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Chapter Twenty Five

He'd only taken two steps toward her before she ducked.

It'd been instinctual, her flinch, but it rocked the group all the same. Awareness zapped through the air. Silas going so far as to mimic her fear, twisting his face away with a grimace so close to painful, it nearly made her teeth hurt. North's steps stumbled, his feet digging into the earth— hand outstretched in a memory of a plea.

"North," Raven's deep tenor echoed over the clearing.

It was a warning and an apology. Sympathy wrapped in his tone, faint enough to be dismissed. Whatever he'd buried in the secret meaning of his threat sank into North's bones with physical force. Wide nearly, black eyes stared at Sang, but the energy that he'd shielded himself with began to temper— sudden fatigue weighing down his shoulders and forcing his hand to fall.

"It's true?" The question was barely more than a whisper, something too vague to classify as longing ringing in North's tone, "She's— dead?"

The question rang in the air, hope building between them at the promise of a bridge.

It was so close to acceptance, so close to that feeling of belonging she'd chased after. But after everything, after these days of hiding away, she was almost too scared to venture toward it. His fear at her power rang heavy in her mind, his scorn so loud in the pounding membrane of her heart.

But he deserved to know.

Hindered by the flood of emotion between the group, Sang forced herself to nod. It was a slow, wary thing, "She is. She has been. This," a shaky hand waved toward her chest, toward the buried power beneath her flesh, "killed her."

The declaration wrang heavy in the silent air. Only Owen's broken sigh breaching the sudden quiet. The de facto leader rubbed a hand through his hair— shaky fingers tangling in the silken strands. He didn't speak for several moments, tilting his head away as Raven stepped toward her, an arm looping around her back in unspoken, relentless support.

North finally managed to speak, "How?"

It hurt, his disbelief.

"I don't know—" the admission lodged in her throat, tears building in the corner of her eye as she reminisced on her own death, "We were talking. She showed me—" green eyes flickered toward Owen, desperation taking root at the dim awareness in his gaze, "She showed me the origin of Justice. I did something and it hurt, but you were there and then she— she touched me, she gave me something." Her voice finally broke, "And then I killed her, I took it all."

Her life, her power, her memories.

Sang took it all.

Further explanation wouldn't come, trapped in her throat like a curse. Raven's thumb curled over her waist, pressing just enough to ground her. Instead of facing the derision she knew bubbled within the group, she tilted her head down, begging the earth to swallow her whole.

She'd sat on the truth of the matter so long that reliving it was excruciating.

The promise of their fear sat heavy on her heart, waiting and dreading the moment they abandoned her once again. 

"Sang," Owen spoke when she didn't, taking a step toward her. It was the closest thing to acceptance she'd seen from him in days, "Please understand. We aren't," he swallowed, self-incrimination plain on his face, "We've never been angry with you."

She winced, the pledge laid bare between them, "But you've been scared."

Snapping his head down, North recoiled like her voice was a physical weapon. Turning away from her, he took several steps away— his shoulders shaking in barely controlled emotion. Sang couldn't see him as he descended closer to the shadows, but his fists clenched against his legs.