Chapter 620: The Weight of What We Know

Annabeth stayed rooted. There was something different in his voice. It wasn’t teasing or playful. This sounded heavier.

And she couldn’t explain why—there were many things she couldn’t explain when it came to her reaction to him—but her chest tightened.

She turned back to look at him, and he was staring right at her, his eyes clouded—and it was obviously not just from the alcohol. That much was clear to her.

She had noticed there was something bothering him when she saw him earlier, but this... whatever it was, it was more than she had imagined.

Annabeth swallowed, then walked back to him slowly. She couldn’t leave him alone in this condition after all.

He looked fragile at the moment, like he might break with one wrong word.

She stopped in front of him, then lowered herself to sit beside him again.

This time, she didn’t leave as much space between them.

Her voice, when she spoke, was softer.

"What’s wrong?"

Ronan didn’t answer immediately.

He tilted his head back slightly, his gaze lifting to the night sky. He noticed the moon wasn’t as bright as it usually was, or perhaps it was just his eyes deceiving him—he wasn’t sure. The snow continued falling softly around them.

"Why is fate cruel?" he asked suddenly.

Annabeth blinked, her brows furrowing slightly as she stared at him—but he wasn’t looking at her, his gaze was still cast upwards.

"Why is life cruel?" he continued, his voice quieter now. "Why does it affect the good ones?"

Annabeth didn’t interrupt him.

She just watched him and listened.

"Why are good people always dealt the wrong hand?" he asked again. "Why is it that when people start moving on... they get dragged back?"

His grip on the wineskin tightened slightly.

"Why does everything have to hurt so much, even when we pretend it doesn’t?"

The last question came out almost like a whisper.

And for a moment, there was silence.

Annabeth studied him. This was not the version of Ronan she was used to seeing. She had seen glimpses of him being serious—when Orion had collapsed—but that wasn’t this.

This Ronan was vulnerable.

This one was hurting.

And it bled through his voice.

He looked like he was holding in too much with nowhere to put it.

"I don’t know," she said finally.

Ronan let out a quiet, humorless chuckle.

"Of course you don’t."

"No," she said, shaking her head slightly. "I don’t know because there isn’t an answer to that."

That made him glance at her.

Her gaze didn’t waver.

"Life is unfair," she continued. "That’s it."

Ronan said nothing.

"It’s not balanced," she added. "It’s not kind. It doesn’t sit down and decide who deserves what."

Her fingers brushed lightly against the snow.

"I’m of the opinion that it’s like a game of luck."

Ronan’s eyes stayed on her now.

"Some people," she said softly, "are dealt the ugliest hands. From the very beginning."

She hadn’t expected to have this conversation when she came out. She had been having difficulty sleeping and had been roaming about, looking for a place to read the book she had taken from the library. It was a medical book too—but now, there was no helping it. Not after seeing Ronan like this.

"Some people are lucky," she continued. "They don’t see the ugly parts. They only see the good."

"And then there are people in between," she said after a pause.

Ronan’s gaze sharpened slightly.

"People who have to fight through everything before they get something good," she said.

"That’s where the Nightshade pack falls," she added. "And my pack too."

The words settled between them.

Ronan looked away again.

His jaw tightened slightly.

"Do you know about the enclave attack?" he asked after a moment.

Annabeth nodded.

"I do."

Her voice was steady.

"I also know the enclave attacked the Silvercreek pack because they shielded the Nightshade pack."

Ronan let out a slow breath.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

Silence stretched again.

Then he added—

"I killed him."

Annabeth blinked in shock. "What?"

"The one who killed my brother," he said. "The one who killed my mother. I killed him recently."

He paused.

"But the one who ordered it..." Ronan continued, his voice dropping slightly. "...she’s still alive."

Annabeth didn’t need to be told who he was talking about.

She too held a grudge against the same person who had destroyed her pack.

"I know," she said quietly.

Ronan gave a small nod.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I figured you would."

Another silence.

He shifted slightly, leaning his head back against the tree.

"You know Sophia has amnesia," he said.

Annabeth nodded again.

"I do."

He let out a slow breath, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say next.

"What would you do," he asked, "if you found out that someone who feels like a sister to you..."

He paused.

"...has ties to the person who destroyed your family?"

Annabeth froze.

Her eyes widened slightly.

For a second, she didn’t breathe.

Ronan watched her.

There was a sad smile on his lips now.

Annabeth’s mind raced. There was no way he was telling her that Sophia had ties to Victoria.

It couldn’t be.

Right?

"That can’t be," she said, shaking her head. "Sophia looks nothing like Victoria. I’ve seen Victoria. I’ve had the displeasure of having a conversation with her. And Sophia is so full of life, she’s kind... a spitfire, yes—but she’s kind, and respected, and—"

Ronan chuckled.

"That is true," he said softly.

Annabeth stared at the snow, then rubbed at her eyes.

Sophia hadn’t done anything to her.

But just knowing that she had ties to Victoria...

Her thoughts shifted dangerously for a second.

Maybe she could use Sophia to get to Victoria.

She paused.

Then immediately shook her head.

No.

That didn’t make any sense.

Sophia had done nothing to her. She wasn’t the one who destroyed their pack.

"...Well?" Ronan asked her.