Cloaked Heart (Silent Moments Series: Book 3)

Chapter 17

Once in her room, we lay down together, my head resting on her chest. The gentle rhythm of her heartbeat and the soothing motion of her hand running through my hair provided a calming counterpoint to the whirlwind of emotions I was experiencing.

Breaking the silence, Lexa spoke up, acknowledging my loss. "I know how much you loved her," she said, her words gentle yet laden with meaning.

"She was my everything. Before you, Clarke, Raven, and Finn were all that I cared about, the only people I would give my life for," I began, my voice a mixture of fondness and sorrow. I shared the story of how Clarke and I had met – an unlikely bond formed in a prison on the Ark, a testament to the complex and often cruel reality of our former home.

"You met your sister in a prison? Why weren't you raised together?" Lexa inquired, her curiosity piqued by the unusual circumstances of our family's history.

I explained the harsh laws of the Ark, the circumstances of my arrest for simply being born a second child, and the tragic fate of our father – turned in by our own mother and subsequently executed. It was a tale of loss, betrayal, and resilience, revealing the layers of hardship that had shaped both Clarke's and my life.

"So you've been a fighter since day one. If you don't mind me asking, who raised you?" Lexa asked, her interest genuine.

I spoke of Ella and Max Foster, the couple who had become my true parents in every sense but blood. They were my family, the ones who had provided love and stability in a world where such things were rare commodities. I also shared my connection with Finn, my best friend and brother in all but name, whose loss was another painful chapter in my life. Lexa's question about Finn brought a shadow of guilt to her eyes, a reflection of the complex and often painful decisions she had been forced to make as Heda. I reassured her, acknowledging the difficult choices she had faced and expressing my understanding and forgiveness.

As the conversation wound down, Lexa's concern shifted to my well-being. "You should go to sleep, I'll be right here when you wake up," she offered, her tone both caring and protective.

"Okay, but you need to sleep too," I responded, wrapping my arms around her waist in a gesture of mutual comfort. In that embrace, we found a temporary refuge from the storm of emotions and events that had engulfed us. It was a moment of quiet connection, a shared understanding that, for now, we could find solace in each other's presence, even as the world outside continued to pose challenges and uncertainties.

As Lexa continued to gently run her fingers through my hair, the soothing motion gradually eased the tumultuous storm of emotions within me. Her touch was a calming presence, anchoring me in the present as my mind grappled with the day's harrowing events. Eventually, her care and the exhaustion from the day's emotional upheaval coaxed me into a restless sleep. In the realm of dreams, my mind replayed the potential reactions of my people to Clarke's death. Each imagined face was etched with grief and shock, reflecting the devastating impact Clarke's loss would have on everyone who knew her. These dreams, vivid and poignant, were a reminder of the deep connections and the sense of community that bound us together, even in the face of tragedy.

Despite the strained relationship with my mother, Abby, the dreams brought a stark realization of how much I needed her now. The loss of Clarke – one of the few people who truly cared for me – left a gaping void, and in these moments of vulnerability, the desire for a mother's comfort and understanding was overwhelming. It was a reluctant admission of the need for familial support, a longing for a connection that had been complicated by past issues. Waking from these emotionally charged dreams, I found Lexa crouched beside the bed, her face close to mine. Her presence, a silent vigil throughout the night, was a testament to the depth of her care and concern. There was a certain vulnerability in her posture, a rare glimpse of the woman behind the mantle of Heda.