"You’ve gone somewhere again," Sherry said as we reached her door. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile convincing enough for her to believe it.
She opened the door and we stepped inside. The apartment wrapped around us—familiar, warm, safe.
"Are you hungry?" she called, heading toward the bedroom, her voice lighter now.
I dropped onto the couch and let the quiet of the apartment settle over me like a thin blanket.
I knew enough to recognize a calm day when I stood in one. They weren’t going to be guaranteed much longer.
My watch vibrated against my wrist. Daphne.
Daphne.
I stared at the screen for a long moment and didn’t answer.
***
A/N: Looks like something’s wrong with the NovelFire scheduler. I always set my Chapters to publish on a timer, but every now and then it glitches and skips one.
This Chapter was actually supposed to come before Inside the Donmans. I’m pretty particular about pacing.
Anyway, no point dwelling on it. We move. Thanks for sticking with me.