Page 199 of Dark Night of the Soul

“Yes.”

The air was cold and damp.

I stopped a few feet behind her. Close enough to be felt. Not close enough to crowd. Wondering if she meant to stand out here until she froze.

“Do you want to be alone?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. I started to turn, then, “No. I don’t know.”

“I can go.”

“No,” she said, sharp. She turned her head, looked at me. “Stay.”

I didn’t move closer. I waited. She looked away.

Her shoulders rose on an inhale that wasn’t steady. She exhaled slowly.

“She remembered me,” she said, her voice quiet. “I think… she’s reclaimed pieces of herself.”

That mattered. Not for me—for her. Because if Natasha could remember Anna, then Anna wasn’t reaching for a phantom anymore. She had something solid to hold on to.

“What did she say?” I asked.

“Grace reads her Psalms,” she said. “She sits with her, when her mind starts to slip. And sometimes she doesn’t remember the words, but she remembers how it feels.”

She paused and drew in a shaky breath.

Grace had raised Anna when no one else could. She’d held the line through scraped knees and nightmares and thirteen years of questions with no answers. If anyone could sit with a broken mind without flinching, it was her.

“And Grace… she chose that. She didn’t have to, but she chose it. And I—I’m so grateful for that. For her. For helping. Because I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

“But you do now.”

The cold breeze slipped through the courtyard bringing with it the first hint of rain.

“Now,” she said on a huff. “It was damn near too late. I was so busy hunting relics and trying to stop the end of the world, I didn’t stop long enough to see what she needed. Grace did.”

She wasn’t talking about thirteen-year-old Anna. She was talking about the months she’d spent running on purpose—saving everyone—while the people at home carried the weight.

“You didn’t do that because you didn’t care,” I said. “You did it because if you stopped, the world would end.”

Her breath left in a rough burst like she wanted to argue, anyway.

“But you’re here now,” I added, firm enough to hold. “And you see it now. That’s the difference.” I let the wind and the first mist of rain fill the space between us. “So don’t punish yourself for choosing the fight when there wasn’t another choice.”

I didn’t touch her—didn’t crowd her—but I shifted a fraction closer, so she’d feel the option of leaning without having to ask.

She turned enough to angle herself toward me, but there was still tension in her shoulders.

“I told her I killed him,” she whispered. “She was glad.”

She didn’t have to say Vormund. I knew.

“She said something else,” she said. “That I chose someone who won’t let them finish the job.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I won’t.” Simple truth. No qualification needed.

“And…” She cut me a glance, like she was testing the edge of a blade. Careful. Deliberate. Waiting for the cut. “That you love me.”