Chapter 18 Nico
954 Words
I find her faster than I should.
Not because she tried to hide.
Because she didn’t.
That’s what sets me off.
She’s standing near the edge of the training grounds, far enough from the main house to be alone, but not far enough to be considered leaving. Like she stopped herself halfway.
Like she made the decision to stay.
My jaw tightens.
It doesn’t calm anything.
If anything—
It makes it worse.
“Seth.”
The word leaves my mouth before I’m even fully in control of it.
He appears a second later, stepping out from the tree line like he was already there.
Of course he was.
“You let her walk off?”
His expression doesn’t change. “She didn’t leave.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It should be.”
That lands.
I don’t like it.
My gaze shifts past him, locking onto her.
“She needed space,” Seth adds.
I don’t respond.
Because I don’t care what she needed.
Because what she needed isn’t the point.
What matters is—
She walked away.
Again.
“Go,” I say finally.
Seth doesn’t hesitate this time. He steps back, disappearing without another word.
Smart.
I don’t take my eyes off her as I move closer. She turns just before I reach her. Her expression isn’t what I expect.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Something quieter.
That irritates me more.
“You’re done walking off without saying anything,” I say.
Her brows pull slightly. “I didn’t go anywhere.”
“You left the room.”
“I needed air.”
“You walked out.”
“And I stopped.”
That hits.
Because it’s true.
Because she’s still here.
Because she didn’t run.
“That’s not the same thing,” I say.
“It is to me.”
Her voice is steady. Like she’s already decided something I haven’t caught up to yet.
I step closer, closing the space between us without touching her.
“You don’t get to decide what counts.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
“You don’t get to decide everything.”
Silence stretches.
Sharp.
Unsteady.
Because that’s the line.
The one she keeps pushing.
The one I don’t let anyone cross.
“And you don’t get to walk away when it gets uncomfortable,” I say.
Her expression shifts slightly at that.
Not defensive.
Not reactive.
Just—
Tired.
“I didn’t run,” she repeats, quieter now.
“I thought about it,” she adds before I can respond.
That stops me.
Not because I didn’t know.
Because she said it.
Because she admitted it.
“I know,” I say.
Her gaze doesn’t drop.
“Then what are you so pissed about?”
The question lands harder than it should.
Because I don’t have a simple answer.
Because it’s not just that.
It never was.
“You left,” I say instead.
Flat.
She exhales slowly.
“I already told you why.”
“You didn’t stay.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You didn’t try.”
Her eyes flash this time.
“There was nothing to try, Nico.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Not when it ends with people dead either way.”
That hits.
Harder than anything else she’s said.
Because she believes it.
Because part of me—
Hates that she might not be wrong.
My jaw tightens, but I don’t step back.
I don’t give ground.
“You made your choice,” I say.
“And you disappeared after it.”
Her expression hardens again.
“What was I supposed to do? Stay so you could look at me like I killed him?”
“I was already looking at you like that.”
“Then why didn’t you come find me?” she asks.
The question cuts cleaner than anything else.
I don’t answer right away.
Because I can’t.
Because the answer isn’t simple.
“I didn’t know where you were,” I say finally.
Her brows pull together slightly.
Like she didn’t expect that.
Like that wasn’t the version she built in her head.
“You disappeared,” I continue. “No trail. No word. Nothing.”
Her breathing shifts.
Just slightly.
“And you didn’t look?” she presses.
“I did.”
The word comes out sharper.
More immediate than I intend.
Her eyes flicker.
Something in them changes.
I see it.
“I didn’t have anything to follow,” I add, quieter now. “Not a direction. Not a lead. Nothing.”
Silence stretches again.
Different this time.
“You still hate me,” she says after a second.
I don’t answer.
Because it’s not that simple. It never has been.
Her gaze holds mine, searching for something I’m not giving her.
“You should,” she adds.
There it is.
That again.
That expectation.
That need for it to be simple.
For me to just—
Hate her.
I step closer without thinking.
Close enough now that there’s no space left to pretend this isn’t what it is.
“You don’t get to decide how I feel about this,” I say quietly.
Her breath catches.
Her shoulders tense.
The bond tightens between us.
“You don’t get to decide that I hate you just because it makes this easier for you.”
Her lips part slightly.
Frustration.
Confusion.
Something else underneath it.
“And you don’t get to leave just because it gets hard,” I add.
Her gaze sharpens.
“I didn’t leave this time.”
No.
She didn’t.
“You’re mine,” I say.
Low.
Certain.
Her breath stutters.
“You always have been.”
The words land between us, heavier than anything else.
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