Sam remained standing near the door, his presence a quiet reminder of the tangled web she was now caught in. His eyes met hers, his expression unreadable, yet there was an intensity in his gaze that seemed to see through her, stripping away every layer she tried to keep intact.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice calm, but there was a faint undercurrent of something she couldn't quite place.
Verina's heart hammered in her chest, the words she'd heard from Aleris still echoing in her mind like a maddening refrain. She wanted to scream, to cry, but she felt trapped in her own body, unable to release the torrent of emotions crashing against the walls of her mind.
"I... I don't know anymore," she whispered, the confession slipping from her lips before she could stop it. Her voice cracked, raw with vulnerability. It felt like a betrayal, even to herself, to admit just how lost she truly was.
Sam said nothing. The silence between them stretched on, heavy and suffocating, as if the world outside the church no longer existed. Verina's thoughts churned in a storm of confusion, anger, and disbelief. Aleris's words gnawed at her like an itch she couldn't reach. You and I, we are bound by blood. Her mother's sacrifice, the hidden truths about her past—it was all coming to light too fast, too violently.
"You don't have to believe him," Sam's voice broke through the spiral of her thoughts, a calm anchor in the storm. "Aleris is a master of manipulation. Don't let him control you. He will say anything to gain trust—"
"Stop," Verina snapped, her anger flaring. She clenched her fists, but the heat of her fury was only a fleeting shield against the cold, gnawing doubt creeping into her heart. "How do you know so much about him? About what he wants from me? You know more than you're letting on. And why do you change so much, every time I see you? Every time, you're someone else. Every time, you leave me with more questions than answers. Why do you keep coming here?"
Her voice trembled at the end, betraying the fear that bubbled beneath her frustration. She didn't understand it—didn't understand him. Sam's constant shifting, his cryptic presence, his avoidance of her questions—it was maddening.
He tilted his head slightly, as if her words were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. For a moment, he didn't answer, and then, with deliberate slowness, he stepped forward. Each of his steps seemed to resonate with a quiet strength, a power in his restraint that Verina could not ignore.
Verina clenched her fists tighter, her nails digging into her palms. She needed answers. She needed him to say something, anything. "Say something! Don't just stand there like you know everything! You don't even—"
"I don't know," Sam interrupted, his voice low but steady. It wasn't defensive, nor was it apologetic. It was raw—stripped of the careful masks he'd worn before. "I don't know why I'm here."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and unexpected. They caught her off guard, the anger deflating from her chest, replaced by a hollow confusion. She stared at him, searching his face for some sign of deceit, some smirk or hidden agenda. But there was nothing. His gaze was unguarded, even vulnerable in a way that unsettled her more than it reassured her.
"I'm not playing with you," he said after a beat, as though he had read her thoughts. His gaze dropped briefly, almost imperceptibly, to her hands, which had relaxed at her sides. "And I'm not here to confuse you. At least, that's not my intention."
Verina's breath hitched. She had heard enough lies and manipulations to last a lifetime—especially from Aleris. But Sam was different. His words were not calculated, and that frightened her more than she cared to admit.
"Then what is your intention?" she demanded, her voice quieter now, but no less charged with the weight of her questions. She couldn't let go of the unanswered ones.
Sam hesitated, the smallest crack in his composure, his brow furrowing slightly. He shifted his weight, eyes flicking to the altar, then back to her, as if the answer might be carved into the stone itself. Finally, he exhaled, a sound almost like a sigh.
"Maybe it was curiosity," he said, almost to himself. "At first." He paused, and for a fleeting moment, there was something more in his eyes—a flicker of something vulnerable, something human. "But then... I don't know."
Verina's chest tightened. The admission unsettled her, leaving her grappling with more questions than ever. She had expected him to have all the answers, to fit neatly into the categories she had placed him in—ally, enemy, enigma. But instead, he was a contradiction. He was the question she couldn't answer.
"You don't know," she echoed, disbelief coating her words. "That's all you can say?"
He finally met her eyes again, and this time, there was something different in his gaze. Something unguarded. He took another step closer, his movements quieter now, almost tentative, as if he were navigating the fragile ground between them with care.
"I've spent my life knowing everything, Verina," he said, his voice carrying an edge that wasn't there before. "Every rule. Every expectation. Every move in the game before it's played. And yet, here I am, standing in a church, trying to understand why I keep coming back."
Verina's breath caught, the weight of his words settling on her chest like a shroud. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. She wasn't sure if it was fear or something else—some dark, unfamiliar understanding that made the air feel thicker between them.
Her mind reeled. The truth was elusive. Sam was as much a puzzle as everything else in her life—a collection of broken pieces she couldn't quite fit together. And in that moment, she didn't know whether to run, to scream, or to simply break.
The church felt too silent now. Too still. It was as if time had paused, holding its breath with her.