Page 84 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

LAILAH

A s I step into the tent, I’m met with the familiar sight of Jason sitting on the edge of the bed.

His damp, off-white shirt clings to his body, accentuating the strong lines of his chest and shoulders.

The room, once a place of comfort and laughter, feels charged with everything that’s transpired.

It’s cold, distant—like the echoes of our earlier conversations have been swallowed by the very air.

I glance around, but everything about this place feels foreign now, tainted by the realization of just how far apart we’ve drifted.

The whiplash of our relationship, always swerving between lightness and tension, grips me again.

Jason’s golden gaze meets mine, his eyes intense, but confused, as if he’s searching for something in me that isn’t there.

His brows furrow, his expression pulling into one of concern.

I sigh, a deep exhale that settles in my chest like a stone, and clench my jaw in frustration.

Without looking at him, I move toward the dresser, my hands brushing the wood as I open it.

Inside, I find a pair of brown slacks and a dark shirt, almost black, ready for me to change into.

The feel of the dry clothes against my skin is both a relief and a reminder of the gulf between us.

I close the dresser with a soft click, and even without turning around, I feel Jason’s gaze sear into my back, hot and possessive.

I turn to face him, my gaze flicking to the corner of the tent to find a place to change. His watchful eyes follow my every move, his edginess palpable. I feel wary, but it’s not just because of the man in front of me—it’s because of everything that’s happened, everything I still don’t understand.

Jason notices my unease almost instantly.

“I’ll turn away,” he says, his voice respectful in its own way, as he faces the entrance and gives me privacy.

I peel off my cold, damp clothes quickly but carefully, despite the chill clinging to my skin. As I tug the wet fabric down, Jason’s voice breaks through the silence again.

“Where are you going?”

The question is pointed, with an accusatory edge that catches me off guard. My hands still, and I bite the inside of my cheek holding back my own frustration.

I roll my eyes, irritation flaring. How could my plans matter when he's the one going off on his adventures with his lover, careless about who sees? I pull the new pants on, the fabric soft and dry against my skin, but it’s only a partial relief—my gloves still make everything feel distant, as though I’m not fully in control of the moment.

The silence continues, tense and uncomfortable, before Jason speaks again.

“Are you going to him ?” he asks, suddenly turning back toward me as I finish buttoning the pants.

I don’t answer immediately, choosing instead to pull my shirt off, the wet fabric sliding off my skin. I keep my back to him, not letting him see my bare chest. The shirt falls away, and I quickly slide on the dry tunic, the fabric falling over my waist as I move quickly to cover myself.

As the tunic falls into place, I feel a hand grip my elbow, pulling me around abruptly. I’m not prepared for the pain in his eyes when I meet his gaze. There’s a flicker of hurt there, as though my distance has pierced him more than I expected .

I rip my arm away and turn toward the entrance, my heart pounding. I don’t have time for this.

“So you’re just going to—” Jason begins, but I cut him off, my anger bubbling to the surface.

“Be a whore , like the one warming your bed?” I snap, the words harsh and unforgiving.

Jason clenches his jaw, his anger mixing with a flash of regret, but he shakes his head, trying to collect his thoughts.

“I was going to say… are you just going to pretend today never happened? You’re not going to talk to me about what you saw?” His voice trembles with frustration, and his brows pull down hard.

I stand straighter, my back stiff.

“What I saw is exactly what I saw,” I reply, my lips pulling tight. “You promised to be a better man. For me . Remember?”

His eyes darken, the apprehension rippling through.

“And I’ve tried.”

I let out a detached laugh. “ You tried ?”

He takes a step closer, close enough for me to feel the desperation behind his words.

“You think I wanted this?”

“I think you chose it,” I snap. “You chose her.”

“I didn’t choose her,” he fires back. “I chose you . Every time.”

I shake my head. My heart feels like it’s been ripped from my body. I stare at him—not the boy I once loved, but the man I no longer trust.

“You chose yourself,” I say, quiet and final.

Jason steps back as if I’ve struck him. For a breath, his shoulders sag under the weight of the truth— our truth.

He drags a hand down his face, voice hoarse when he finally speaks.

