Page 106 of Hunting Pretty

So why, even as I met his gaze from across the courtyard, did it feel like I was betraying him?

AVA

“I’ve been thinking about moral responsibility,” I began, my voice softer than I intended.

I sat across from Dr. Vale, my hands folded in my lap, the weight of the small box on my bedside table still pressing on my chest like a stone.

I could feel Dr. Vale’s sharp eyes on me, waiting, watching with that calm, measured gaze that always unnerved me.

We were back in his campus office which always felt to me like a Victorian living room with its soothing forest-green walls and wood paneling, low comfortable couches, and faded floral armchairs.

A bookcase took up the entire back wall behind his desk, filled with leather-bound books and antique medical instruments.

His office smelled of old books and lavender from the lovely purple plants sitting in his window boxes.

This office usually made me feel comfortable, the heavyemerald curtains muting the outside world. But today I was tense and wound up.

I cleared my throat and forced myself to meet his eyes.

“When someone we know does something wrong,” I said, “something terrible, are we obligated to act? To do something about it? Even if they did the misguided thing…forus?”

Dr. Vale tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate. “That’s a complex question, Ava. Morality is often subjective, shaped by circumstance.”

I let out a long breath and snatched one of the tiny almond cookies he’d laid out on a silver platter along with cups of tea.

“Not helpful, Doc,” I muttered around the nutty sweet and buttery biscuit.

Dr. Vale merely smiled, his lips thinning. “Are you struggling with something specific?”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, the memory of my stalker’s face flashing behind my eyes, his lips curved into that dangerous smile, the one that made my pulse quicken.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my fingers tightening on the fabric of my wool skirt.

“What if…” I tried again, “someone hurt someone else… for me. To protect me.”

Dr. Vale didn’t flinch at my question, as if he dealt in moral dilemmas every day. He probably did.

“So,” he said, rubbing the end of his fountain pen against the small divot in his chin, “you’re talking about self-defense.”

“Yes…” Cormac’s eye staring at me from within the jewelry box flashed through my mind and I winced. “No. What he did was more… a warped form of justice.”

“He?” Dr. Vale tilted his head.

I waved my hand and let out a fake laugh. “Theoretically, I mean. If someone… ifhedid something to another person in order to protect me.”

Dr. Vale took a sip of his tea before replacing it on the saucer next to his armchair. “And in this… protection… you believehecrossed a line?”

“Not just believe. Iknowhe did.” The words came out sharper than I intended. I quickly lowered my gaze, ashamed of the tremor in my voice. “I have proof. Physical proof. So I should… turn him in, right? So why does that feel… wrong?”

I glanced up, searching Dr. Vale’s face for any sign of judgment, but all I saw was that calm, steady mask he always wore.

“Ava, morality often presents itself in shades of gray,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “What you feel may conflict with what you know is right, but acting on instinct or guilt doesn’t always lead to justice.”

I blinked, my heart sinking. “But if I don’t do anything… doesn’t that make me complicit?”

His eyes softened, just slightly. “Are you protecting yourself, or are you protecting someone you care about?”

“I guess I want to protect him.”

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