Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)

Chapter 57

Shalnark didn't respond immediately—I kept my eyes trained on the coffee and held my breath, paying meticulous attention to every detail of the energy in the car. As far as I could tell, nothing had changed, even in the slightest. He appeared to be of the same wondering air he typically always held, unbiasedly contemplating over the question.

Releasing a quiet sigh, I looked over to him without turning my head, examining his expression. His brows were barely furrowed, and his bright eyes were narrowed in thought, but everything else about him was comfortable, easy. It helped my momentary stress immensely to earn such a reaction. I could almost dismiss the reason I needed to ask these questions entirely—almost.

In the midst of my frozen, silent analysis of Shalnark, I began to feel the hint of another emotion tugging at my heart, or otherwise blossoming deep in the cave of my chest. At first, I couldn't tell what it was, or that it was any different than the relief I had been feeling at finally having made a decision. Of course, I also felt nervous for Shal's answer, because that answer would determine quite a bit for me concerning how the general rule of Chrollo's reaction would be, but I realized that there was something like the most infinitesimal spark of excitement in my soul—excitement to be done, to toss away the anxiety and the guilt, to finally return completely and fully to Chrollo.

At Kurapika's expense.

But this was what I had to do. Perhaps I hadn't paid great attention to this before, but Kurapika was a threat to everyone in the Phantom Troupe. To me, he was the greatest threat to Chrollo, but I couldn't sit by and spend time with Shalnark, Machi, and Shizuku and pretend as though keeping my knowledge of him a secret was truly helping anyone. If there were two sides to choose from, in the end, I would choose the side Chrollo stood on.

"Well, I can answer the first question easily," Shalnark quipped, a nonchalant smile in his tone. "If someone betrayed the Spider, they're fair game to be hunted. Fighting isn't allowed between Troupe members, though, so if any of us suspected another of betrayal, we wouldn't be able to act on it until the betrayal was made. As soon as that happens, the betrayer would've thrown out any and every allegiance to the Spider, so their tattoo would mean nothing. Depending on how personal the betrayal, the boss would probably go after them, himself, and kill them."

I swallowed. My teeth were clenched together tightly, and I had to make a conscious effort to release the tension in my jaw, to keep my emotional state as neutral as possible. After all, he said nothing that I didn't expect—I already knew how serious Chrollo was about loyalty. And if I would've allowed myself to dissect the occurrence of betrayal to the Troupe by another member, I would've come to the same conclusion.

Death.

For that reason, I couldn't be very surprised, but it was still grating to hear. Contrarily, though, my relationship to Chrollo was different than his relationship to the Spider. I knew his methods of reacting to betrayal concerning it would be separate from how he would react to my deceit, be it unintentional or not, with pure purposes. But it did serve to reinforce plenty of the relentless treachery I felt regarding my actions, my continued friendship with Kurapika despite my knowledge of the nature of their dispute.

"I figured as much," I murmured quietly, peering up out of the windshield and watching with glazed eyes at the darkened road, only illuminated by the streaming headlights. "Has anyone ever really wanted to leave before? Or, to revoke their membership, I suppose?"

There wasn't exactly an aim with this question; it didn't have much to do with my situation. I would never wish to leave Chrollo, but perhaps my inquiry was indirectly related to the way he might perceive my confession as more than just revealing the truth. Perhaps he would see it as my revulsion to his world, his identity, and my desire to be unaffiliated with it. Those possibilities only served to increase my fear, however—they were in no way grounded in reality, and in fact, they were an even larger indicator towards my resolve to find a way to prove to him my intentions, my emotions.