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25

RAHIL

It was nearly finished.

Rahil stared at Mercer’s newest text and couldn’t help the knife-twist in his chest. Their relationship—their friendship—had already dissolved from that one ruinous word—or at least, Mercer had given no indication otherwise—and now their partnership was coming to a close, too. He glanced at the mostly assembled pieces of Leah’s project. It would work—she had been brilliant with its design, and he had no doubts that if she had lived long enough to see it through, it would have been perfect. Rahil was only finalizing her wishes, wrapping up her construction, protecting her daughter.

It was the least he could do.

Even if, perhaps, her death had not been entirely his fault, it had still been his doing . His agreement to assist her final wish. His fangs in her neck. His belief that he could give her what he hadn’t been able to give to Shefali. And in the end, he’d taken her away from the people who’d become so dear to him now.

He still didn’t know what he was going to do with that information. But he only had a little time left to figure that out.

Rahil checked the text thread again, like something on it might have changed.

Metal Daddy

I’ve finished it

I need a vampire who isn’t you to test it on

Do you know anyone

Did he know any vampires? Of course, Rahil knew vampires.

He knew them from bars, from brushes in the night, from flashes across his dating app screen, but he didn’t really know them. There were no vampires he could just call up and ask a favor of. No vampires, except possibly…

The thought made him feel just a little queasy. Did he really want to show a substitute for holy silver to a person who’d once used that very metal to hunt down other members of his community? Even if she did have fangs now, she had been the exact kind of person he worried might get their hands on a metal like this.

But Nat was a vampire.

Confused and conflicted but still a vampire. Maybe this was just what she needed: to feel like part of something again, only this time something that helped instead of hurt. And this would help, Rahil told himself. He’d gotten the project this far—and not just because he’d wanted to see more of Mercer’s biceps, feel the touch of him through the pressure of his holy silver, breathe in his scent for one more day. This metal was going to do good, as Mercer had said.

Rahil could prove that to himself now.

He slid his phone into his pocket, and headed down the hall, calling as he went. “Hey, Nat? I have something you could help with…”

As they approached Mercer’s yard, Nat wrapped her arms tighter against her sides, but Rahil could see the outline of her fists clenched at the ready. The twilight had nearly turned to a full expanse of summer stars, the night air a perfect gentle warmth. Insects quieted their songs as Rahil and Nat passed. Kat bayed at them with so much gusto that it triggered barking from the dog three doors down. The sound relaxed a small, perpetual fear that had been hiding in Rahil’s gut since he’d found her seizing in Mercer’s arms.

If she could be okay even after the worst had happened, then perhaps Mercer and Lydia would too. They were both brave and brilliant individuals. With the help of Leah’s protective device, they would be fine.

They didn’t need Rahil there to accidentally fuck things up for them.

Which was good, he told himself, seeing how he now had Nat to worry about instead.

Though she had agreed to come with him, he could see the hesitation in her stance, her dread and anger wrapped so tightly around herself that it seemed she was trying to protect herself with it. Rahil feared that those emotions could not form shields though, only blades.

The shed was beautiful in the darkness, lights streaming from the high window where Mercer had pulled up the shutters. Rahil could hear Mercer working inside, with the gentle cling-cling-cling of a hammer on metal. It sounded, weirdly, like being home: familiarity and warmth and affection.

Except that Rahil had ruined that affection with a thoughtless word. This place was never going to be a home, he reminded himself—even more so now that he had Leah’s notebook under one arm. He still didn’t know what he was going to do with it, but it had felt wrong not to at least bring it. Especially if this was going to be his last proper conversation with Mercer. With Leah’s device in his pocket, he just had to be here long enough to pick up the rest of the parts he’d need for it, and then the next time he returned, he could leave the completed piece on Mercer’s back porch without a word. It would be better for them both that way.

Rahil shoved the painful thought aside and led Natalie forward.

She tucked her fists tighter as they entered. Her gaze swept from Mercer’s broad form over the assortment of tools, and she looked just as Rahil had felt when he’d first laid eyes on those same instruments. She stopped in her tracks, shuffling between her feet instead of moving.

