Live to Venture (#0)

35 | The Disappearance of Adventure

It was dark again, but this darkness felt different.

Novari crept into his room again, hours after she'd been let out. He hadn't let her out himself, but he'd sent Rusher to move the desk like he said he would. She'd gone down to the corner room and hidden from him until it was dark, but now she was back in his room. His room, not hers, not theirs. His bed, his window, his desk. His ship.

He was there, sleeping silently on his back, the edge of his jawline sharp in the moonlight. Novari made her way over, placed a knee on the mattress, causing his weight to shift. He let out a long sigh as he woke up.

When she laid her head on his chest, he lifted his arm, pulling her closer.

"I wouldn't leave," she whispered into the darkness. "I'm sorry."

She felt him nod above her. She felt the anger and the sadness and the hurt leak from him.

Then she waited. She waited so desperately to hear him say, 'I'll give you strategist,' or even, 'It kills me to see you receiving less than you deserve.' She waited for him to say anything to convince her to tear up her plan and throw it to the wind.

"I love you," he muttered back. He'd fallen back asleep, knowing she'd be there in the morning.

To her, those words had long since lost their meaning. They meant nothing to her anymore—not when he could show them in a thousand different ways. 'I love you' wasn't as strong in that moment as 'I'll give you what you deserve.'

She laid there, his arms loosening as he drifted further to sleep, his breathing deep and rhythmic. It was calming and comforting, the silence that moment held. It was easy and beautiful. Her, laying there with the man that loved her, that would protect her for as long as he lived.

But it wasn't enough.

She sat up slowly, his arm falling back down to the blankets. She was careful not to let anything creak as she glanced over at him, the moonlight draping his features. He was an beautiful man, but in the anticipation of this things she was about to do, he became even more beautiful, even harder to leave.

Some part of her hoped he would catch her leaving, that he would open his eyes and demand to know what she was doing. She just wanted one more chance at this.

But he stayed asleep, ocean eyes lost to her forever. She reached forward, hovered her finger over the bridge of his nose, over his lips. If only he could sleep like this, in his peace, forever. If only he wouldn't have to wake up a find it all gone again.

She drew away, placing her feet onto the ground, not making a sound. She slipped them into her boots and pulled on her coat. She glanced at his, hanging from the bedpost. She ran her fingers over the material.

She dropped a piece of paper into the pocket. She'd written it that evening, in the candlelight of her room. There wasn't much on it, just one Siren phrase, Halleveire monere.

He'd brought it up first. He'd been the one to tell her to live. So here she was, using it as an excuse to leave him. Maybe he would understand.

She held onto the coat for a moment, refusing to glance back over at him. She closed the door softly behind her.

In the drawer of his desk, she pulled out his mother's ring. She slipped it on her finger, watched it sparkle in the moonlight. She wanted to take it, to keep it. If he wanted to marry someone else, he could buy her a new one.

She dropped it back into the drawer. It wasn't hers. It could've been, but she chose otherwise out of her own free will. Maybe, in his heartbreak, he'd go back to that port, find that girl, Mona. Maybe he'd finally buy her a house, give her stability. Maybe she'd have his son.