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Chapter_75
Quinn’s heart hammered in her chest as she planted herself in front of Abigail, unwilling to let her friend face the oncoming mob alone. Her resolve hardened, and despite the chaos unfolding around them, she remained steadfast. Abigail, stunned by the sudden defiance, blinked in surprise, the briefest flicker of something—perhaps admiration, perhaps confusion—passing through her eyes.
The crowd was a storm, a surge of grief and anger that threatened to swallow them both whole. The man at the front, whose face was twisted with fury, took a step closer, his hand raised as if ready to strike. “You murderer!” he yelled, his voice dripping with venom. “You think your money can erase the life you took?!” His words were aimed at Abigail, but they felt like daggers aimed at Quinn’s heart.
Despite the accusations and the crowd’s pressing fury, Quinn’s body remained unmoving. She was all that stood between Abigail and whatever cruel fate awaited her. She could feel the weight of the crowd’s rage, their sorrow, but she didn’t waver. Not this time. “Stop!” Quinn’s voice, though trembling, rang out in the chaos. “This isn’t how things should be handled!”
Abigail looked at Quinn, a wry, almost melancholic smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes, however, were different—softer, as if for a moment, she saw the vulnerability and determination in Quinn that she hadn’t noticed before. “Quinn, you don’t have to do this,” Abigail murmured.
But Quinn wasn’t about to back down. “I’m not letting you take the fall for this,” she said, her voice firm, even as her insides quaked with fear. She turned to the mob, her face desperate but determined. “She’s already suffering. Hurting her more won’t bring back anyone. Please, stop!”
The crowd hesitated for a moment, their anger rippling through the air like an electric current. The man with the streaked hair growled, his face red with rage. “You think she’s innocent, huh? You think we’ll just let her get away with it? My sister is dead!”
“I’m not saying she’s innocent,” Quinn replied, her voice quiet but insistent. “But this isn’t the way. Violence won’t fix anything. Just look at all of you—what’s it going to solve?”
For a heartbeat, the crowd seemed to falter, unsure. The man who had been shouting the loudest gritted his teeth, visibly torn. Quinn, her heart racing, glanced at Abigail, whose face had grown hard again, but not in the way it had been before. This time, it was something different, something resigned. “I can’t change the past, Quinn,” she whispered. “No one can.”
“I know,” Quinn answered softly. “But I’ll fight for you. I’m not going to let them destroy you.”
Suddenly, a shrill voice broke through the tense standoff. “Enough!” A tall woman, older than the rest, stepped forward, her voice cracking with emotion. She grabbed the man’s arm, stopping him from pushing forward. “Don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re becoming as cruel as the ones who hurt us.” She turned to face Quinn, her eyes brimming with tears, but there was a look of something else—perhaps understanding, or even a flicker of compassion.
Abigail watched the exchange, her expression unreadable. For a long moment, the air was thick with tension. Then, slowly, one by one, the crowd began to retreat, the man at the front shooting one last, venomous glare at Abigail before he too backed off.
Quinn, still standing firm, slowly relaxed her stance, though her heart was still pounding in her chest. The danger had passed—at least for now. The crowd dispersed, murmuring angrily but no longer pressing forward.
As the last of them walked away, Abigail let out a long breath, her face still hard but with a trace of something softer in her eyes. “You really are something, Quinn,” she muttered, her voice low.
Quinn met her gaze, her own eyes wide with both exhaustion and a quiet strength. “Don’t make me regret it.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The streets were eerily quiet now, the rain having long since ceased, leaving behind only the distant hum of the city. Finally, Abigail spoke, her voice a mixture of resignation and gratitude. “You really think you can save me?”
Quinn didn’t answer immediately, but when she did, it was with unwavering certainty. “I’ll try. For both of us.”
Abigail gave a short laugh, though it held no joy. “You’ll try. That’s what you always do, huh?”
Quinn stepped back slightly, still positioned between Abigail and the world, as if unwilling to let go of her. “You’re not alone in this, Abigail. No matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”
Abigail’s eyes softened, just for a moment, before she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “I’m not sure I deserve your loyalty,” she murmured.
“You deserve more than you think,” Quinn replied softly. “And I’ll remind you of that, every day, if I have to.”
Abigail looked at her, and for the first time in a long while, there was something like hope in her gaze. Something fragile, but real. Quinn held her ground, and in that moment, the two women shared a silent promise. Whatever came next, they would face it side by side.
