A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 61: Breaking and Entering

"Sirius," she said quietly. "You don't owe me guilt."

His mouth parted. But no words came.

"That's not what this is—" he began, frowning.

"It is," she said, not harshly. "You feel guilty for getting out. For being free. For leaving it all behind. And I need you to understand something."

She squeezed his shoulders, not enough to hurt. Just enough to be felt.

"I helped you leave because I wanted you safe. I still want you safe. That hasn't changed."

He searched her face for something—for a fracture in her calm, for the anger she used to wear so easily, or the grudging affection that sometimes passed for forgiveness. But there was none of that now. She was composed, measured. Still impossible to read, even up close.

"But it's not just that," he said, quietly. "I feel like I failed you. I left, and then I ignored you. We didn't talk. I told myself you were fine because you had to be. Because if you weren't—"

"Then you'd blame yourself."

He didn't answer. She sighed, lowering her hands.

"We were kids, Sirius. We hurt each other like kids do. That was a long time ago."

"But it still matters," he said. "It matters to me."

She looked down at her desk, fingers brushing the edge of the surface absently.

"You're doing alright now. That's what matters."

"That's not enough for me," he said. "Not anymore."

She turned to him slowly. Her expression was calm, but there was something flickering in it now. Something restrained.

"I know you care," she said finally. "I know. You always have, even when you pretended not to. I know you're worried. But if you knew half of what I'm dealing with—really knew—you'd tear yourself apart trying to fix it."

He took a step forward. "You don't know that."

"I do," she said, without hesitation. "Because I would for you."

Sirius went still. His jaw tightened, something flickering behind his eyes—recognition, maybe. Or just the sting of being seen too clearly.

"That's the problem, isn't it?" he said eventually. "We're both trying to spare each other."

She didn't respond. Just stood there with that calm, impenetrable face, arms still crossed lightly. Like nothing was wrong. Like nothing ever was.

"That's not how people who care about each other act, Ana," he said, quiet but sharp. "That's not how we fix this."

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, cool and unreadable. "What exactly is there to fix?"

Sirius blinked. "Are you serious?"

"I am always serious," she replied evenly.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't do that. Don't act like nothing's wrong when we both know it is."

"We're fine."

"No, we're polite."

"Which is a step up," she said.

"That's what you're aiming for now?" he said, mouth twisting. "Civility?"

She didn't answer.

"You used to fight with me," he said. "At least then I knew where I stood."

Anastasia's lips pressed together, but she said nothing.

Sirius took a slow breath. "You keep me at arm's length, Ana. You've done it for years. And I've let you. Because I thought maybe I deserved it."