Page 253 of The Rules
he said, voice thick with something between pride and possession. “She knows exactly who she’s dealing with.”
His gaze slid to Ben, the smile never faltering. “You see, Benny?” he said, tone slick and slow—velvet-thin and oil-slick. “You’re just one step behind. Always so noble. So hesitant.”
Then—quieter. Slower.
“Just give me your soul,” Julian whispered, folding his hands in mock prayer, head dipping slightly as though before an altar. “And I’ll take care of the rest.” He smiled then—slow, reverent. “Redemption’s always available. I keep it in stock.”
Ben didn’t answer.
He stared into his drink, watching the final shard of ice melt into the amber like it was giving up. Like it knew there was no point fighting anymore.
And still—he said nothing.
Later, he stood by the window, arms braced against the frame, shoulders drawn tight—like holding himself together was a
full-body effort.
The city sprawled beneath him in a sprawl of indifferent light. From here, it looked clean. Controlled. But all he could see were the fault lines. Cracks spidering through everything they’d once believed was solid.
His reflection stared back—more shadow than man. Hollow-eyed. Complicit. Behind him, the room was silent.
Except for her.
He heard Kath’s breath before she spoke.
“Say it,” she said. Voice low.Steady. The kind of calm that only comes when there's nothing left to salvage.
Ben didn’t turn. His mouth tightened, breath catching.
“Say what?”
“You know what,” she said. “That this is wrong. That you still think we can do this clean.”
He turned then. Slowly. Like the act cost him more than it should have.
His face didn’t move, didn’t crack. But his eyes—
His eyes looked like something sacred had been burned out of them. And the ashes still clung to the edges.
“There’s always a way,” he said.
The words scraped out, ragged. Desperate. And yet… certain.
“But sometimes...” He hesitated. Swallowed. “Sometimes you don’t have the time to wait for the world to do the right thing.”
Kath stepped toward him—measured, unshaken.
She didn’t try to soothe him.
She just stood beside him, like someone willing to carry half the weight.
Ben exhaled sharply. The sound scraped out of him—half a laugh, half a snarl.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a tight line between fury and futility. His pulse roared in his ears—an echo of every courtroom oath, every closing argument, every time he'd told himself justice was enough.
"We're lawyers," he muttered, bitterness bleeding into every word. "We're supposed to be the line. The shield. The fucking light in the dark."
Kath didn't flinch. She stood there, solid and unwavering, while everything inside him threatened to collapse.
