19. Ava

AVA

“ I ’ve been thinking about moral responsibility,” I began, my voice softer than I intended.

I sat across from Dr. Vale, my hands folded in my lap, the weight of the small box on my bedside table still pressing on my chest like a stone.

I could feel Dr. Vale’s sharp eyes on me, waiting, watching with that calm, measured gaze that always unnerved me.

We were back in his campus office which always felt to me like a Victorian living room with its soothing forest-green walls and wood paneling, low comfortable couches, and faded floral armchairs.

A bookcase took up the entire back wall behind his desk, filled with leather-bound books and antique medical instruments.

His office smelled of old books and lavender from the lovely purple plants sitting in his window boxes.

This office usually made me feel comfortable, the heavy emerald curtains muting the outside world. But today I was tense and wound up.

I cleared my throat and forced myself to meet his eyes.

“When someone we know does something wrong,” I said, “something terrible, are we obligated to act? To do something about it? Even if they did the misguided thing… for us?”

Dr. Vale tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate. “That’s a complex question, Ava. Morality is often subjective, shaped by circumstance.”

I let out a long breath and snatched one of the tiny almond cookies he’d laid out on a silver platter along with cups of tea.

“Not helpful, Doc,” I muttered around the nutty sweet and buttery biscuit.

Dr. Vale merely smiled, his lips thinning. “Are you struggling with something specific?”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, the memory of my stalker’s face flashing behind my eyes, his lips curved into that dangerous smile, the one that made my pulse quicken.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my fingers tightening on the fabric of my wool skirt.

“What if…” I tried again, “someone hurt someone else… for me. To protect me.”

Dr. Vale didn’t flinch at my question, as if he dealt in moral dilemmas every day. He probably did.

“So,” he said, rubbing the end of his fountain pen against the small divot in his chin, “you’re talking about self-defense.”

“Yes…” Cormac’s eye staring at me from within the je welry box flashed through my mind and I winced. “No. What he did was more… a warped form of justice.”

“He?” Dr. Vale tilted his head.

I waved my hand and let out a fake laugh. “Theoretically, I mean. If someone… if he did something to another person in order to protect me.”

Dr. Vale took a sip of his tea before replacing it on the saucer next to his armchair. “And in this… protection… you believe he crossed a line?”

“Not just believe. I know he did.” The words came out sharper than I intended. I quickly lowered my gaze, ashamed of the tremor in my voice. “I have proof. Physical proof. So I should… turn him in, right? So why does that feel… wrong?”

I glanced up, searching Dr. Vale’s face for any sign of judgment, but all I saw was that calm, steady mask he always wore.

“Ava, morality often presents itself in shades of gray,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “What you feel may conflict with what you know is right, but acting on instinct or guilt doesn’t always lead to justice.”

I blinked, my heart sinking. “But if I don’t do anything… doesn’t that make me complicit?”

His eyes softened, just slightly. “Are you protecting yourself, or are you protecting someone you care about?”

“I guess I want to protect him.”

“Even though you think what he did was wrong?”

“Yes… No…” My voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe?”

Dr. Vale shifted in his seat and studied me. “Ava, what makes therapy work is the bravery to speak freely. I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to guide you. So…? ”

I sat there, my hands twisting in my lap, trying to find the words.

The large office felt too small, too heavy with everything I wasn’t saying.

Dr. Vale watched me, waiting, as if he could see straight through me. I hated how calm he looked, how easily he seemed to read the confusion swirling in my head.

“I… I should turn him in,” I finally said, the words coming out flat, but my voice didn’t carry the conviction I wanted it to. “He hurt someone. He went too far. I know that…”

I paused, my throat tight.

The real truth, the one I could barely admit to myself, sat just under the surface, waiting to be dragged out.

“But?” Dr. Vale prompted.

“But part of me…” I trailed off, my chest tightening as the words struggled to come out. “Part of me likes that he did it. For me.”

Dr. Vale’s expression didn’t change, but I could feel his gaze sharpen, waiting for me to continue.

“I know it’s twisted,” I continued, my voice softer now. “But the way he stepped in, the way he punished this person for threatening me… I can’t help but feel—”

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts.

“Go on, Ava,” Dr. Vale urged, but there wasn’t a hint of judgment in his voice.

I guess that’s what made me feel safe enough to confess.

“I feel safe. Even though I shouldn’t. I should be scared. But instead, I feel protected. And that scares me even more.”

The weight of my own confession settled heavily on my chest .

“How can I feel this way?” I said, my voice rising as I rubbed my palm back and forth over my wool skirt. “He’s dangerous. I know he’s dangerous… How can I like that he’s willing to hurt people for me?”

I closed my eyes, my voice barely a whisper. “What the fuck does that say about me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Ava. We’re wired to respond to that kind of care, even if it’s twisted.”

I sank back into my chair, gripping my teacup in my hands, trying to let the warmth of the ceramic soothe me. “Really?”

“But…” Dr. Vale leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing, as if the gravity of what he was about to say weighed heavily even on him. “You need to remember that actions—no matter the intent—have consequences. He may have been protecting you, in his own way, but if he chose violence, it’s crossing a line that, if left unchecked, could only get worse.”

“He’d never hurt me,” I said, my voice vehement.

Dr. Vale’s voice dropped lower, more serious now. “Ava, giving him the choice to turn himself in doesn’t mean betraying him. It means giving him the opportunity to face the consequences and make a different choice. A chance to stop before it’s too late.

“But if you don’t… you may not like what happens next.”

A strong wind rushed through the trees as I emerged from the building of Dr. Vale’s campus office .

My dark hair lashed my heated cheeks as I fumbled in my purse for my cell phone.

Students with upturned collars and squinched faces ran for cover as big drops splattered the bricks. They caught my shoulders as they hurried past and though I was jostled this way and that, I did not move from the very center of the path.

I ignored the rain and typed with gritted teeth that jolted every time I stomped my heels into the brick:

Me: I got your ‘gift.’

He replied immediately.

Scáth: How are you planning on thanking me?

Scáth: Blow jobs are always welcome.

Me: It’s sick. You’re sick.

Scáth: Don’t lie. You loved my gift more than jewelry.

Me: If you don’t turn yourself in… I’m going to the police.

I pressed Send and a big drop of rain hit the screen, blurring the words.

I’d wait until Ebony got home from her trip. If he hadn’t turned himself in by then, I’d tell her what happened, show her the evidence.

She’d know what to do.

She’d call the commissioner to send a detective to the house. Someone had to believe me. I’d show them the eye. They’d get fingerprints off the box or something. They’d reinterview Cormac. He’d have to tell them the truth.

Still, this decision sat like a lead weight in my stomach.

Up ahead, the wrought-iron gate at the campus entrance banged noisily in the wind and I jolted. There was no one around to secure it in place .

The sky churned as it shifted into a darker and darker gray.

Gloved hands grabbed me and wrenched me around so I was facing away from my attacker. Pinned to a massive chest, I was dragged between the last two buildings on the edge of campus.

A white van waited with its back doors open, like gaping jaws.

Oh God. I was being kidnapped.