“Mercer!” Rahil all but shouted, hoping to move things along before he lost Nat entirely. “This is Natalie. She’s volunteered to test the unholy gold for you.” Volunteered, after Rahil offered to let her stay with him as long as she wanted, pretty please. But he would have done that anyway if it looked like she needed it, so it wasn’t as though he was giving anything up for Mercer.

Mercer smiled at Nat, small but warm—and this was what customers must have seen from him, this kind but contained stranger, wearing a mask of courtesy. Perhaps mask was not the right word, though. The benevolence Mercer was presenting was certainly genuine; it was simply that it hid far more beneath it. Rahil had seen behind that top layer, seen the man for who he was, and called him babe , for the first and the last time.

Rahil noticed, dismally, how Mercer didn’t turn his customer-fronting face onto Rahil, as though Rahil wasn’t even a part of the conversation. He gave his smile, his handshake, his attention to Natalie only, warming her up as he guided her further into the space. Her fear seemed to ease some.

Maybe this was good for her, then. Rahil tried to feel relieved.

“Yeah, I’ve run into holy silver a couple of times so far. It’s not fun.” She fiddled with the skin around her fingernails. A couple of times. What was normal for a fresh vampire these days? Rahil wasn’t sure. He’d gotten fairly good at avoiding the kind of people who had access to the metal. Before Mercer, Rahil hadn’t felt its touch in years.

“I have customers coming soon, so we’ll make this quick. The unholy gold is in here.” Mercer tapped the top of a fancy box he must have retrieved just for this. So, he was a bit of a showman. Rahil wanted to tease him, but he knew it would go nowhere, and for once, that made the desire unbearable. He turned his attention to Natalie instead. “The moment you feel even the slightest pain,” Mercer explained, “tell me, and I’ll pull the metal back. Anything else you feel—anything that isn’t discomfort—remember it. I want to know that, too.”

“Okay, sure.” Natalie nodded. Her gaze was fixed on the box, and the nervousness of her expression had been replaced by a whole new tightness: curiosity.

Rahil’s gut twisted.

Her lips parted as Mercer withdrew the unholy gold from the box, and she inhaled, soft and slow. “It’s beautiful.”

—Oh no —

“It is,” Mercer agreed, but he seemed to be staring through it. Looking into the past, perhaps, to Lydia, or Leah.

He approached Natalie slowly. With each step, Rahil could see the change come over her, then feel it in himself—atop the dregs of his ever-present exhaustion was now an abnormal drop in his attention span, his vision, hearing, and muscles all weakening as his mind and body settled into a state that it seemed only his bones remembered. The worst days of being human, he thought: the constant pull of his cells toward the chaos of falling apart. It felt almost akin to not having fed in a few days, though during that stage, his vampire mutations forced his body to destroy the better parts of itself to maintain its ability to lunge and leap and tear, trading in the mind’s functionality for a stronger body.

As Mercer lifted the metal in front of Natalie, Rahil could see the tremble that went through her. She looked anything but afraid, though. Her fingertips danced over the edge of the unholy gold as she watched it eagerly. The intensity of her interest made Rahil feel sick.

He should not have brought her. What had he been thinking, really? That this would make her more vampire, instead of less?

“I feel weakness, and a soft buzz,” Natalie described, still touching the metal, “But nothing else. No pain.”

Rahil should have been feeling happy that all Mercer’s effort had clearly paid off, but all he could think was: he had agreed to work on this—this thing that attracted a scientist, but also this woman who was so recently a Vitalis-Barron hunter. Who remained, in many ways, that hunter.

“I want to believe this will be good,” Mercer had said on the first day he convinced Rahil to work with him. And Rahil had believed it. At least, he’d chosen to believe it, because he’d wanted a reason to keep standing beside Mercer. Now that their partnership was coming to an end, Rahil wasn’t so sure he could see the promise in the unholy gold the way he once had.

Mercer had assured him it wouldn’t be used outside of one single research study, but with the way Nat was looking at the unholy gold now, it made Rahil suspicious. Wouldn’t someone, somewhere, realize its potential for subjugation? Was this one slice of vampiric research worth risking people banging on Mercer’s door, begging for this “humane” way to defang their enemies, their neighbors, their coworkers… their family?

