Lucian's POV...
I didn't answer.
My mind was a blank, white sheet, her accusations scrawled across it in bleeding ink. Patricia. The night. The plan. Each word was a shard of glass, and she'd just embedded them deep into the fragile myth I'd been building for us.
My arms, which had been a cage of desperate possession, loosened. Just a fraction. It was enough.
The cold night air rushed into the new space between our bodies, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the distance her truth had just carved. I felt her weight shift, a subtle transfer from my support to her own trembling legs. Her feet touched the gravel for the first time since I'd pulled her from the ocean's grip.
She didn't move away. Didn't speak. Just stood there, swaying like a sapling in a storm, her eyes locked on mine.
They weren't accusing anymore. They were hollow. Resigned. Finished. The fire of her confrontation had burned out, leaving only cold ash.
What do I say?
