Sanctuary [h.s.]

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Though you got my hopes up

And now I'm annoyed

You thought you could charm me

And, damn it, you're right"

***

Tonight, I went to the pub with Olivia and Ryder, marking the first time in weeks that all three of us had been there together. Olivia, for the most part, seemed like her old self again. The weight that had clung to her seemed lighter, though she still hadn't mentioned Harry. In fact, I noticed she was more attentive towards me, checking in with a kind of quiet concern she hadn't shown before. I couldn't help but wonder if she, like me, had been battling her own form of denial, clinging to any semblance of normalcy she could find.

We settled at the bar, side by side, and for the first time in a while, it felt easy. Conversation flowed naturally, laughter punctuating the steady hum of the pub around us. Ryder, when not under Harry's pressure, was surprisingly laid-back and good company. It was one of those rare moments where, despite everything going on, things felt almost right.

After some drinks, Olivia, energised by the alcohol and perhaps by a need for distraction, suggested we all go dance. She was persuasive, as always, and as I began to stand from the barstool, something caught my eye. Across the room, leaning against the counter, was Harry. His appearance was a far cry from the confident figure he once cut—his hair was slightly mussed, his clothes a bit rumpled, and there was a heaviness in the way he moved, like he carried the weight of a thousand thoughts.

"I'll be right there," I told Olivia, who had also spotted him. She met my gaze with a knowing smile, one that conveyed both understanding and a hint of concern, before she and Ryder drifted toward the dance floor.

I made my way over to Harry and slipped onto the stool beside him. He glanced up, his expression flickering with surprise, though his grip on his glass remained steady.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and weariness.

"Came with Olivia and Ryder," I replied, offering a small, tentative smile.

He nodded, then wordlessly ordered a drink for me. I thanked him as the bartender slid the glass across the counter, its sweet, familiar taste grounding me for a moment. As I sipped, I could feel the tension that seemed to envelop Harry, his thoughts swirling in that intangible space between us.

After a moment, I gathered the courage to bring up what had been sitting on my mind. "I wanted to ask you about Silas's ritual," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "You've been thinking about it, right?"

Harry's gaze flickered with something I couldn't quite place. "The thing that's going to decide my fate forever?" he said with a dry laugh, tinged with bitterness. "Yeah, it's been on my mind—why?"

I hesitated, glancing down at my lap. "Sorry, that was a dumb question," I said quickly, feeling the weight of my own awkwardness. "I guess I just wanted to know where your head's at. We haven't really talked about it, and I just... I don't know what your plan is."

Harry leaned back slightly, staring into the middle distance as if the answer lay somewhere in the haze of the pub's dim lighting. "Well, in theory, it's simple," he said after a pause. "Destroy Silas. Stop the ritual. But that's assuming... we want to stop it." His words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved.

I frowned, my eyebrows knitting together. "Want to?" I repeated, trying to make sense of what he was implying.

Harry shrugged, swirling his drink casually as if we were discussing something trivial. "What? I've obviously thought about it. If I was the one who completed the ritual, I'd have such power," he said, his tone more matter-of-fact than conflicted. "And I could walk in the sun without the ring." His eyes gleamed with a hint of temptation, as if the thought had taken root and grown deep within him.