Chapter 257: Heated Argument
When everyone had stepped out, the atmosphere became even more tense. No one understood why Donovan wanted to see Acheron alone– especially now, when they should be doing something, anything to get him in better shape before they reach the shores of Mariana.
Even Esme looked as confused as the rest.
Althea sat on a barrel nearby, her guilt crushing whatever was left of her optimism. She had been too afraid to go in, to face him when he was clearly in so much pain. It’s just that... she’s never seen Acheron so down before.
He was always the lively one among the group, and now this happened to him. She found it unfair that he was going through such torment all by himself.
When Revana approached her, quietly leaning against the edge, her arms folded as she pondered on the severity of the matter at hand, she could hear her sister catch her breath.
"Why... Why do you think Don wants to see Archer?" she asked, her voice trembling.
The tears she had been holding back finally slipped free, streaking down her cheeks. The air felt uncomfortably cold, whilst she shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arm for warmth. Her eyes shook as she desperately tried to think of something more positive to say.
"Maybe since Archer is already half-demon, the dark waters won’t have that much effect on him, right? That could be possible, and maybe that’s what Don went to tell him. Acheron will be fine again. But... he must have been in so much pain for the past few days. This... this is all my fault. He was dragged under cause I wasn’t fast enough to move away."
Althea had always despised her imperfections. She had never been the strongest on the team, and no matter how much she tried to compensate with optimism, it never seemed enough. That was why she poured everything she had into mastering her bow, cause if she could not lead with strength, then she’d at least contribute through skill. Her second gift had always been speed, but even that had failed her when it mattered most.
Why hadn’t she moved?
Why hadn’t she reacted fast enough?
Revana opened her mouth, only to close them shut again. There was nothing she could say that Althea would truly hear right now. So instead, she drew her sister close, guiding Althea’s head to rest against her abdomen as she gently combed her fingers through her hair.
"He’ll be fine."
Even as she said it, Revana wasn’t sure she believed herself.
"Acheron’s a stubborn weed," she added softly. "He always survives."
No one knew how much time had passed before the door finally opened and Donovan stepped out. He halted when he saw the other still lingering outside the cabin. As if on cue, every head turned toward him.
He didn’t say a word to them and only motioned for Lothar, murmuring a few words to him before he turned to leave. Esme hesitated only for a moment before going after him.
Lothar then moved to Revana, and he relayed the instructions Donovan had given. Her brows knit together as she shot Lothar with a questioning look.
******
"Don, what is going on?"
Esme demanded the moment he entered his study, following close behind and shutting the door with a decisive click.
She was getting tired of this– his strange, distant behavior, the evasive looks, the way he always seemed to be hiding something from everyone. If she didn’t speak up now, this secretive streak of his would only keep festering.
He only looked at her, expression unreadable.
"What?"
"What?"
Esme echoed incredulously, staring at him as if he’d just said the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. One of his closest friends is in a critical state, and everyone is worried. But he’s asking her ’what?’
Folding her arms, she fixed him with a hard look.
"Fine. What did you discuss with Acheron?"
Donovan moved to his table and was staring at the papers that were marked with unfinished routes and hurried notes.
"It was a private conversation between an Alpha and his gamma," he said at last, his voice clipped and final.
"A private conversation?" She shot back, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "In the state he’s in? You said it yourself that once we reach Mariana tonight, we have to be fully prepared. Tell me, does he look ready for anything out there? He needs help."
She stepped closer, her tone rising. "Acheron drank the waters, Donovan. We have no idea what that does to a half-demon, and the ship isn’t equipped for any of this. After seeing what happened to those sirens, the result of this will inflict more fears on the others. If there’s something you know you have to tell me. I also noticed you shut me out. I understand everyone has their own internal conflicts to deal with, but I think it’s fair for me to say that I also need to know the reason behind why you’d do that, considering we always share everything together."
Donovan finally looked up, his frustration breaking through the mask he’d been holding. "What do you want me to do?" He snapped. "I’m not a magician. My powers have limits too, and I’m already juggling more than you think."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "His condition is beyond our control. I can’t fix it, and I don’t owe you a report for every breath I take. If it’s necessary, I’ll let you know. But right now, there’s nothing more I can give you."
The silence that followed was taut, the air between them charged with words neither of them dared to say.
Rather than saying anything else, Esme turned and exited his study. Her name hung at the tip of his tongue, but the words never came out. The door shut with a loud bang, and Donovan closed his eyes in regret.
This was... the first time they had raised their voices, not for, but against each other.
"Damn it."
He sank back in his chair, elbows on the desk, his fingers raking through his hair as the wait of it hit him. The silence she left behind felt heavier than any shout.
"I can’t..." he exhaled, his voice breaking into a whisper. "I can’t keep doing this."
Like he wasn’t already dealing with enough, the stupid fever decided to come back. Heat crawled beneath his skin, turning his cheeks faintly red as sweat gathered at his temples. He rested his forehead against the cool surface of the table, hoping it might dull the ache pounding in his head.