Page 79 of Obsession & Oath

Dante.

I push up on my elbows, bleary-eyed, my heart stumbling over itself at the sight of him. For the briefest moment, I allow myself the vain hope that he’s here to make things right.

But then I notice his posture—the sharp set of his shoulders, the way his face is carved into something unmovable, unreadable.

Something cold.

“Pack your things,” he says.

I blink, trying to shake off the sleep, trying to make sense of what I’ve just heard. His voice is wrong. Clipped and devoid of anything human.

“What?” My body feels sluggish as I sit up fully.

“We’re leaving.”

The words don’t hit at all for a moment.

Then, they hit hard. All at once. Something in my chest cracks. Fissures that had begun to appear since our conversation in Montecroce now break open with reckless abandon.

This is it.

We’re going home. No, I’m beingreturnedto where I belong.

And Dante is…is…

I stare at him, searching for something—anything—in his expression. A flicker of hesitation, regret.

But there’s nothing. Just Dante, looking at me as though I’m already gone.

I shake my head, swallowing past the sudden tightness in my throat. “No. Dante, wait?—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he interrupts, glancing around the room. Everywhere but my face.

No. Not like this.

It’s selfish; it’s my fault it ended. But please, please. No. Not like this.

I push the blankets off me, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Dante, please?—”

“Pack your things, Carmen.”

It’s a command this time. One I know better than to disobey.

The man standing before me isn’t the person who held me under the Italian sun, the one who kissed laughter into my skin and made me believe, even for a moment, that there could be something beyond the war waiting for us.

This man is someone else entirely.

I try again anyway.

“Dante, just tell me what’s going on.”

His jaw tightens, but his eyes stay distant, detached. “You know what’s going on. We have to leave. Now.”

“Right. Because that explains it.” A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “It’s dark out. Do we have to leave right now? What time is it, even?”

His eyes darken, but he doesn’t rise to the bait.

I want to push him. To make him feel something, anything, other than this icy finality.

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