Page 40 of Scarred in Silence (The Twisted Trilogy #2)

Astra

When I wake, he’s already watching me.

Lucien sits in the armchair across the room, elbows on knees, his hands laced together like he’s holding back the urge to rip something apart. Light filters in through the curtains.

His jaw clenches when my eyes meet his.

For a second, I forget where I am. Then it all rushes back like a punch to the ribs.

The basement. The screams. Miles.

I sit up too quickly. My pulse trips over itself as the memory hits—Lucien holding him down, blood slicking his gloves, my voice trembling as I gave the orders. The gun was still warm in his hand when I said the words: I want his eyes. He doesn’t get to see anymore.

I meant it.

That’s the worst part. I meant every fucking word.

And Lucien didn’t hesitate. Not once.

He followed my commands like scripture, and I watched him skin a man alive while I stood perfectly still. No tears. No panic. Just a hollow ache that never left.

“I didn’t want you to see all of it,” Lucien says quietly, like he’s afraid to break the silence between us. “But I knew if I left you out, you’d never believe he was really gone.”

I swallow hard. My voice is sandpaper. “He deserved it.”

Lucien doesn’t blink. “I know.”

But my stomach still twists because I’m not sure if I’m sick over what happened… or how easy it was.

Lucien rises, slow and fluid, his shadow stretching across the floor as he walks toward me. His shirt is wrinkled, and his knuckles are raw. He hasn’t showered yet, and I can still smell the metallic tang of blood on him.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice gentler now, but distant. Guarded. Like he’s afraid of what I’ll say.

“I’m not sure what I feel,” I answer honestly, dragging the blanket tighter around me. “It’s too quiet.”

Lucien pauses at the edge of the bed, hands flexing at his sides. “That quiet—it’s peace, Astra. You said you wanted closure.”

Closure.

The word tastes like rust.

I glance at his hands—those same hands that held me through withdrawals, that ripped Victor apart bone by bone, that covered my mouth the first time I tried to scream. They’re capable of destruction and devotion in the same breath.

And I’ve let them do both.

“I wanted him dead,” I say. “But I didn’t think I’d feel this…”

“Empty?”

I nod.

Lucien brushes a knuckle along my cheek, then tucks a strand of hair behind my ear like I’m made of glass. “That emptiness—” he whispers, “—that’s what’s left w hen hate finally leaves the room.”

I flinch. Not because he touched me. Because I think he’s wrong.

The hate didn’t leave.

It just shifted.

“You say you love me,” I whisper. “But sometimes I think you just love having something that can’t leave.”

He stills.

“I’ve tried,” I add. “I’ve tried to convince myself you’re the only one who’s ever stayed. But maybe you stayed because you’re the one who built the cage.”

His lips part, but no words come.

“I know what this is now, Lucien. You didn’t pull me from the fire. You just offered to burn with me.”

He swallows hard, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

“I never claimed to be your savior.”

“No,” I say, “but you wanted me to believe you were.”

The truth lands between us like a gun. Neither of us reaches for it.

He lowers himself to the bed beside me, and for once, he doesn’t try to touch me. “You think I regret it?” he murmurs. “You think I’d take any of it back?”

I don’t answer.

Because I’m not sure which would be worse: if he did… or if he didn’t.

He sighs, looking older than I’ve ever seen him.

“You could’ve walked away after Victor. You didn’t. You could’ve stayed upstairs while Miles begged. But you watched.”

“Because I had to.”

“No, Astra. You stayed because there’s a part of you that wanted it. Just like there’s a part of you that wants me —even now.”

He’s not wrong.

And that’s what scares me the most.

Lucien turns his gaze back to me, eyes glassy but fierce.

“I won’t apologize for loving you in the only way I know how. But if you ever want out…”

He reaches beneath the mattress, pulls out the same gun he gave me days ago. The same one I held in my mouth while locked in his room.

“This time,” he says, offering it to me with the barrel pointed away, “it’s loaded.”

