Chapter 57

The library was cloaked in a stillness I’d come to appreciate, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the quiet creak of wooden chairs. My eyes swept over the aged text in front of me, absorbing line after line on shadow rituals and the intricate, hidden dangers that came with them. The weight of this knowledge pressed on my chest, mingling with the tension I always carried these days. Somewhere in the maze of towering shelves, Mara was gathering books for her own research. The thought of her, focused and determined, brought a faint, instinctive smile to my face.

The peace shattered with the scrape of a chair across from me. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was—Gideon’s presence announced itself, a mix of confidence and hesitation that crackled in the space between us.

“Silas,” he said, the single word sounding careful, like he was testing the weight of it.

I looked up slowly, meeting his eyes. They held an uncertainty I wasn’t used to seeing. I kept my voice even, my expression neutral. “Gideon.”

The silence between us stretched, thick with unspoken words and unsorted loyalties. He shifted, fingers tapping lightly against the table, a nervous habit he probably wasn’t even aware of. I turned the page of my book, refusing to break the quiet first.

“I wanted to ask about Mara,” he said finally, his voice low, cautious.

The words snapped my attention to him fully, and I placed the book down, fingers interlaced over the yellowed pages. “Why?”

His gaze faltered for a moment, the confident exterior slipping to reveal something raw, uncertain. “Because I care about her, Silas. I know that might sound hollow coming from me, given everything, but I do.” He took a breath, eyes searching mine as if trying to prove it. “And I know I haven’t always been… fair to her. But I’m trying to change.”

I felt my jaw clench, the muscles tightening instinctively. I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest, letting the silence linger long enough that he shifted uncomfortably. “You think caring is enough?” I said, voice low, the threat barely hidden beneath the words. “After everything she’s been through, after everything you put her through? Words won’t be enough, Gideon. They never were.”

A flicker of guilt crossed his face, genuine and stark. He nodded, accepting the accusation without protest. “I know,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost resigned. “But I’m not just here to say I’m sorry. I’m here to prove it, if you let me.”

I studied him, the way his shoulders tensed, the way he held my gaze even when it was hard. It was strange, seeing him like this—raw, vulnerable, without the usual mask of bravado. “And Xavier?” I asked, the name coming out sharper than I intended. “Is he as serious as that gift suggested? Or is this just another game to him?”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed slightly, not with anger but with a kind of resigned understanding. “He’s serious. More than you think.” There was something in his tone, a quiet confidence that sparked a flicker of surprise in me.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table, my eyes locking onto his with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “Good,” I said, my voice edged with steel. “Because if either of you hurt her again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

The words hung heavy between us, the warning clear as the cold bite of winter. But instead of flinching or arguing, Gideon nodded, accepting it like a challenge. “I won’t let it come to that,” he said, the hint of a smile playing on his lips, though it was touched with sadness. “And neither will he.”

For a moment, the weight of everything pressed into the silence—our shared history, the mistakes, the lingering regret that neither of us wanted to speak of. I exhaled, feeling some of that tension unravel just enough for the next breath to come easier.

“Words are easy, Gideon,” I said, my voice softer now, though no less serious. “Proving them? That’s what matters.”

His eyes met mine, steady, resolved. “Then I’ll show you.”

Before the silence could stretch into discomfort, the soft shuffle of footsteps approached. I turned my head just in time to see Mara rounding the corner, arms full of books, her white hair catching the soft glow of the library’s lanterns. The sight of her sent a familiar warmth curling in my chest, an instinctive protectiveness that settled my thoughts.

Gideon stood up quickly, gathering his things and stepping away before she reached us. He caught my eye one last time, a silent promise held in his gaze. Then he was gone, disappearing down the aisle without another word.

Mara set her books down on the table with a quiet thud, her eyes flicking from the empty chair back to me. “Was that Gideon?” she asked, an edge of curiosity in her voice.

“It was,” I replied, leaning back and letting my eyes rest on her. “Just a conversation.”

She arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on her lips. “Just a conversation, huh?”

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “You could say he’s trying to prove himself.”

Her expression shifted, something unreadable passing over her face as she absorbed that. She nodded once, glancing at the books I’d stacked on the table. “Looks like we have a long night ahead.”

I reached out, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, feeling the steady pulse of my resolve echo in my chest. “We do,” I said softly. “But we’re taking it one moment at a time.”