A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 84: Slow Compromises

She took off her cloak slowly, fingers slipping at the clasp. The fabric slid from her shoulders in one clean motion, pooling over the back of the chair.

James noticed the ring on her hand. That sickly garnet glint, the same as Riddle's.

He didn't say anything.

But she saw where his eyes went.

A flicker of shame crossed her face. Brief. But it caught.

She looked down at her hand. And quietly, without ceremony, pulled the ring off.

Set it on the desk with a quiet click. No explanation.

Then she sat at the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap like a girl about to receive bad news she already knew.

James stayed standing.

"You're quiet," he said.

She didn't look up. "I'm always quiet."

He sat beside her anyway. The mattress dipped under his weight. The space between them held the memory of too many things they hadn't said.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked.

She looked at the fireplace. The flames danced faintly on the stone.

"What's the point, James?"

"Context matters."

She didn't answer.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. "You keep saying you only care about survival. But you saved Thalia Bell. You spared Cal more than you should've. You changed the names. The safehouses you gave them—" he hesitated, "—they were basically inactive."

She was listening. That was something.

James went on. "It was wrong luck that there were actually people in that warehouse that night. Cal knew more than what they got from him. You and I both know it."

Still, she said nothing.

"You could've given Tom everything," James said, voice lower now. "Even now, you could. You're protecting more than yourself."

Anastasia exhaled. It wasn't quite a sigh. "It doesn't matter," she said softly. "I messed up. I showed Tom what I was capable of. The one thing I had to hide. And now... people are dead because of it."

"You did it to save Thalia."

"And with it, I've doomed us all."

She said it without drama. No tremble. Just that same, unnerving steadiness.

"I know," she added. "I tried. I did the best I could, all things considered. I see it clearer now. Not through guilt. Not through panic. Just... logically."

Her eyes flicked to his. Calm. Composed.

"That's the worst part," she said. "This clarity. I see exactly what I did. I did the best I could to save myself. To keep Regulus safe. To minimise the deaths."

She looked down at her hands. Her voice dropped lower.

"And still it's not enough, is it?"

James didn't answer. He couldn't.

"It'll never be enough. That's what my life is now—a bloody trolley problem on repeat."

The fire cracked.

"And if you choose to stay—if you choose me—you'll have to keep burning parts of yourself. Your morals. Your instincts. You'll have to pretend it doesn't matter. What I did. What I'll do."