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“Figured as much.” Killian nods. “Not that it matters, seeing as how I already told her all about how you knocked me out cold, left me alone. She knows everything now.”

“Everything?” Braxton scoffs. “Somehow I doubt that. Did you tell her how you—”

He doesn’t get to finish before Killian lunges, aiming a fist at Braxton’s jaw that lands with such force, it sends him spinning, reeling, rocking back on his heels. Leaving me to watch in horror as Braxton’s body twists, his knees crumpling out from under him as he crashes to the floor, and his head smacks so hard against the stone tiles, I can’t help but cry out.

“What’ve you done?” Fueled by a rush of fury and rage, I whirl on Killian, demanding an answer.

“Nothing he hasn’t already done to me.” Killian towers over Braxton. Flexing his fingers, he blows on the place where his knuckles have gone red.

I curse under my breath and race for Braxton’s side, horrified to find a small pool of blood spilling from the back of his head. I press a hand to his brow, his temple, then down to his neck, overcome with grief when I fail to detect even the faintest trace of a pulse.

Omigod—omigod—omigod—

With Killian still standing over me, not bothering to help, I push up Braxton’s sleeve, press my fingers to his wrist, and desperately search for a pulse.

Please, I silently beg, hope resonating like beating wings in my heart.

But it’s a dandelion wish—a wisp of a dream with no real consequence.

Still, I pray,Please, let him be okay…

A handful of agonizing beats later, I feel it. The faintest tremor of a vein throbbing ever so slightly against the pad of my fingers.

In an instant, my shoulders sink in relief. My heart swells with gratitude.Oh, thank you—thank you—thank—

I’m returning his wrist to his side when I remember the faint tracings of a tattoo in the crook of his arm. Needing to be sure, to confirm my worst suspicion, I push his sleeve higher until I find those two circular lines joining together.

A mistake, he’d called it.

And yet, to my eyes, it looks a lot like the vision I just saw from that long-ago time.

It also looks a lot like the scaled-back version of the tattoo I saw on the Timekeeper in Versailles—and on the pocket watch I took from the Timekeeper in London—and the mark Leonardo sketched just beneath his autograph.

And since Timekeepers are the enemy, is that why Braxton doesn’t want me to bring back the Moon?

And is that also why no Timekeeper showed up to try to stop me from claiming it?

Is Braxton a Timekeeper, living at Gray Wolf, pretending to be my boyfriend, and hiding in plain sight all along?

My God. It’s even worse than I thought.

A wave of nausea rolls through me as I stare at that damn tattoo as though I’m incapable of doing anything else.

“You lied,” I whisper, and though I’m not sure he can hear me, it’s not enough to silence me. “You were the one person I trusted, and…” I swallow past the sob lodged in my throat. “And now all I can do is regret you.”

“So, now you know.” Killian gazes down at me, his face darkened by a long shadow of pity.

I release Braxton’s arm, but when I try to rise to my feet, eager to put some distance between us, my knees refuse to cooperate.

All this time, I’ve been sleeping with the enemy.

I look at Braxton again, still out cold, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

“Come on.” Killian reaches for my sleeve, but I’m quick to brush him away.

I can’t stay here. But I also can’t leave—not like this.

Just because Braxton and I are history, just because there’s no chance of us ever going back to what we once had—or, correction, what he fooled me into thinking we had—I can’t just leave him here to bleed all over the baptistery floor.