It was the calmness in Kieran's voice. The look in his eyes.
Jude felt himself frozen in it, the colour draining from his face, a numbness creeping through his limbs at the task of trying to fathom this new truth.
He pushed off from his knees to combat the feeling, the cloth now slipping to the floor from his slackened grasp, forgotten. He almost felt dizzy to be standing, his thoughts violently awhirl. It was the truth, wasn't it? His first instinct would otherwise have been to protest it, to challenge Kieran's recollections, find a loophole, exonerate him from some false spiral of guilt - maybe this had happened, maybe that, maybe - but it had been long enough since then; there had been plenty of time spent dwelling on it for Kieran to do so himself, if he could. Instead, he was here, perfectly serious, perfectly calm: he was sure. He'd gotten loose that very night. And he'd been writing to her.
A wealth of new questions flooded in, most pressing among them you didn't tell her this, did you? Jude could feel his pulse in his neck, erratic with every new realisation of horror, dread and dismay. This couldn't - it couldn't... It had been the spark, the final nail in the coffin of Urquart's administration. All that time they'd spent talking about it... And if Kieran had gotten out before - it had nearly happened last night - it could plainly happen again to someone else. No; that could be avoided. But this? This couldn't be undone. The poor girl.
And at the same time as all of that, Kieran's position was more perilous than ever. (If anyone found out -)
Jude had meant to step back, or turn away, as if pacing would help clear his head. He found he'd barely moved at all; hadn't managed a word yet. He should say something, anything.
There was a lump in his throat that he did his best to swallow down.
"But you didn't." Kill her, at least. Small relief.
Jude felt himself frozen in it, the colour draining from his face, a numbness creeping through his limbs at the task of trying to fathom this new truth.
He pushed off from his knees to combat the feeling, the cloth now slipping to the floor from his slackened grasp, forgotten. He almost felt dizzy to be standing, his thoughts violently awhirl. It was the truth, wasn't it? His first instinct would otherwise have been to protest it, to challenge Kieran's recollections, find a loophole, exonerate him from some false spiral of guilt - maybe this had happened, maybe that, maybe - but it had been long enough since then; there had been plenty of time spent dwelling on it for Kieran to do so himself, if he could. Instead, he was here, perfectly serious, perfectly calm: he was sure. He'd gotten loose that very night. And he'd been writing to her.
A wealth of new questions flooded in, most pressing among them you didn't tell her this, did you? Jude could feel his pulse in his neck, erratic with every new realisation of horror, dread and dismay. This couldn't - it couldn't... It had been the spark, the final nail in the coffin of Urquart's administration. All that time they'd spent talking about it... And if Kieran had gotten out before - it had nearly happened last night - it could plainly happen again to someone else. No; that could be avoided. But this? This couldn't be undone. The poor girl.
And at the same time as all of that, Kieran's position was more perilous than ever. (If anyone found out -)
Jude had meant to step back, or turn away, as if pacing would help clear his head. He found he'd barely moved at all; hadn't managed a word yet. He should say something, anything.
There was a lump in his throat that he did his best to swallow down.
"But you didn't." Kill her, at least. Small relief.
