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But the realization was settling in. The air in the room felt too thick, pressing in like a vice.

Taly forced herself to breathe—but her lungs hitched. Patting down her pockets, she pulled out the airbalm and dragged in a breath. The sting hit her tongue.

“Taly?” Ivain said, quiet but firm. “What is it?”

“I know who it’s from,” she said hoarsely.

Chapter 21

It was official. Taly was in a funk.

Skye knew it from the blaring music and the scent of cigar smoke wafting from her open window. When he closed his eyes, it was just to confirm.

Like trying to pick up on a faraway relay signal through a haze of static—it was faint. But he could feel her on the other side of the bond, like an off-key vibration, the echo of a troubled mind.

He considered leaving her to it. She didn’t want to talk—at least, that was the feeling he was getting. He was still learning how to sort through them. Then again, if left to her own devices, it was only a matter of time until he found himself dealing with a full-blown Taly doom-spiral. And if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that stopping those early saved everyone a lot of trouble. The last one, after all, resulted in the wholeI’m-a-secret-time-magefiasco, and… yeah. He needed to get up there.

The metal stairs zigzagged up the back of the house. A short climb later, Skye stepped onto the rooftop garden, pulling his coat tighter against the evening chill. Plush grass speckled with wildflowers drooped over the planked wooden path that wound throughout the whole of it, weaving between deep-cushioned chairs, fruit trees, and raised wooden flower beds.

All around, the setting sun streaked the sky in dreamlike shades of orange, purple, and pink, casting the city below in warm light and long shadows.

“Taly?” Skye called, breath fogging in the cold. “I know you’re here. I can smell the ennui.”

By that he meant cigar smoke.

He heard a snort from the far side of the garden.

“Then why are you wasting your breath?”

Well, someone was in a mood.

Skye followed the path past a row of terraced ivy glowing faintly with green earth crystals. He found Taly on the other side, curled in a blanket on a garden swing, a cigar held loosely in one hand.

She glowed in the evening light, hair catching the color, skin warm. He drank her in, shameless and starved for the sight of her.

He’d made a rule for himself—since he couldn’t touch her again until she knew about the bond, it was safer not to look directly at her. No eye contact. No lingering. No letting the bond heat his skin until it felt like punishment. It was stupid. But it was the only thing keeping the need from boiling over into something reckless.

He should turn away. He was only making it worse for himself.

But he couldn’t.

His gaze dropped to her mouth as she pulled on the cigar, lips parting, slow and deliberate. So many of his fantasies had started there. On that mouth. The way it would feel wrapped around him.

“So, does this mean you’re talking to me again?” she asked.

Skye blinked. Shook himself. “I… didn’t know I stopped.”

She tapped off ash with an expert flick of her fingers, glancing at him. “I don’t know, Skye. Two days of radio silence is usually a pretty good reason to wonder.”

Two…days?

No. That couldn’t be right.

Was she—was she fucking with him?

He rubbed a hand over his face, noticing for the first time the sharpness in his jaw, the unfamiliar looseness of his belt. Shit, when was the last time he ate?

“Well?” The cigar flared as she took another pull. “What do you have to say for yourself? Or should I just assume the worst? I’ve had plenty of time to come up with theories.” She glanced at him, one brow lifting.