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Like that would stop him.

Ivain’s words brought her up short. The broom stilled.

She tried to bury the thought, to shove it back down where it couldn’t take root.

But it lingered.

Because Skye didn’t need the bond to follow her. He’d do it anyway. He wouldn’t take the out—even if she handed it to him.

So, maybe… maybe it wasn’t a mercy to break the bond.

Maybe she was just running again.

Maybe it was time to stop making him chase. Let him use that loyalty for survival, not pursuit.

She stepped back, broom trailing along the floor. The workshop looked cleaner. Her head… maybe not spotless, but it was at least a little less cluttered.

She’d saved Skye’s bench for last. Its constant state of disarray always made it the most rewarding prize.

This time, however, Taly frowned when she saw it. The crystals were neatly organized in their bins, and a fresh stack of aether-infused parchment sat in one corner. His quills had all been cleaned and polished, the most expensive ones put back in their cases, and the bin for dirty glassware had been emptied.

Skye must’ve cleaned before he left—taken out the waste, washed his equipment, cleared away any clutter.

She instantly knew he was hiding something.

Oh, she’d had her suspicions for a while—whatever secret project kept pulling him out of bed at night. He still thought she didn’t notice when he slipped back in right before sunrise, smelling of aether, blood, and machine oil.

“Wow,” Taly murmured, one corner of her mouth crooking into a smile as she ran a hand along the table. He’d even wiped down the surface. “Youreallydidn’t want me snooping.”

Her fingers traced the neat rows of tools and perfectly organized notes. She carefully lifted the layer of papers, but only diagrams and plans were tucked underneath.

“What are you up to?” She fell to the floor to peek beneath the table, where more crates of crystals and equipment were allneatlyorganized.

She pulled them out, sliding them across the floor and shoving them behind her until—

“A safe?”

Made of burnished starsteel with a numeric lock enchanted to ensnare anyone that tried to pick it. It was small, maybe two hands wide and four tall, and tucked away in the very back.

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Taly half-crawled beneath the table, lying on her stomach. She didn’t know the combination, but she could probably guess.

Forty—the year Ghislain made it to the Pytchdrive Worlds Championship.

Eight—her birthday.

Seven—his.

And 35—the age to beat for youngest mage to ever earn their fifth Seal, also one of Ivain’s students.

The lock clicked open. That was the problem with knowing someone too well—you couldn’t be surprised when they disappointed you.

“Oh, Em,” she murmured, tsking her tongue. “How many times have I told you to change your combination?”

Reaching into the safe, she pulled out several vials of unlabeled black powder, a vitalis, a folio of knives, and books, books, and more books. The pages were stained with blood and ink and Shards only knew what else.

Sitting on the floor, Calcifer nudged his way beneath her arm as she cracked open one of the hardcovers and began reading.

When she was done, she moved on to the next.