It was because, for Julian, the walk was not about him at all.

If he had explained himself on that stage, if he had held up the locket to the crowd and silenced their laughter, he would have made the moment about his own vindication, his own suffering, the crowd’s opinion of him.

And that was not what the promise was for.

The promise was for Lily.

The walk belonged to her.

And so he refused to spend it on his own comfort, refused to use his sister’s memory as a shield against his own humiliation, refused to make her sacred walk into a performance about himself.

He would let them laugh at him, absorb every ounce of the cruelty, rather than cheapen her moment by turning it into his own.