Page 73 of The Violet Raven

But—stubborn as ever—I don’t listen. “Marcus provoked Callan, but if he’d stop looking for a fight every time Marcus so much as breathes, it wouldn’t have got so out of hand!”

“Out of hand?” His voice is a low growl, simmering with an anger that seems to shake the ground beneath us. “You think yer brother was just lookin’ for a reason to pick a fight in front of all of those people?”

“Well, no—”

“Open yer eyes. Callan’s not just pickin’ fights for the sake of it, and he damn sure isnae doin’ it for selfish reasons!”

I cross my arms, feeling a chill settle in my expression. “Callan’s never approved of Marcus; he’s always jumping to the worst conclusions. Marcus is respectful. Kind.”

Finn’s fists clench, every muscle in his body pulled taut. He draws a slow, deliberate breath, as if wrestling down something volatile.

“Respectful?” he echoes, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “That’s what you think?”

The silence that follows crackles, brittle and bruised.

“You didnae seem so fond of him when we spoke the other day—and look how quickly that changed.”

I open my mouth to speak—to tell him he’s wrong, that he didn’t see what he thought he did, that I’m not fond of Marcus, that none of it was what it seemed—

But I don’t get the chance.

The moment the anger overtakes him, it swallows everything else.

“You think so highly of a man who takes liberties with you in public not once, but twice. Ye’re so blind to him—it’s as if you dinnae ken yerself anymore.”

Finn’s face is taut with frustration, and his voice is filled with unmistakable disappointment. “And the way you talk about yer brother? Against yer brother… All I hear is someone who’s blind to how lucky she is. Yer family loves you, given you everything—protection, a home, love—and yet here you are, soundin’ as if it’s all some burden, because they want the world for you.”

Shame and regret are all I know at this moment. He’s relentless, his gaze hard. “Ye’re actin’ like a wee bairn, Triona. Throwin’ their care back in their faces like it’s something to be ashamed of. I’d have given anything to have parents half as decent as yers, and I’d have been grateful for it every damned day.”

A fierce defensive anger fuelled by embarrassment spurs me into action before I can stop myself. “You’re just like Callan. It’s why you’re both alone—because you can’t stand the idea of anyone not needing you, so you smother people under the farce that it’s for their own damn good!”

My voice cracks, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

“You both need to find other ways to occupy your time that doesn’t involve being completely and unabashedly unnecessary.”

His face drains of colour, the weight of my words pressing down like stones.

I open my mouth to take it back, to say anything and undo the damage, but the words won’t come, tangled in the knot of my regret. As he looks away, his regard distant, it’s as if he is already pulling himself out of my reach. I feel a sudden, hollow ache in my chest.

When he finally speaks, his voice is dangerously soft. “If that’s how you feel... then all this talk is cheap, and I’m done. I’m done tryin’ to make you see it. Maybe one day ye’ll realise what ye’ve got before it’s too late.”

He turns on his heel, his steps firm and unhesitant, the lines of his shoulders tense as he walks away, every step widening the space between us. There’s no hesitation, no glance back—just a finality that settles in the silence, heavy and unforgiving.

I stand frozen, the space between us filled with everything I wish I hadn’t said, and every word I wish I could take back. It feels as if I’ve just rebuilt the walls between us, stone by painful stone. Walls I may never break through again.

A sinking horror grips me as I realise that I’ve wounded him in a way that echoes back to the time before he came here.

During a time when a frightened, lonely child spent years wondering if he’d ever feel the tender touch of a hand, instead of the biting strike of a drunkard.

Before he knew the love my parents pour into these halls.

Before he felt the bond of brotherhood with Callan and Casey.

Before us—our heartfelt friendship we spent so much time nurturing. One we’ve shared so freely. One I felt getting stronger.

He isn’t unnecessary. He never could be.

Telling him otherwise—seeing that devastation in his eyes—might be a cruelty I’ll never forgive myself for.