THE EDGE OF REGRET.

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Volume 2, Chapter 76 – The Edge of Regret.

Vincent barely slept.

Every time he closed his eyes, all he could hear was Zane's voice.

"Then let me show you."

It wasn't a demand. Wasn't a plea.

It was a promise.

And Vincent had walked away from it.

Now the words echoed in his skull, relentless and unshakable. They followed him into every shadow, settled under his skin like a wound that wouldn't heal.

He sat on the edge of the bed, fingers pressed against his temples, exhaustion clawing at the edges of his mind. He hadn't moved from this spot in hours, and yet, he felt restless.

Unsettled.

Like something inside him had cracked, and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, he could still feel the sharp edges digging into him.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

This wasn't him.

This shouldn't be him.

But it was.

Because no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise, Zane had carved a space inside him. A space Vincent wasn't sure he'd ever be able to fill with anything—or anyone—else.

And now?

Now that space felt empty.

A knock at the door made him tense.

Not Zane.

He knew that before he even looked up.

Zane wouldn't knock.

The door opened a second later, and Cain stepped in, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Vincent sighed. "What do you want?"

Cain leaned against the wall. "You look like shit."

Vincent let out a humorless laugh. "Thanks."

Cain didn't smile. Didn't so much as smirk.

He just watched him.

And that? That was almost worse.

Vincent exhaled sharply, leaning forward. "If you came here to lecture me—"

"Not a lecture," Cain cut in. "Just a question."

Vincent frowned. "What?"

Cain's gaze didn't waver. "Do you regret it?"

The room felt colder.

Vincent's fingers curled into fists against his knees. "Regret what?"

Cain tilted his head. "Letting him walk away."

Silence.

Vincent's breath was too loud in his ears.

Too sharp.

Too uneven.

His jaw clenched. "It doesn't matter."

Cain exhaled slowly. "That's not an answer."

Vincent stood abruptly, tension radiating from every inch of him. "I don't know what you want me to say."

Cain pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "I don't want you to say anything, Vincent. I just want you to be honest with yourself."

Vincent swallowed hard.

Because that—that was the problem.

The truth was already there. Already choking him.

But saying it?

Admitting it?

That was a whole different battle.

Cain didn't wait for a response.

He just sighed, shaking his head. "You already have your answer," he said quietly. "Now the question is—what the hell are you going to do about it?"

Then he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Vincent didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Because Cain was right.

He did have his answer.

And if he didn't do something about it soon—

He might not get another chance.

Vincent exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. His pulse was too fast, his thoughts tangled.

His chest ached.

And he hated that.

He hated that Cain was right. That every time he tried to shut this down, it just pushed back harder.

Vincent stood, pacing the length of the room, fingers twitching at his sides.

He shouldn't feel like this.

Like he'd lost something—like something vital had been torn from him.

It was ridiculous.

Zane wasn't gone.

He was still here, still in the safe house, still—

Vincent stopped, a sharp breath catching in his throat.

For now.

Zane was still here for now.

But what about tomorrow?

Or the day after that?

Or a week from now, when Vincent had pushed him one time too many?

His chest tightened.

Because for the first time, he let himself think about it.

About what it would feel like to wake up and know—really know—that Zane wasn't coming back.

That he had finally given up.

That Vincent had let him slip away.

And suddenly, the ache in his chest wasn't just uncomfortable anymore.

It was unbearable.

Vincent pressed a hand against his sternum, inhaling sharply.

He needed air.

Needed space.

Needed—

His feet were moving before he could stop himself.

The door swung open, and he stepped out into the hall, his pulse hammering, his mind racing.

Because suddenly, there was only one thing he needed to do.

And if he didn't do it now—

He might never get the chance.

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