Mercer drew the metal back with a nod. He had no smile now, only somber relief as he slid his unholy gold back into the box. Natalie watched it go with a hungry look. It was almost bloodlust, and it twisted a knot in Rahil’s already unsettled stomach.

“Your work on this is amazing,” she said. “If we had more unholy gold, we could help regulate the less seemly parts of the vampiric community without accidentally causing anyone else harm in the process.”

The thought made Rahil feel worse than he had when the unholy gold was present. If the wrong people got hold of this metal, that was exactly the excuse they’d use.

Mercer shook his head. “I created it for scientific research, and nothing more. Any vampire who experiences it will do so willingly.”

“We already have holy silver scattered across the city—across the globe,” Natalie protested. “How is putting this out as an alternative worse?”

Rahil could bring himself to do nothing but listen in growing horror.

“I agree there’s too much holy silver, yes,” Mercer said. “But you can’t eliminate that by replacing it with unholy gold.”

Natalie looked beseeching. “If humans felt safer, though—”

“What do we give the vampires to help them feel safer?” Rahil snapped. He let his anger live in the words, alongside his pain. “What would you get, to make you feel safe, if you’re begging for blood and everyone who walks past has unholy gold around their throats?”

“I’m just saying…” But she didn’t seem to know enough of what she was saying to finish, wrapping her arms across her chest instead, her gaze drifting to the floor.

She couldn’t know what to think about this, Rahil reminded himself. She wasn’t the average person in San Salud, not even the average vampire. She probably hadn’t felt safe herself in a long time, first because of the exaggerations and lies Matt was feeding her, and then because those lies had become her reality, her perceived protection snatched away forever by the vampire who turned her. If she was going to come to terms with that, she’d need more than one conversation with a disgruntled older vamp, especially one with Rahil’s abysmal track record for helping people. She could get there, still. Probably. Maybe.

A pair of masculine voices carried from around the side yard, one soft and dark and the other lighter, more delicate. The second laughed.

“They’re early,” Mercer grumbled, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Those are your customers?” Rahil asked. They had to be, with their happy chatter growing closer by the moment.

Natalie looked like she thought they were something else entirely, though—villains or ghosts. Her face paled and her eyes widened. She stepped backward, aimless and panicked, before covering her face in her hands and sprinting out of the shed.

Rahil stared after her in bewilderment for a full three seconds before realizing it was probably his responsibility to follow.

As he jogged after, he nearly ran headfirst into the approaching couple. At least their confused gawking revealed exactly which direction Natalie had fled. Rahil lifted a hand in apology. “Sorry, she’s just a bit skittish.”

The darker-haired of the two looked vaguely familiar, and Rahil feared for a moment that they’d slept together until he spotted the fangs peeking out from beneath the vampire’s lips. Probably not, then. Maybe they were a frequenter of the Fishnettery—one of the vamps who routinely shopped around there for their prey. This one seemed to have done well for himself.

The vampire’s human companion smiled, tucking back a lock of his sandy hair. “We understand.”

Rahil took that as his cue to continue running. Only after he’d left them both behind for the cover of the trees did he wonder if perhaps Natalie had recognized their voices because the vampire had been a part of her turning. That thought made him want to wheel right around and charge back to Mercer, on the slightest chance he might need the same protection.

But Mercer had been running this business for years, and he’d keep doing it once Rahil was no longer in his life. He could take care of himself. He had to.

Rahil found Natalie curled up behind a tree at the edge of the lot’s tiny forest, her knees to her chest. Part of her braid had come loose, creating a veil around her face. Her shoulders shook, but she didn’t seem to be crying, just sucking in air in tiny, shallow gasps.

Rahil knelt in front of her, pressing a gentle hand to her ankle. “Breathe with me. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

For what felt like an eternity, his words had no visible effect, but he kept repeating them, slowly inhaling and exhaling with her as he rubbed her leg soothingly. Finally, her breathing steadied. She looked at him, and he could make out the thinnest line of liquid along her lower lids.

