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And I know she’s just eager to stay out of Hemlock House, to be outside the walls she feels trapped in so often. But I do wonder how she’s piqued her energy to keep up—I fear, maybe, she is back on those killer tonics of hers.

‘I want to live.’

And this, these little moments of sparkle, is to live.

She looks at me.

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

Officially, Daxeel said I can go toKithewith Eamon for a short while, for the lunch we shared at Morag’s Mudhouse.

Comlar is beyond that boundary.

I’m not terribly sorry for it.

The last thing I want is to run into Pandora or my father at Comlar. Not to mention the idea of a busier Comlar isn’t so enticing to me right now.

Besides, the better selection at the scripture room is really the reason I’m out of Hemlock House today. It was nothing to do with the lunch that we just had. I only asked Daxeel to loosen the reins a little this Breeze so I could browse those richer scrolls for answers I can’t find in the dim collection at Hemlock.

Of course, he doesn’t know that.

“Why don’t you take me to the scripture,” I start, “then head to Comlar? I can make my own way back.”

Crouched at Aleana’s boot, Eamon looks up and considers me for a beat. Searches for any hints of annoyance I might wear—and finds none.

He tosses aside the stick, then pushes up with a sighed, “Alright.”

Ridge reaches out for Aleana.

They walk ahead.

Eamon drifts to my side and keeps my pace. “What are you up to?”

I raise my brow. “Hmm?”

His eyes read me, search my profile intently. “What are you hoping to find in the scripture?”

With a sigh, I list them, “Defection, Mother’s wishes, the second passage, evate bonds.” I look up at him. “There are just… some things that don’t melt for me.”

Eamon’s brow knits together. “Such as?”

I throw my hands up in aI-don’t-knowgesture.

“For one,” I say, “how will Daxeel get me out of the second passage? Is he going to corner me into defection again, slavery? Or is there another way?”

The corners of Eamon’s mouth tuck into his cheeks. It’s a grim look. “I don’t know.”

My mouth twists and now it is my turn to study him.

I keep my voice low, “What do you suspect?”

Ahead, Aleana and Ridge find the porch steps to the scripture room’s entrance. The black lacquered doors are parted in the gentleness of the Breeze but will close soon before the First Wind can hit.

Eamon pauses before we reach them. His hand takes my elbow, a tender gesture, but firm.

He looks down at me, that grim set to his mouth remains.

Hesitation flickers over him before he says it, confesses his truth to me—