“I couldn’t protect you,” he says. “Not from them. Not from this. So I played the part. I let them believe I was distracted. That I could be bought, manipulated, tempted… all so they’d stop watching you. All so they wouldn’t look too closely at you. ”

I scoff. “So sleeping with her was a strategy? A sacrifice?” I say, my words like ice. “That’s a bold claim, Jason. Even for my own husband.”

Silence floods the space.

His voice breaks when he finally breathes, “I love you, Lailah.”

Everything stills.

“I didn’t know what it was at first,” he continues, his eyes tracing some distant memory. “We were only kids… when you’d disappear from your lessons, vanish like smoke—I was always the one who found you.”

He exhales like it hurts.

“You’d be in the library, crouched between shelves that smelled like dust and forgotten things. Like you were trying to disappear into the past, hoping the world would forget you existed for a while.”

His voice cracks, trembling with everything he’s still trying to say.

“But even in those shadows—you glowed. Not gently. Not softly. You were the kind of light that burned . Like you were made of something the world had no right to touch.”

He steps closer, like the truth might kill him if he doesn’t get it out now.

“You were never meant for thrones or cages, Lailah. You were wild and brilliant—never made to be tamed by anyone.”

He falters, breath unsteady.

“And I’ve loved you since the moment you looked at me like I was more than a name carved into a lineage I never asked for.”

My throat tightens, traitorous and aching—because this is what I used to beg for. These are the words I once would’ve burned the world to hear. But now… now they’re too late. Too broken. And gods, it hurts more than if he’d said nothing at all.

“I loved the boy I used to know,” I murmur. “The one who used to find me when I didn’t want to be found. But that boy’s gone , Jason. And you’re all that’s left.”

“I can still be him.”

“ No .”

I step past him, keeping my voice even despite the cracks forming inside me .

“You promised to be a better man. And now you’re just another one I can’t trust.”

I turn toward the tent flaps, my back to him. For a moment, I just stand there—still, silent, drowning in everything I’ve ever wanted to hear. My fingers lift, trembling slightly, as I reach for the fabric.

“Lailah,” he breathes, one last time. “What you saw was me playing my part. I swear it.” A pause. His voice cracks softly, steeped in something tender and full of regret.

“She isn’t you.”

Something inside me splinters, but I don’t let it show. Not now. I go quiet, still, the ache spreading so deep it numbs me. I don’t even realize I’m shaking my head until I speak, my voice flat and cold.

“Well… if that was you playing your part,” I murmur, “then tonight, you’ll need to do a hell of a lot better than that.”

I don’t give him the chance to respond. My steps are slow but certain as I slip through the tent flap without looking back, leaving Jason tangled in my final words.

The day is crisp and biting as I step out of the tent, letting the flap fall closed behind me with a soft rustle.

I don’t glance back at Jason; his confusion, his silence, his lies—they’ve all been left inside with him.

The air feels heavier out here, though, laden with everything I’ve learned and everything still unanswered.

The ground beneath my boots is slick from the earlier rain, the earth shifting under my steps as I move away from the campfires. My mind spins, thoughts crashing into one another like waves in a storm. It’s all been about the stone. Every lie, every betrayal—it all ties back to that one thing.

A weapon capable of obliterating everything.

I clench my fists, haunted by the memory of the ghost in my room. Her voice echoes in my head, cutting through the chaos.

“He can’t have it.”

The words had felt like a cryptic warning at the time, distant and incomprehensible.

But now, they strike with a clarity I can’t ignore.

No man can have it. The stone wasn’t just a relic or a weapon—it was a curse, a burden too heavy for anyone to wield.

And now, I understand. The ghost’s warning wasn’t just a plea.

It was a truth stitched into the fabric of fate.

The cool air bites at my skin as I pull my hood low over my head, my footsteps quickening toward the campfire.

Alias and Gwyn sit side by side on a log, their knives gleaming as they sharpen them, the crackle of the flames dancing around their figures.

I barely acknowledge them, my focus now on the tent where Gwyn had taken Celaena.

I follow the narrow path, my eyes already fixed on what lies ahead.

As I approach the tent, a figure emerges like a predator from the dark. Callum . His eyes gleam with a mix of amusement and something darker, something I can't quite place.

“Well, well, well… didn’t think you were the vengeful wife type,” he drawls, tilting his head.