Page 45 of Requiem
Chapter twelve
ADRIANA BRITTON
I slip away before anyone really notices. I can’t sit there anymore, watching the countdown and pretending I have something useful to contribute. So I move quietly down toward the basement, where the monitors glow faintly in the dark space. Jude is on the screen, curled on his side in bed. There’s a sticky note beside the feed, taped to the wall.
Suboxone given 11/17 at 9:30am.
Good. At least he finally took the damn medicine.
I take a slow breath, steadying myself, before stepping to the door. My fingers hover on the lock before I finally unlock it and slip inside. The moment I enter, his gaze finds me. A sound leaves him that I can’t quite place at first—relief, maybe. My eyes burn just seeing him like this. When not long ago, I was fucking terrified of him. Now, he looks so…vulnerable.
“Hey, Jude,” I murmur.
He shifts upright, the chains clinking softly in the quiet room. His eyes look red when they meet mine again.
I don’t ask permission. I’ve been with him through too much of this already. I’m not hesitant like everyone else. I move forward and sit down in front of him. “How are you?” I ask softly.
He’s quiet for a beat, as if checking his own body before bothering to answer. He looks unbearably tired. “I’m feeling a little better,” he rasps.
A small, relieved smile breaks through despite everything. “I’m glad. You were…really bad when they rescued us.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asks.
The question catches me off guard. “They haven’t told you?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Today is the first day I feel…somewhatalright. So no. Not really.” His eyes flick briefly over me, catching on the bandage at my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Erik got me on the way out. It’s fine.”
But he doesn’t look away. He’s waiting, still processing, still trying to build a timeline out of broken memories. “My leg fucking hurts.”
I huff a sudden laugh. “I bet. Rafe did that.”
“Yeah, that I know,” he mutters. “But it’s not as bad as before, thank fuck. So…” he trails off, waiting for me to tell him what hell we went through that night.
“They infiltrated the event that you were set to perform at,” I say gently. “Do you remember any of it?”
He narrows his eyes, searching his memory. “Kind of,” he says after a pause. “I remember singing. People dancing.” His voice falters. “And Emma requesting a song.Oursong.”
My chest tightens. “She did?”
He exhales through his nose. “Yeah. I stared at her because her hair was different. Then I saw Micah. They were leaving.” His hand tightens slightly in the blanket. “And I…I don’t know. Then I felt it.”
“Felt what?” I ask, watching his body shift, tension crawling back into him as he speaks.
“Rage,” he says simply, like it still confuses him. “I remember wanting her gone. Wanting her not to hurt me anymore.”
My heart aches in a way I don’t have words for. “She was never hurting you, Jude,” I say gently. “Alexei was.”
“I know.” He drags a hand through his hair, jaw locking as if he’s trying to push the memory down deeper. “I get that it doesn’t make sense. But after that, it’s gone. I don’t remember anything elseclearly.”
“There wasn’t much after,” I say softly. “A gunfight. Getting out. Being moved here.” A breath leaves me. “They all hate me.”
His eyes lift to mine. “Have you talked to Micah? Emma?” he asks.
My throat constricts. “Yes. Both of them. They love you, Jude. So much.”
He nods, gaze dropping to the space between us, like he doesn’t know what to do with that information yet.
