Page 174 of The Ascended
"In a way, I suppose that’s right." I turned back to the window, avoiding his gaze. He was dragging something out of me I’d been pushing down. A truth I’d been too weak to face. That perhaps the idea of death had settled over me so easily because in some twisted way, it felt like justice for everything my existence had led to. My mother’s death. Sulien’s death. Thatcher getting taken and forced into the Trials alongside me.
He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was tempered. "Don’t be absurd."
His tone made me turn back to him, and the glare on his face sent a chill down my spine. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because you’re being ridiculous,” he nearly snarled. “I don’t even recognize you right now.”
"Then what picture have you painted in your head of me?"
His eyes flashed.
"I see someone who looks gods in the eye without flinching," he said, his voice taut. "Someone who calls out every lie, who slices through pretense effortlessly. The woman who stood on that beach her first night here, utterly exposed and completely unashamed. Defiant."
His words left me momentarily speechless.
"That woman doesn't cower behind fatalism," he continued. "She doesn't hide behind martyrdom. She fights—not because she expects to win, but because surrendering isn't in her nature."
"That's not fair," I said, finding my voice at last. "Acknowledging reality isn't surrendering to it."
"Isn't it?" He took another step closer. "The Thais I know would spit in the face of inevitability. She wouldn't accept death as a foregone conclusion—she'd rage against it, challenge it, find a way to beat it through sheer stubborn will."
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think," I countered, crossing my arms.
"Or maybe I see you more clearly than you see yourself." His voice softened, though the intensity in his eyes remained. "This defeatism—it's beneath you, Thais. It's not who you are."
"And who am I, exactly?" I demanded, anger flaring. "Since you seem to have it all figured out."
"You're the woman who stood in this very room and showed me what freedom looks like," he said without hesitation. "The one who refuses to play by rules she didn't make. You're..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "You're the most honest person I've ever met. Even when it costs you. Especially then."
I swallowed, suddenly finding it difficult to meet his gaze. "You've built quite an impressive image of me."
"Not built. Observed." He moved closer, his voice dropping. "And that's why I cannot accept this. It doesn't fit the woman I've come to know."
I turned away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.
"Fine," I said finally. "You're right. I don't want to die. Is that what you want to hear?"
"I want to hear the truth."
"The truth?" I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "The truth is that I'm terrified. The truth is that even if I dreamed of surviving this, of finding some way through, dreams don't change reality, Xül. And the reality is that people like me don't get happy endings."
He was silent for a long moment.
"Endings aren't written in stone, Thais."
My restraint might has well have been nonexistent. Because the hypocrisy of his words burned like acid, and I couldn’t hold my tongue for another moment.
"Really?" I spat. "That's rich coming from you."
His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"You stand there talking about hope, when you've already resigned yourself to a hollow, empty life." The words spilled out. "You've already accepted that your father will broker your future to the highest bidder. So don't lecture me about hope when you've abandoned it for yourself."
His expression stilled, and for a moment I thought I'd gone too far.
"We're not talking about me," he said quietly. "We're talking about you."
"Convenient deflection."
