Chapter 133: New light
I look at Roman seating opposite me, his expression carved from stone, his demeanor cold and detached. It’s a sight I never wanted to see, a reminder of just how far we’ve drifted. The years and memories between us feel like distant echoes now, fading with every second of his silence. Still, even now, even after all that’s happened, it hurts. The thought stings, settling deep in my chest like a wound that refuses to heal.
I force a sad smile, trying to reach him in some small way. "Always so mean, Roman," I say, my voice softer than I intend. But he doesn’t respond. His gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t warm. There’s nothing there but an emptiness that wasn’t there before, and it feels like a blade twisting in my heart. I search his eyes, hoping to see even a hint of the man who once treated me like family, like a brother, but all I find is a wall of ice.
Memories surge forward, unbidden: moments of laughter, battles fought side by side, and the unspoken bond we shared as Sentinels. Roman was the one who searched for Thorne, even after I’d been sentenced, determined to save me when no one else would. He was my last hope. The only one who refused to abandon me completely. He was always there, like a steady pillar—a big brother, someone I trusted with my life and loyalty. But that’s all gone now.
It’s impossible to accept. I want to reach across this chasm between us, pull him back to the past where we were more than just shadows to each other. But Roman’s silence is unyielding, a reminder that the man I once knew may already be lost.
"If you have nothing to say," he mutters, his voice as hollow as his gaze, "I’m leaving."
He turns towards the carriage door, his movements clipped and final, as if he’s closing a door on everything we once shared. The panic rises in me, unbidden and desperate. Without thinking, I reach out, catching his hand, the worn leather of his glove rough beneath my fingers. For a moment, he pauses, and there’s a flicker, a split-second hesitation that makes me cling to this fragile moment.
"Roman..." The words choke in my throat, barely a whisper. I’m not even sure what I want to say, only that I can’t let him go without trying one last time. The weight of years hangs between us, the good and the terrible, and I want him to see that I remember it all—that I haven’t forgotten. But he stands there, unmoving, waiting for me to release him.
It’s so hard, letting him go, harder than I ever imagined. Yet as I hold his hand, I know this is likely the last chance I’ll have to reach him.
Eventually, Roman sighs, and for a fleeting moment, I catch a trace of affection softening his gaze. It’s a small thing, but enough to give me hope. He sits back down, his posture still guarded, but he stays.
"Listen, Victor," he begins, his tone heavy with exhaustion. "I don’t want to keep having this conversation. I’m tired."
"I know... I just thought..." I start, stumbling over my words, but he cuts me off before I can finish.