Chapter 4: Confrontations and Collapses

When I got back to the mayor’s house, Caleb was at his desk, notes spread everywhere, a faint smile on his lips.

The old house on Maple Lane was quiet, sunlight streaming in. Caleb sat behind his oak desk, pen scratching, humming under his breath.

As soon as he saw me, the warmth vanished. He was back to his cold, distant self.

His eyes went hard, arms folded, all authority. "Is it done?"

I told him everything, ending with: "The councilman’s son’s leg is broken. The doctor says he might limp for life. The councilman will never let this go, sir."

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t mention the councilman again. Instead, his eyes swept over my wound, his expression softening just a little.

He frowned, eyes lingering on my bloodied shirt. For a second, he almost looked sorry.

"Alex, the situation was special then. I didn’t mean to do it."

Didn’t mean to?

My fingers trembled as I took the envelope. Seven years, and all I got was blue wrapping paper and a thank you card. I looked down at my ruined sleeve, blood crusted over, pain radiating. Didn’t mean to? If this wasn’t on purpose, what would be?

I forced a laugh, hollow. "You don’t need to explain."

He paused, studying me. "Are you blaming me?"

His voice was soft, almost vulnerable. For a second, I wondered if he even realized how much he’d changed.

I couldn’t help but look up at him.

The sun was setting, golden light catching on the scar beneath his left eye, making his face sharper, colder. He barely looked like the boy I’d once found crying in a blizzard.

My mind flashed to that snowy year, his eyes red as he clung to my sleeve.

"Alex, I beg you, don’t die. When we get out, whatever you want, I’ll give you."

Caleb’s moods really changed fast.

From panic to stone in a heartbeat. Maybe that’s what politics did to a man.

I sighed inside, stepped back, and answered, "Wouldn’t dare."

The words came out by habit—a reflex from years of swallowing disappointment.

The room fell silent. He picked up his pen again.

He didn’t meet my eyes, just buried himself in paperwork. The silence between us was thick as molasses.

Stars swam in my vision as I stood, so I interrupted him.

"Do you need anything else? If not, I’ll head out. The wound hurts so much, I might faint."

He actually laughed.

It was short, surprised—like he couldn’t believe I’d joke after all this.

"Alex, you’re not someone who’s afraid of pain. Up north, you took plenty of hits for me—why play this card now?"

He tried to tease, the old warmth almost coming through.

"All right, I know you’re just jealous today..."

Jealous, my ass. My vision went black and I fainted.

The last thing I saw was his panicked face as I toppled over, my arm catching the desk, dragging all his precious papers to the floor.

Before I blacked out, I aimed for his desk and brought down the whole mess. Let’s see you try writing now.