Chapter Thirty-Six
The Rain That Revealed
fromHave You Someone to Protect?
by ©Amer
The rain hammered down, blurring the edges of the cobblestone streets and turning the town into a watercolor of shadow and light. Silas's breath steamed in the cold night air, his soaked clothes clinging heavy, the weight of the wet violet shawl pressing in his fist.
He wasn't alone.
Ahead, a lone figure moved steadily toward the bookshop—a dark cloak pulled tight, hair plastered with rain. Something about the way he walked was familiar, yet distant, a silhouette carved from a half-remembered dream.
Malric caught sight of him first. "Silas—wait," he said softly, stepping between Silas and the approaching man.
The figure stopped under the gaslamp, its dim glow casting angular shadows across his face.
Caelum.
Silas's voice cut through the hush of the rain. "Where were you when Lhady almost died?"
Caelum blinked, rain trailing down his temples. "What are you talking about?"
Silas stepped forward, the violet shawl clutched tightly in his hand, trembling with soaked weight. "She was in the river. Drowning. And you weren't there."
Caelum's jaw clenched. "I didn't know."
"You should've."
Malric placed a cautious hand near Silas's shoulder. "Silas, not here—"
"No." Silas's voice shook, but didn't break. "He needs to hear this."
His gaze locked on Caelum. "I waited. I thought maybe you'd protect her. That somehow, you'd know. That you'd never be the one to add to her danger."
He stepped closer. "But you didn't come. And do you know what I saw instead? Another man beside her. A stranger. Not you."
Caelum's eyes darkened. "What are you saying?"
Silas lifted the shawl slightly between them, rain dripping from its edge. "I almost gave up everything for the two of you. Believed in something that didn't include me."
He paused, the fabric still held in his hands—he wouldn't let it fall. Not this time.
"But not anymore."
Caelum stared at the shawl, his throat working. Slowly, he reached out and took it.
The silence between them didn't crackle like thunder. It settled deep—cold and heavy.
Silas swallowed hard, the storm inside him barely contained. "You weren't there when she needed you."
Caelum's lips pressed together. Then, slowly, he nodded—as if understanding more than Silas said.
The rain fell harder still, washing the silence between them.
Later that night, the storm had passed, but the weight of it lingered.
Inside the bookshop, the windows steamed from the heat within, and the scent of rain still clung to the wooden walls. Lhady was at the counter, towel around her shoulders, fingers tucked under the folds of her sleeves. Elias stood nearby, flipping through an old ledger, though he wasn't reading.
The door creaked open.
Caelum stepped in, the faint chill of the evening still clinging to him. He held something in his hands—a damp violet shawl, now carefully folded despite its wetness.
He walked to her quietly. She looked up.
"You left this," he said.
Lhady's eyes fell to the shawl. Her expression barely changed. "Thank you," she said, reaching out. Her fingers grazed his.
That was all.
Caelum stood still, waiting—for something. An explanation. A story. A glance that said, You should have been there.
But she said nothing more.
From the corner, Elias watched silently, his arms crossed, the quiet tension as plain to him as a change in weather. His gaze lingered on Caelum's face—not judgmental, only aware.
Caelum finally let go of the shawl. He looked at her for a moment longer, eyes searching her expression for any trace of the storm she'd survived.
Nothing.
He turned without a word and left, the door clicking shut behind him, rain dripping faintly from the shawl into her palms.
And Lhady stood still, her grip tightening slightly on the damp fabric.
Outside, the streets were quiet. But inside Caelum's mind, the question would not leave him:
Why didn't she tell me?
Lhady stood motionless, the shawl damp against her fingers, her heart caught in the quiet he left behind.
She should have said something.
He had handed it to her so gently. He had waited—he had wanted her to speak.
But she couldn't.
Not because she didn't trust him. Not because she thought he wouldn't understand.
It was because the moment her mouth opened, she knew she would cry.
And she didn't want to cry in front of him.
Not when her world had nearly slipped from her hands in that river.
She should have said something.
But "thank you" was all she managed.
Not because she didn't appreciate it—someone had pulled her from the river, coughing and shivering—but because her thoughts had been tangled with something else. A quiet, gnawing guilt that she couldn't shake.
She shouldn't have been so scared. She shouldn't have needed saving. And yet, here she was.
Across the room, Elias didn't press her. He never did. And maybe that's why she could breathe again—because he was there, quiet and understanding, never asking her to explain what she wasn't ready to name.
The rain had washed away her composure, and still… she held back from Caelum.
Why?
Caelum's fingers lingered on the damp fabric, the weight of it heavier than water alone. The careful stitches in the corner—the same ones he had sewn long ago—spoke of a closeness he thought unbreakable. Yet now, between them, there was a silence thicker than the storm outside.
Why hadn't she said anything?
Not a single word. No question, no accusation, no plea. Just a quiet, distant "thank you," barely above a whisper.
He had waited—expected her to speak, to reach out, to share even a fragment of what she was feeling. But she retreated behind a wall he couldn't breach, a wall made of fear, pride, and something he didn't yet understand.
Was it that she didn't trust him? No, he was certain of that. She trusted him enough to keep the shawl, to hold onto the thread of connection between them. But she didn't want to burden him with her pain. Or perhaps… she didn't want to admit how much she needed him.
That realization twisted something inside Caelum—a bitter ache he hid behind calm eyes.
He had always thought his role was to protect, to be the silent shadow guarding her life. But now, in this moment, he wondered if his silence had become a prison for them both.
Was she pushing him away? Or was she protecting him, just as fiercely as he protected her?
He folded the wet shawl carefully, his mind a tempest of unanswered questions and unspoken fears.
If she wouldn't let him in, how could he protect her from what was coming?
The rain might wash away the dirt and blood from the river, but the truths between them were still tangled in shadows.
And the storm was far from over.