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"I want to show you something."

She opened her mouth to say no, but something in his expression stopped her. That quiet intensity. That desperate patience.

She sighed. She had become quieter since the memories hit her yesterday. "Fine. "

They took the bus across the bridge into the human side of the city. Hagan didn't talk much—just watched her, content.

When they arrived, she looked up and blinked. "The cathedral?"

"Trust me."

The old building loomed against the sky, its gothic spires rising like claws. Moss crept along the stone, and time had stained its flanks with soot and age. It was beautiful. Tragic.

They climbed the ancient staircase, the spiral narrowing until it felt like a passage into another world. At the top, the wind greeted them, and the city lay stretched out below like a painting.

She turned to him. "Okay, I'm impressed. Why are we—?"

He pointed silently to a recess in the stone roof.

And there they were.

A family of peregrine falcons, perched and preening in a nest cradled in an archway.

Seren's breath hitched.

She lifted her camera, falling silent as she clicked, adjusted, and whispered soft encouragements to the birds. Hagan didn't speak. He just handed her strips of dried meat.

"Mamma bird must be peckish," he murmured.

She didn't argue.

They ate sandwiches from his backpack, sitting with their backs against the stone, legs stretched out, shoulders brushing.

It was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of silence that didn't need filling.

As the sun began to set in shades of amber and lavender, a chill swept across the rooftop. Seren shivered.

Hagan reached out and took her hand—gently as if asking permission. She didn't pull away. Not yet.

"I want to talk about Lia," he said.

Seren's spine stiffened. She started to pull her hand away.

He held on. "Please. I just want to try to explain."

She didn't speak, but she didn't leave either.

He looked down at their joined hands, rough thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"She was... broken," he said softly. "I think you saw it too. We all did."

Seren said nothing, but her gaze lingered on his face, searching.

He swallowed. "I met her when I was eight. I told you about the run-in with the forsaken and about how she and her mother crept into the territory. I remember... she didn't speak for days. Just stared. She wouldn't eat unless someone else started first. Couldn't shift. Wouldn't look anyone in the eye."

His jaw flexed. "She was small and silent and skittish. Like a stray pup who didn't know if she was going to get fed or kicked."

Despite herself, Seren's chest tinged with sympathy.