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Tears streamed down her face. She was breaking and clearly wasn't trying to hide it. It's not like it would of worked anyway. Julian could always read her.
"Please," she sobbed, almost doubled over by the weight of her sorrow.
Julian didn't say anything. He couldn't. He stuffed another shirt into his duffle bag. From the door, Cameron stood, arms over his chest, lips a hard line. Julian understood Emma's sorrow, her rage, but not Cameron's. He was doing him a favor. Without him, Emma would have to move on. Seek comfort in someone else's arms. Cameron's.
He was doing them all a favor. If he stayed, Emma'd fall harder. They'd get caught. Be stripped of their marks and thrown into a world they'd been sperated from so completely. Neither of them had a social security card or any sort of mundane identity.
He remembered their first kiss, the way their rune had seared, a sharp warning. How they had flashed white, faded for a second and then burned brighter then ever. He knew. That was the Clave's reminder. You don't fall in love with your parabatai. It wasn't done.
No matter how good she smelt or how blonde she was, or how the light of the Church framed her so well his hands always itched in there, begging to paint her, the perfect Pavlovian response.
He had to go.
"Please don't leave."
Emma, please. Please don't ask me to stay. Because if I do, it'll only get worse. Please. Please. He bit the inside of his cheek. Do it for her.
He walks down the Institute corridor, solemn faced. For Emma.
He opened the door and stepped out, looking back.
He always looked back and that's why he had to leave.
"Hey!"
Cameron. He ran down the hallway and thew something. He flinched, but it still hit him in the chest, then the floor. Two somethings.
His steele.
"Get the fuck out."
He does, but not for Cameron. For Emma. Always for her.