“You’re safe,” he repeated. “And you’re not alone.”

Regardless of what she’d done, and whatever beliefs she was still fighting, so long as she kept fighting them, she deserved not to be the lonely whale. The label of decent vampire should have always been the default, not a title in need of earning.

“Thank you,” Natalie whispered. She wiped her eyes and pulled her hand back. It made her look all the more dejected, somehow, red and puffy and tired.

Rahil hesitated, before asking, “Were they the ones who hurt you?”

Natalie’s expression contorted into panic, then agony. “No! No, they’re good people.”

Yet, she was crying again. It clicked for Rahil with a pang like a knife to the chest, his phone heavy with unread messages from his family chat. Perhaps these were the people she couldn’t bear to tell—the people who would accept her vampirism? It would make sense: one of them was a vampire himself, even. A vampire who could have helped her.

But Rahil also knew what she’d done to vampires in the past, and he thought he understood the desire not to involve herself again, when she’d once caused so much pain, perhaps against the very people who would be compassion-bound to accept her regardless. It was the same reason he wasn’t sure he should be the one kneeling in front of her at that moment. No, he was sure he shouldn’t have been, not after all his past failures. But he was her only option.

Unless he could convince her otherwise.

Rahil lowered himself the rest of the way to the ground, casually settling in front of Natalie. “I know this isn’t my place, but why do you think it would be so terrible if they found out about you?”

Natalie scowled at her hands. Curled up and grubby like that, she looked more akin to a small child who’d lost their way in the woods than an adult who’d made a series of very harmful choices. She bounced her shoulders dismissively. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do,” Rahil said gently. “It’s just painful to put into words. I get that. I’ve… had to go through some of that pain recently.” He breathed in, then out, thinking of Mercer’s touch, his reassurance, his warmth. Even if Rahil had ruined it all, he wouldn’t have traded those moments for any amount of emotional shielding. “I promise, I won’t judge you for whatever you tell me.”

Natalie snorted, side-eyeing him. “You’re already judging me.”

Rahil gave her a dry grin. “Well, no more than I judge myself.”

He could feel her take that in, and slowly her apprehension waned. She shrugged again and looked away. “It’s a lot of different things. Mostly, I—I didn’t know what they were. Andres,” she clarified, “my cousin; they’re the vampire. But they never told me. And I wouldn’t have said the kinds of things I did to them about the vampires—the vampiric community—if I’d known,” she corrected, like she was trying the new phrase on for size and still unsure how she felt about it. “And all that time, I must have hurt Andy, but I didn’t even know I was doing it.”

“So, if you’d have known what they were, you’d have believed all the same things, hurt all the same people besides Andres, but you’d just not have spoken of those things to them? Do you think that would have made them happier?”

“I…” Natalie opened her mouth, and it just hung there, her brow knotted and her cheeks pinkening. “They wouldn’t have known otherwise.”

“But you would have. And I don’t think they’re so oblivious that they wouldn’t have sensed anything.” Rahil lifted an eyebrow. “People know when they’re being judged, after all.”

Natalie’s flush deepened. “Well, I did say all those things, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Would they be the sort to forgive you, if you asked?”

Natalie picked at the edges of her fingers. “I don’t know if they’d forgive me, but they would accept me, because I’m a vampire now, and that’s just how Andres is. They’re good.”

Rahil hummed in understanding. “Do you think you’re good now, too?”

“I thought I was good.” Natalie growled, pained and frustrated. Her hands tightened, not to fists but to claws. “What if I can’t tell if I’m good or not, if I’m doing the right thing or not? What if I’m hurting the people I love and making the world worse and I just don’t know it? What if I’ll never know it?”

“Do I look like my name ends in an -ees or an -otle to you?” Rahil snorted, hoping the teasing masked at least some of his panic. “I wish I had an answer for that.” Maybe if he did, he could fix his own impact on the world and the people he loved. Natalie needed something, though—something to encourage her to keep trying, regardless of the ambiguity of internalized morality. He cleared his throat. “I think that perhaps we are not so different from any other computing instrument. Every now and then, you need a recalibration. And that doesn’t mean you’re broken, just that you got a little off-course. And that’s hard, because all we have are each other to recalibrate with. But we do our best, and trust people we know are kind and generous and take other’s pain instead of causing it. We trust them to point us in the right direction so that, hopefully, we become the kind of people who can help them trust themselves in turn.”

