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“You thought you’d captured a vigilante.”

“You have no heart pendant.” Red ran from the tear in his chest, and his grip on her slacked. “This blade is exquisitely crafted.” It wasn’t a fire dagger, which had a wider hilt to protect the hand from flames. If it were, Jordan Wexton would be dead. The blade was a honing-style dagger, but a fine one, with intricate detailing and the brotherhood’s sigil burned into its handle. There was no doubt in her mind who it belonged to. “The Dragunhead stabbed you, his Dragunheart. Why?” It sounded preposterous. But nothing the Order did surprised her.

“My best guess is that he and Beaulah Perl are working together to bring down the Sphere.”

Her eyes grew.

He shifted, grimacing, his hand moving to his wound.

“Careful!”

“Do you know any Shifter magic? Healer specialty would be great.”

She swallowed. The truth came devilishly close to leaving her lips. “I don’t. Sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she apologized. This wasn’t her fault. But she’d stumbled upon someone very high up in the Order, with much power, who was fresh out of help. She gnawed her lip and whistled for Daring. “If we can get you to my cottage, I may have something that could help.”

“I can’t move, and you’d never be able to lift me up from here.”

“Let me try.”

“Out of my way,” someone yelled. A girl with a cropped dark haircut and an irritated scowl shoved her aside. With magic streaming from her hand, she smoothed over Jordan Wexton’s wounds. At the same time she gripped the dagger’s handle and tugged carefully. The dagger came out in a rush of blood. She worked both hands over him now. His exposed skin tugged together, but the area soaked with blood failed to move. The girl tried again. Nore stood to get out of her way and backed into someone else.

“Oh, excuse me.” She turned, and Yagrin stared back at her.

Nore couldn’t move. Her heart squeezed. The sounds of the forest blared in her ears and the entire world faded. His dark hair hung loosely over his shoulders; it was longer than she remembered. The angles in his face had thinned with fatigue or something. But his dark eyes glittered as they always had, the right one more golden than brown. His strong, lean frame filled her with memories of them lying together, basking in the sunshine. She released a tight breath, relieved to see him alive and unhurt, and a lump of joy rose in her throat. Her heart pattered in a way she hadn’t thought it ever would again. She stepped forward in disbelief. He was a dream. This wasn’t real. But when he set his bag down, he stared at her with brows slashed downward. Like she was a stranger.

And then she remembered: she was.

“Who the hell are you?” he said, and it felt like her heart would rip in two. She choked down her feelings and put more distance between them.

“Show some manners, brother. That’s the heir to House Ambrose. Nore.”

She took another step backward. The last year by his side, as Red, flew through her mind, and it unsteadied her. She looked for Daring. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t look at him and accept that, though she stood right there, he had no idea she even existed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m Yagrin Richard Wexton, House of Perl, Dragun. Well, ex, I suppose. The brotherhood doesn’t want anything to do with me now.”

“What brotherhood?” Jordan said.

Nore still could not move.

“Are you alright?” Yagrin asked.

No, no, I’m not. She wanted to scream. But if she told him the truth, he would either not believe her or see that she was a fraud, a liar, a pretender—another dishonest cog in their toxic, broken world. If he knew her lie, he would write her off as being just like the rest of them. And that would shatter whatever fragments of her that were left.

First her brother, now this. Her knees felt weak beneath her. She needed to get out of there. Where is— She turned and her shire was galloping toward her through the trees.

Daring nudged her and she gripped his reins.

“He looked like he needed help, but you all have it handled.” She turned quickly to hide the tears burning her eyes. She stepped into one stirrup, hoisted herself up, and then swung into the saddle.

“Nore, please stay,” Jordan rasped. “The Order. Fracturing.”

“We can use all the help we can get is what he’s trying to say,” Yagrin cut in.

The girl worked over Jordan’s wounds still, but there was too much blood.

“I don’t think I can,” she said, with more honesty than they even realized. She could not be near Yagrin another second without crying.

“Where could you possibly have to go?” The girl stopped working, exasperated.