Not a Hero

chapter eleven

𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

She couldn't sleep. Her mind was just too awake and her body refused to stay still. Since she couldn't sleep, Hale decided to check out the black safe from earlier. Connor had mentioned that it had a bloodlock but Hale wasn't too worried about that. She and Luke shared the same blood so she should, in theory, also be able to open the lock. 

Hale took out a scalpel from a hidden pouch inside her boot. It wasn't the best weapon, absolutely terrible for a fight, but she'd been desperate and it was much easier to conceal than a knife. It was also very sharp. 

Hale stuck the tip of the scalpel into her palm and slashed it open. She probably didn't need to cut so deeply, a drop of her blood would've probably worked, but Hale didn't care. She dipped her thumb in the blood and smeared it over the silver handle. 

She tried the handle once, twice, thrice and it finally opened. There weren't much inside and what was in there was pretty unremarkable. An empty leather scabbard. A tattered newspaper. A map with different spots circled with a red marker. An old camera, it looked weirdly familiar, and then a piece of paper. A letter, Hale realized. 

A letter which Hale couldn't read for Hale was illiterate. Yes, Hale couldn't read. It wasn't because Hale was stupid, Hale was still incredibly clever, but because she didn't have a proper education. It didn't make it any less embarrassing though. Hale hated to tell people about her illiteracy and had sworn to herself to never mention the fact unless it was absolutely necessary. 

Hale brushed the strands of her hair out of her face and squinted at the letter. She couldn't really make out the words much, she was dyslexic as well as illiterate, but there was one, just one, that she could barely discern. Flash. Outlined in black pen. 

"Flash," she repeated. She repeated the word until she couldn't even pronounce it correctly anymore. She laid back on the floor. "Me," she said, her blue eyes suddenly shiny, "you wrote this for me. You wanted me to find it." 

Hale broke. 

She'd always prided herself for her control over her feelings, for always being able to maintain a calm facade despite what she felt inside, but she couldn't do that today. She couldn't bite back the tears and act like she was fine. So she didn't. So she cried. 

Hale cried for hours. Cried for all she loved and hated. Cried because she was alone all the time and she just wanted someone to be there. Because she wanted to be loved but didn't want to hurt those she loved like she always did. 

She eventually wiped those tears, dabbed them away like they never existed, and continued like she was normal. Like there wasn't something phenomenally wrong with her. Because that was a weakness and Hale Castellan wasn't supposed to have weaknesses. 

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𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓.

Most people would soil their pants on his position but Jason hardly reacted. He just pushed away the knife and looked up at his assailant. At Hale. He didn't know why Hale had a knife nor why it was pressed to his throat but he didn't think she would try to kill him. He could be wrong. He didn't really know Hale that well. 

"It's not fun if you don't fight back," said Hale. She slipped the knife into the faded leather scabbard at her waist. Jason didn't know where she got it from - did someone give it to her? - but he was certain she didn't have it before. "I found it," she said, when she noticed Jason looking at the scabbard.