As he spoke, he thought of Mercer. Kind, generous, taking on the pain of his daughter even when it meant more than his share. And he had known that Rahil wasn’t worth a long-term relationship, hadn’t he?

Something disquieting tingled in the back of Rahil’s mind—something he feared didn’t align—and he shoved it away. What was important was that their partnership was nearly over. And Natalie had started talking again.

“I guess?” She looked hopeful as she said it. “What do I do while I’m still figuring it all out? I don’t know who to trust yet. Or how to… calibrate.”

“Well, for starters, you don’t flee into the backyard forest of a random stranger you just met that evening.”

Natalie snorted. Her lips quirked momentarily up. “Your backyard forest seemed kind of far away for a dramatic flight, not gonna lie.” She sighed then, stretching her legs part way out from her chest. “You want me to talk to Andres?”

“Would Andres want you to reach out?”

He could see the question hit with each cringing muscle. “They’ll be so pissed that I haven’t already. But what if—what if I’m not ready, yet?”

Rahil grimaced. Getting support from Andres was the right choice for Natalie—he was sure about that—but the thought of pushing her into this made his stomach hurt and his limbs flighty, like he needed to check over his shoulder that no one was watching this. He couldn’t force her to connect with anyone she wasn’t ready for.

He tried not to think about the family thread on his own phone as he said, “You strive to become ready.”

Natalie chewed on her lower lip, fiddling with the end of her braid. “Can you help me?”

Him? Rahil was already making a mess of this—how was he supposed to give her something he hadn’t even been able give to his own sons?

But she was watching him, her eyes wide and her expression so desperate that he couldn’t tell her outright no, not when that meant throwing her out into a world where, due to one extra pair of pointed teeth, she was unlikely to find a different answer from anyone else.

“I can…” he meant to continue by specifying I can provide you a place to sleep but nothing more , perhaps, but the rest of the sentence didn’t come, and he was just there, telling her, he could . Lying, probably.

From beyond their little forest, he could hear the voices of Andres and his companion leaving the shed, joyous as they slowly wandered back toward the street. Natalie didn’t sprint after them. She tiptoed through the brush, one step, then another, peering out at their backs. She watched them go.

Rahil put a hand on her shoulder. “Go back to the house. You can stay there as long as you need.”

Natalie breathed out at that, seeming to release something deep and heavy she’d beed holding inside herself—mostly fear, but Rahil thought he recognized the snuffing of hope, too. “And you?” she asked.

“I have one last thing to do.” He tried to smile after, but there was no flicker of hope to pull from, not for him.

As Rahil approached the shed, Mercer didn’t move from his place leaning against the entrance, his arms crossed and his face a mask again. “I’ve arranged for the unholy gold to be collected in the morning.”

All the turmoil Rahil had felt watching Natalie’s eyes light up at the sight of that mystical metal tried to wash back over him, but he had agreed to this. Despite everything in him protesting the idea of it now, he’d known what he was signing up for. Mercer was counting on him. So, with his better judgement screaming at him, he said only, “Yes. Right.”

At least it wasn’t until tomorrow.

When Mercer didn’t respond, Rahil crept closer to the shed, not sure why he was so nervous suddenly. The damage to their relationship had already been done, hadn’t it? And it wasn’t like Mercer was going to do anything more to him. There was little worse he could do.

Rahil pointed awkwardly behind Mercer, still holding the cursed notebook in one arm. “There’s just a couple pieces of Leah’s I still need.”

Mercer nodded twice.

“It’s coming along well,” Rahil added, slipping through the door. He felt like he was walking too fast and too slow all at once. Where did arms normally go? Whatever, he was at the shelves. He grabbed what he needed—and the spare motherboard for good measure—and set the notebook down in their place. Mercer didn’t even seem to question it.