My fingers shake as I take it. It’s heavier than I remember. Colder.

“Oh, and here is your phone. I charged it for you.” He tosses my phone onto the bed beside me as he stands to leave.

He stands, pacing toward the door without looking back. “I’ll be in the cellar,” he mutters. “Silas is expecting me.”

I stare at the gun in my lap long after he’s gone. My reflection warps in the brushed metal, broken and blurred. A question echoes in my head like a heartbeat:

If he’s not my monster… does that make me my own?

I lie back down slowly, pulling the blanket to my chin, cradling the gun on my chest like a newborn sin.

There is no clean here.

Only survival.

And silence.

Always silence.

* * *

The silence that follows Lucien’s departure is deafening.

Not the kind of silence that brings peace—this one snakes around my throat, thick and stale, threatening to strangle me. The gun still rests on my chest, a quiet threat or a promise—I’m not sure which.

I should put it away. But I don’t.

Instead, I reach for the phone on the bed and scroll until I see her name.

Evelyn.

I haven’t talked to her since everything went to Hell after the supervised visit.

But now… I just need to hear someone who knows me outside of all this.

Someone who remembers who I was before Lucien. Before Amara died.

Before I traded freedom for fire.

I press call.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Astra?” Her voice is breathless. Guarded.

I almost hang up.

But then she says softer, “Are you okay?”

I close my eyes and let the sound of her voice steady me. “No.”

She’s quiet. Not the awkward kind of quiet. Just… listening.

“I did it,” I whisper.

“Did what?”

“I watched Lucien kill Miles.”

She doesn’t gasp. She doesn’t scream. Just inhales slowly, like she knew it was coming.

“I told him to take his eyes first,” I admit. “So he couldn’t see what was coming next.”

Th e silence stretches so long I think she’s hung up.

Then, she says, “I would’ve told him to take his fucking heart.”

A hollow laugh escapes me—half relief, half grief. “Jesus, Ev.”

“You think I don’t know what Miles did to you?” she says, voice shaking.

“You think I didn’t lie awake for hours imagining what I’d do if I got five minutes alone with him?”

I press the phone tighter to my ear, like proximity might make this feel more real.

“I keep trying to convince myself that Lucien saved me,” I say. “That this… life… was my only way out.”

“Was it?”

“I don’t know anymore.” My throat tightens. “Sometimes I think he just gave me new shackles and called them diamonds.”

Evelyn sighs on the other end.

“I won’t pretend I understand him. But I know you.”

“You don’t know this version of me.”

“I know every version of you, Astra. Even the one you try to bury.”

I swallow hard, blinking up at the ceiling. “You think I’m broken.”

“I think you’re bleeding in a house full of demons and still haven’t let them devour you. That’s not broken. That’s fucking brave.”

My chest aches.

“What if I don’t want to be brave anymore?”

“Then be whatever you need to be. Angry. Numb. Shattered. Just don’t disappear again.”

Te ars sting the back of my throat. I hate how easily she finds the truth inside me. How she sees the pieces I hide.

“I miss you,” I whisper.

“I never left,” she replies. “You just stopped calling.”

I nod even though she can’t see me.

“I’m scared, Evelyn,” I admit. “Of him. Of myself. Of what comes next.”

“You don’t have to figure it all out today. Just breathe. And if it ever gets too heavy—if he ever crosses a line—call me.”

“What will you do?” I ask, a sad smile tugging at my lips.

“I’ll burn the whole place down,” she says without hesitation. “And I won’t need Lucien’s permission.”

A weight lifts off my chest—not completely, but enough to breathe.

“I don’t deserve you,” I murmur.

“Too late,” she says. “You’ve got me anyway.”

We don’t say goodbye. We just sit in the silence, breathing on opposite ends of the line. Two sisters—scarred, angry, stitched together with grief—but still holding on.

And for the first time in days, I don’t feel like the gun on my chest is the only way out.