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“I spoke with Tris. Alfred is doing something for him. And we saw the other men in the woods.” Corrick sighs tightly. “I wanted to talk to others, to see if I could find out more.”

I consider the way Lochlan watched me pull the dagger out of the patrolman’s neck. “You think he recognized you?”

“I think he was close to recognizing me.”

“Does it matter? You said no one would believe me if I accused you—”

“I’m not worried about him accusing me.” He breaks off and tugs at the brim of his hat, then winces. “You know who I am, Tessa. If I’m caught by smugglers—”

“They’d kill you.”

He snorts. “No. I’d wish for them to kill me. They’d torture me and use me against Harristan.”

He says it so simply, while a chill grips my spine at the thought. I hadn’t even considered. I remember the night he “died,” how he made a comment that he was surprised I wasn’t waiting to turn him in to the night patrol. A part of him really was worried. Now I see why he was so tense, thinking Lochlan might have followed.

Corrick looks down at me. “I’m worried more about what they’d do to you.”

A shiver runs through me.

“I don’t like being out in the open,” he says. “Let’s get to the workshop.”

The workshop is cold from the night air, with a thin layer of dust on everything. It’s clearly been left untouched since we were last here. He drags wood from the pile and tosses it into the hearth one-handed, which makes me think his arm is bothering him more than he’s letting on. He strikes a match and lights the fire while I use the broom to get rid of the worst of the cobwebs and dust. It’s not long before the workshop is warm, lit with a glow.

Wes leans against the table, his eyes shadowed under the brim of his hat. The crossbow sits right beside him.

Not Wes. Corrick.

I clear my throat and look away. “Do you want me to take a look at your arm?”

“The arrow clipped me. I’m fine.” He tosses a small pouch onto the table. “Tris said the Benefactors have been distributing medicine.”

I pick it up and shake it out. Gray and white petals flutter to the table, each one long and curved, though some are shorter, with a bit of a sharper angle at the top. I frown, but at my side, Wes is flexing his arm like it hurts.

I roll my eyes and step over to him, ignoring the petals. “Don’t be foolish. I’ve been watching you favor this for the last twenty minutes.” I tear the gap in his sleeve wider. The arrow sliced through the side of his upper arm, and he likely needs stitches, but I don’t have any supplies here.

“Take your shirt off,” I say. “I have some muslin. I’ll wrap it.”

He removes his hat, then drags his shirt over his head, and again he’s shirtless in front of me. I’ve seen the show before, but he’s got the mask on, and now it’s like Wes disrobing, and for a long, awkward moment, my voice doesn’t want to work.

I focus on the wound, fetching water from our rain barrel to clean the blood away gently. I listen to him breathing, inhaling the scent of him in the warm closeness of the workshop.

This is too intimate. Words need to happen.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” I say.

“I’m the brother to the king, Tessa.” He says this like it’s amusing.

“You’ve never interfered with the night patrol before.”

That draws him up short, and he looks away. “It’s . . . ?different now.” He pauses. “And they’re not supposed to slaughter people in the streets. It’s part of why I was so angry at Allisander for having his guards rough up the last round of captives. It’s one thing for me to issue an order of punishment, but I don’t torture people for the sport of it. My guards in the Hold aren’t cruel. The night patrol shouldn’t be either. Forrest is a boy. They could have arrested him.”

“Well. You saw what they did to Mistress Kendall.”

“She attacked them.”

I try to remember. All that comes to mind is her grief. Does that matter? I can’t tell.

My parents attacked them. I remember that.