Page 115

“You’re upset.” He moves across the room to brush a finger along the spines of the books filling one of the shelves.

“Youkilledthem.” My voice emerges smaller than I like.

“I know.” No defense. No explanation. Just calm acknowledgement that somehow makes it worse.

“Did you really have to?” I wait until he faces me, searching his eyes for something—remorse, conflict,anythingthat proves he’s human. “Was there really no other option?”

He holds my gaze. “No.” Not even a hesitation. “Had any survived, they’d have reported our location. The Authority would have sent forces to investigate. Stonehaven would have been discovered and eventually destroyed.” His voice remains steady, almost gentle. The same tone you'd use to explain something obvious to a child.

The logical part of me understands his reasoning. Six lives versus hundreds. A tactical decision. But understanding doesn't stop the memory of darkness flowing from his fingertips, doesn't erase the soft thuds of bodies hitting stone. Doesn’t quiet the screaming in my head.

“But you didn’t even hesitate.” Heat creeps up my neck. “There wasn’t a single moment where you thought about sparing them, was there? Not even a second of doubt?”

“Would hesitation have changed the outcome?” His eyes give away nothing of his thoughts. “Would prolonging the inevitable have made it easier for you to accept?”

“That’s not the point!” My fingers curl, nails biting into my palm. The pain grounds me. “The point is how easily you did it. Like it wasnothing. Like taking six lives was just …routine!”The last work comes out shrill.

“In this world, atthatparticular moment, that’s exactly what it was.” His voice is steady, reasonable, which somehow makes everything worse. A stark contrast between his calm and the chaoswhirling inside me. "My priority was protecting the stronghold and everyone in it. Including you."

"Don't!" I hold up one hand, shaking visibly now, disgust and fury and fear twisting into something toxic in my gut. "Please don't try to make it sound noble. I saw your face when you did it. There wasnothingthere. No regret. No doubt. No second-guessing. Just ..."

"Would pretending to regret it have made it better?" His head tilts slightly. "Would you prefer I killed with theatrical remorse? Perhaps I should have shed a tear, rather than keep the focus required to ensure none escaped?"

“That’s not fair.” My voice breaks on the last word. My eyes are burning, tears threatening to fall.

The worst part is that he’s right. Logically, I understand what he’s saying. It was a group of men, soldiers who recognized him. They would have reported his presence in the mountains. They would have returned with reinforcements. People would have died. Likely a lot more than six.

But understanding his reasoning doesn’t ease the horror of watching it happen in real time. It doesn’t stop me seeing the darkness pour from his skin as he moved between them with inhuman speed every time I blink.

“I need some time. Some space to think.”

"As you wish." He doesn't even try to argue with me, doesn't fight for understanding. His easy acceptance only widens the chasm between us. "You can use that room. I'll be out here if you wish to talk."

I retreat into the room he indicated, relieved to find it holdsa proper bed. No cot, no makeshift pallet. Just a gorgeous carved wooden frame and mattress. I sit down slowly, letting my pack slide from my shoulder to the floor. It lands with a solid thump.

The past few days rush back all at once. The sudden departure from Ravencross, the climb through the northern pass, the patrol. The killing. And now, Stonehaven: a hidden mountain fortress filled with strangers who kneel at Sacha’s feet, while I remain the outsider, the stranger whose presence requires explanation.

I stretch out on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Now I’ve stopped moving, all the aches from days of mountain travel rush to the fore. My muscles protest every movement I make. I feel the cold in my bones, the damp lingering in my clothes, the sting of scrapes I hadn’t registered until now. But none of it quiets my mind, because I keep seeingthem.

Not just the way they died, but thewaythey stood before it happened. Just men, just doing their job, not knowing that time had already run out.

Sleep comes quietly. There’s no moment of drifting, no line I feel myself cross. One thought blurs into another, and I’m no longer in Stonehaven.

I’m in Chicago again.

Snowflakes drift across empty sidewalks. Christmas lights glint in storefronts, casting rainbow patterns across slush-slicked pavement. I’m walking home with grocery bags in my hands, and for a moment, that’s all there is. Cold air, salted concrete, exhaust fumes. Ordinary concerns for an ordinary life I can barely believe I once lived.

Then something changes. The light dims, though the Christmasdisplays still glow. A shadow falls across the street that doesn't match the surrounding buildings. It’s too big, too fluid, moving against the wind. I look up to see a giant raven circling overhead, wings spanning the width of the entire street, blotting out the stars.

Its eyes find mine, eyes that shine with silver light, and recognition flashes between us like an electric current.

Where shadow leads, storm will follow.

The words come from nowhere.

The street vanishes.

I’m in the tower.