Fine Print

Chapter Twelve

They'd been here for a while. At the lull in conversation, a smooth finger rubbed circles over her wrist, mercifully distracting her from the deception being weaved.

Engaging in conversation with Victor was easy, it was natural. Everything Sang said was digested with intensity and his responses were sympathetic and understanding. There was no belittlement, nothing that hinted toward disbelief. Her experiences flowed softly from her lips, but now that it was his turn, Victor had turned impenetrable.

"There's too much to talk about," Victor's voice trailed off into a baritone sigh before placing the article onto the floor, "Did Doctor Green explain any of this to you?"

The finger paused and Sang stared at it mournfully. The carpet underneath her knees scratched as she shifted into a closer position, "He talked about the Hope spirit and what she did. Uhm, he mentioned," Sang trailed off in apprehension, "That some people would do anything for her gift. Did— did that mean you guys?"

"You could say that," removing his hand from her own, Victor leaned back onto his palms. Blazing brown eyes regarded her with undeniable caution, "Sang, things are difficult to explain. It's dangerous for you to know any more than you already do."

It kept coming back to that. Every question she tossed his way, Victor skillfully deflected. He refused to mention anything more then what the newspaper gifted her and every attempt at interrogation was refuted with the aggravating response of "it's dangerous." Green eyes narrowing on the floor, Sang lifted her head and pinned the spirit with her gaze.

"Isn't it already?" Her voice dipped into sobriety, "I'm connected to you all— somehow or another I'm connected to this."

"For now," Victor met her gaze steadfastly before laying his palm onto her knee, "We're going to get you away from this. We're going to help you. Kota and Mr. Blackborne have already—"

"Already what?" Sang's response was dangerous in its softness. The carefully weaved apathy to her situation began to break and she crawled to her feet, standing above Victor with all the strength she possessed. "Are you... are you all leaving?"

"Sang," Victor stood up too, hands held out pleadingly toward her form, "Princess. You don't understand—"

The crack of her shell echoed into her voice, "Then tell me! You guys can't," water built up in the corners of her eyes, but Sang shook it off, "You can't drop into my life like that then leave. It isn't right!"

"It's not my place—"

"Then take me to Owen!" The tears finally fell out of sheer disbelief, "I don't want you all to leave! I want to help you too— but you aren't letting me."

How could they not understand? Those boys gave her something incredible, something she could never let go. They'd given her friendship and freedom, things that never seemed attainable. But now, they wanted to leave out of a misguided understanding of the situation. Her heart beat out a painful ping, they don't understand!

The snapshots of their lives, of Gabriel's plight, and of the jaded memories she'd been gifted all flashed through her mind. All the traces now tainted in humanity and it spread into the faces of the boy's she'd grown to care about. There was life inside of them and somehow, someway, it'd been stripped away from them.

Despite Victor's reassurances, Sang still couldn't accept that she didn't have a hand in the event.

Something buried in her soul told her he was wrong. Oh, so wrong.

"Princess," Victor stood up and held himself in front of her. His face wore a self-pitying smile, but it didn't faze her, "None of this was your fault, you don't need to force yourself to take responsibility."