Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 137

Eve

The air was heavy, but I forced myself to look forward. At Jules. Her eyes were on me as well, unreadable in an eerie way.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but her hand came up.

"You don’t need to," she said. "It was not your fault. I’m just glad you are doing better."

I glanced down at the hands she folded in her lap. Every other part of her was as still as a statue, except for her fingers, which restlessly twisted together, betraying the calm expression she wore. The silence stretched between us, taut and thin, as if any wrong word might shatter it.

I wanted to believe her. That it wasn’t my fault. But the weight pressing against my chest didn’t lift.

"Jules…" I said her name softly, tasting the hesitation on my tongue. "I—"

Her fingers stilled. Her gaze flickered up to meet mine, sharp and searching.

"It’s in the past," she cut in, a small, practiced smile curving her lips. "No point dragging it out again, right?"

She was deflecting. I knew that smile too well. It was the same one I had given Hades countless times—the one that said I’m fine when I wasn’t.

"Maybe," I replied, though my voice lacked conviction. "But I still feel like I owe you an explanation."

Jules exhaled through her nose, a quiet breath, as if calming herself.

"Don’t," she insisted, her tone firmer now. Her hand brushed against mine for a second before she pulled back, clasping her hands tightly again. "Seriously, your highness. Let it go."

Your highness?

I nodded, but the unease between us didn’t dissolve.

"I should be the one apologizing for not respecting boundaries. I know things have been cold between us lately, but I want you to know that I will always be your friend." For a moment, the dullness in her eyes receded, giving way to something lighter before it shifted once again. "Even if I seem like a whole different person at times."

A whole different person?

But with the way her expression suddenly closed off again, I knew better than to push. I wouldn’t get an answer—I just knew it. So I smiled, this time reaching for her hand.

Her skin was cold to the touch and clammy. She was far more anxious than I initially thought. She stilled at the contact, her eyes going wide.

"I guess we both have faults," I murmured softly. "But it just goes to show how far we’ve come from being strangers. Friends will always be a little messy, right?"

Jules didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes dropped to where our hands met, and for a fleeting second, I thought she might pull away. But she didn’t. Her fingers twitched beneath mine, and though her skin remained cool, she let the contact linger.

"Messy, huh?" she echoed quietly, almost to herself. "I guess so."

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, but the guarded look in her eyes never fully disappeared.

"I mean it," I pressed gently. "You can tell me if something’s wrong. I don’t want to pretend things are fine when they’re not."

Jules’ lips parted, but whatever she intended to say died in her throat. Her eyes flickered toward the window, as if searching for an escape. There was something tragic in her gaze, something foreboding, and in my gut, it felt so familiar.

"You are a good person, Ellen," her voice softened, almost feather-light.

"Glad you think so," I said, though my smile turned shaky.

Her eyes snapped to mine, her gaze sharp but her words soft.

"No, I mean it. You are genuinely kind." Her gaze turned searching, as if trying to unlock something within the depths of my eyes. "You don’t blame, you don’t judge. Even when you should."

I swallowed, the weight of her words settling heavily over me. There was something raw in the way Jules looked at me—like she was holding back a truth too sharp to say aloud.

"I don’t see the point in judging someone I care about," I said softly. "Not when I know how much pain they’re already in."

Jules’ expression flickered just for a moment. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and she gave a short nod, as if my words confirmed something she already knew.

"You are the type to give pieces of yourself away until there is nothing left to give. You do it because you deem too many people worthy. Even when you bleed from the knife they thrust into your back."

A horrible chill ran up my spine. My palms turned clammy, and I found it harder to hold her gaze.

"You shouldn’t be so forgiving," she murmured, more to herself than to me.

"Maybe not," I admitted. "But I can’t change who I am."

For the first time that evening, Jules’ mask cracked. Her eyes shone with something I couldn’t quite place—grief, maybe, or guilt. She looked down again.

I didn’t ask. I knew she wouldn’t tell me.

"You call it forgiveness," she said after a long pause. "I call it dangerous."

The silence that followed was thicker than before, pressing in around us like fog.

"You’re not dangerous to me," I whispered, but the words felt fragile, even as I said them.

Jules’ gaze met mine, sharp and conflicted. There was something in her eyes—something she desperately wanted to say but couldn’t.

"Maybe you should stop trusting me so much, Ellen." Her voice was barely audible, but the weight of her words echoed loudly in my mind.