Page 80 of Fallacies

I take a step forward, then hesitate, unsure of how close I should get.

When Callan finally looks up at me, his expression is soft, and his eyes are tired, but there is no anger in his stare. I don’t let myself feel any relief at that. It’s too soon for hope.

He watches me for a moment, pinning me in place with a look I can’t decipher.

Panic flares in my chest. I shouldn’t have come in here. He needs more time. I should have let him come to me and⁠—

Callan lifts his arm, holding his hand out.

To me.

I can’t help the relief that sweeps through my entire body, sinking my shoulders and deflating my lungs. My feet move on instinct, each step steady as I cross the room, taking his hand as soon as I can reach it. I could cry at the familiarity of the touch, the warmth of his fingers, the smell of him filling the air around me.

Callan pulls me in front of his chair, his knees shifting wide enough for me to stand between them, and the gentleness of it makes my eyes burn. I don’t deserve it.

Taking both of my hands in his, he looks up at me, and for a second, everything that’s felt strained or broken mends itself. For the briefest of moments, nothing has changed. It’s a miracle I don’t think even Gemma could pull off, and I’d give anything to live in a world where it’s just that simple.

But the moment is fleeting, and reality comes crashing back in like a tidal wave.

“Callan, I’m⁠—”

“I love you, Lucina.”

The words squeeze my heart just like they did when he first said it, and the desire to say it back overwhelms me. But instead, my reply comes out as a whisper, a question I’m not sure I want the answer to: “All of me?”

There is no hesitation. Never with Callan.

“All of you,” he says, grey eyes darting between my own.

The sentiment doesn’t feel reassuring; it feels bittersweet. Like there’s a silent but attached to it.

“My mind has been a mess since I sat down in this chair,” Callan tells me, “but I do know that. I know it without a doubt.”

There’s an implication of that word again, and I hate that all I can hear is what he isn’t saying. When I blink, a tear falls. “But?”

Callan tracks the drop as it slides down my cheeks, his shoulders sinking with it. “But my mind is still a mess.”

“I’m sorry,” I start, “I should have told you. I should have⁠—”

He shakes his head. “Not because of you.”

My brows furrow as I settle against the edge of the desk behind me, my stare falling to the gentle swipe of his thumb across my knuckles.

“When I was…” Callan starts, voice trailing off as he lets out a shaky breath, then inhales to try again. “There was very little I could control after the attack. I was too young to do anything for myself, and everything past eleven years old was decided for me. I hyper-fixated on revenge because I wanted someone to pay for what happened to my family and me.”

I nod, letting the words sink in.

Most of this I knew already, from Gemma, but it’s another thing entirely to hear the words come out of his mouth. Everyone suffered after the attack, but Callan—and the rest of our coven—were forced into responsibilities that weren’t expected of the other children. In the midst of grieving their fathers, they were being trained to fill their shoes.

“The first time I ever felt like I was in control was when I was killing the people who stole my life from me.”

It clicks then. My hand goes slack in his.

“I became obsessed, and I couldn’t stop. It was all I thought about. May had to get involved. My entire coven was worried about me, and the Dame cut my access to the Banyan for an entire year.”

That I didn’t know.

“I struggled for a long time,” Callan continues. “I had too much anger and no outlet for it. But I’m better now. I’ve worked through that mindset. I’m just…”