She stops walking, turning to face me. “This is our home, Mo. It was before they came, before they ruined it.” She gestures at the compound. “Look at what’s happening. People are rebuilding. They’re making something new out of what was broken.”
I shake my head. “After everything that happened here? All the horrible memories?”
“Those aren’t the only memories, though.” She points to a spot near what used to be the main hall. “That’s where Mom taught us to dance. And over there,” she points to a large oak tree, “that’s where we built that terrible treehouse that collapsed the first time you tried to climb into it.”
I laugh. “I broke my arm.”
“And cried for about thirty seconds before deciding you were going to build a better one.”
It’s the most she’s spoken since we found her. Her voice is stronger, her eyes brighter. For a moment, I can see Sophie from before. The strong one. The kind one. The one who always knew what to do.
“I want to help rebuild,” she says. “I want to make it like it was when we were children. When it was good.”
I nod, not committing to anything. “Let’s get you back for now. You need to rest.”
45
Darius
Iwatch her from the tree line.
She’s talking to rocks again. From here, I can’t hear what she’s saying, but it guts me.
Because I’m the reason she spent three years talking to rocks and sticks.
I’m the reason she had to survive all alone in the wilderness.
If I’d killed these males ten years ago instead of showing mercy, she never would have suffered. Sophie wouldn’t have been broken. Mo wouldn’t have been sewn shut and sold like livestock. Every scar on her body, every nightmare that wakes her screaming, every flinch when someone moves too fast, that’s on me.
“You can’t stand out here forever.”
Archer. I didn’t hear him approach. Which means he didn’t want me to.
“I’m not standing here. I’m keeping watch.”
“You’re torturing yourself.”
“Same thing.”
He sighs. “She’s forgiven you, you know. Or she’s trying to.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
“Probably not.” He’s always honest. It’s why he’s my second. “But she’s giving it anyway. Don’t waste it.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Go talk to her. Stop lurking in the woods like a creep.”
“What would I even say?”
“Start with ‘I’m sorry.’ Move on to ‘I love you.’ See where it goes from there.”
I stare at him. “I can’t—”
“You can. You’re just scared.” He pushes me forward. “Go.”
I take three steps forward. Then stop.
She deserves better than this. Better than me.