Page 93 of Of Lies and Shadows

I see the flicker of hope in his eyes dim by degrees as I hesitate.

“To some extent,” I finally say.

The air shifts as his mouth tightens.

“And your life?” His voice is a dangerous murmur now. “Your heart?”

I don’t want to lie despite part of me wanting to give him the absolution I know he craves. I just can’t.

He already knows the answer anyway, so I say it aloud, even if it cuts us both open.

“No.”

The word hangs there, sharp and final.

His jaw tightens again, his nostrils flaring as he exhales slowly through his nose. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just looks at me with something raw flickering behind his eyes.

Wounded pride. Wounded man. And maybe… something resembling grief.

I say it again, quieter this time. “No.”

His body stills like I’ve struck him.

For a moment, I expect him to lash out. Not with violence, but with words, with anger, with something sharp enough to cut me back for the wound I just gave him.

But instead… he steps forward.

His hand reaches for mine, not rough, not demanding. Just a gentle, open palm.

I don't know why I let him take it. But I do.

His fingers wrap around mine, warm and calloused, too familiar now. And I hate how much comfort I find in the feel of it.

He says nothing. He just holds on, like he’s afraid if he speaks, he’ll ruin whatever thread still connects us.

I should pull away.

But instead, I watch his thumb move slowly over the back of my hand. Once… twice. Like he’s trying to memorize the feel of me. Like he’s asking for forgiveness without daring to voice it.

“I’ll look into what Bruno said.”

I study his face. “You believe him?”

There’s a pause. A glimpse of something vulnerable in his eyes before he answers.

“I believeyou.”

The words land heavier than I expected. Not just because they sound like trust—but because, for once, they don’t feel like manipulation. There’s no demand in them. No weight of obligation. Just quiet certainty, and somehow, that makes it worse.

Because belief isn’t love. Trust isn’t forgiveness. And this moment between us… it’s not safety. Not yet.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

His thumb stills against my hand, and his grip loosens like he’s giving me the choice to stay or go.

I take a breath and gently slip my hand from his.

“I should check on the twins,” I say softly, stepping back.

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