Good, then. That was good. Whether he found it someday would be up to fate then, and to him. It was better if Rahil didn’t make this choice for him, especially if they weren’t going to mean anything to each other going forward. That was good. It was fine. It was… well, it just was , now, Rahil walking away from those shelves for the last time, and it seemed too late to change his mind.

“I’ll keep working on this when I get home.” He balanced the new pieces against his chest as he made his way back out of the shed. “It should be done soon.”

Mercer didn’t even nod this time, his throat bobbing instead. It made Rahil think, stupidly, of the taste of his blood, even fuller and richer than the incredible bready, earthen scent that always surrounded him. Rahil wanted to cry.

He took one step back, then another. He almost turned. Almost, then stopped. The heavy thing in his heart paused its aching as he cleared his throat. “Mercer?” He could still bail. He could save himself the heartbreak—but that was a lie. His heart had already broken. Now was his chance to save Merc’s heart instead. “I’ve never used that term of endearment for anyone I’ve been with since Shefali. I just—I thought you should know. It would have been yours alone, if you’d wanted it.”

There, he’d said it.

He couldn’t see Mercer’s reaction with the light streaming out behind him, enshrouding his face in shadow, only the stiffness of his posture and the stillness of his limbs. But Rahil had done his part, made the world a little better, despite what it had cost him, and now—now—he could go. So he did. He went.

Just before he reached the side yard, Mercer called after him. “I don’t think you should be working on that.” His voice sounded gruff, deeper than normal and a little strained.

Rahil cringed. The pieces felt heavy in his hands, and he understood why Mercer would want them back, why he wouldn’t want to risk Rahil carrying them off—but then again, he didn’t. He didn’t get this—didn’t get why, after how well they’d worked together, when Mercer had known the whole time what Rahil had wanted from him, why they couldn’t at least just keep doing what they’d been doing. “I’ll work quickly. You’ll have all of it back in a day at the most,” he lied, having no idea how long it would actually take him.

“No—no.” Mercer shook his head and stepped forward. The closer he came, transitioning from the harsh backlight of the shed to Rahil’s crystalline night vision, the more his stiffness looked not severe and foreboding, but awkward and scared. Where his stony mask had crumbled around the edges, Rahil could see shame . “I mean you should take a break tonight,” he clarified, giving Rahil a grimaced half-smile. “Let’s get food or drinks or something, instead.” He swallowed, and Rahil could feel the motion of his throat from there. “Come out with me.”

Food.

Drinks.

Come out with me.

“Like…” Rahil didn’t know how to finish the question. If he did, he was afraid he’d make a run for it.

Mercer had been right to push him away. That had been the best move for both of them, Rahil knew. Yet his heart still pounded, please, please, please , as his whole world tunneled to this single moment, where Mercer was almost his, where their future could be any number of amazing things. He was young again, catching Shefali’s eye across the lecture hall as he failed Intro to Philosophy for the second time just so he could go to her TA sessions all over again, and he was ancient, staring across a humble backyard into the eyes of the beautiful fae man who’d denied him every step of the way.

He could almost feel Mercer’s fingers around his heart. The pressure of his nails. The ghosting of his breath.

Mercer swallowed again. “I’m not sure, yet.” He closed most of the space between them—not quite as much as Rahil craved, but enough to feel like Rahil could reach out and touch him if he wanted. “But I like you. I like… being with you.”

It was the most awkward announcement Rahil had ever heard, and it bloomed flowers through his ribcage and set butterflies loose in his belly. He grinned, nearly dropping the pieces in his arms from the sheer mass of exhilaration that cascaded inside him. “You like being with this useless people pleaser?” Rahil snorted. “So, you enjoy being gratified in the most frustrating and unhelpful way possible? Because I can do that—with two different holes, in fact.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Mercer grumbled.

“Identifying the endgame is the first step to achieving it, or so I’m told,” Rahil teased, but he forced himself to pull back, even if he would never have dreamed of pulling out . “I, uh, am not asking for anything more than you feel like giving, you know.”

“And I’m not promising anything more than that.” Mercer gave Rahil a stern look that made him want to giggle despite the gravity of the statement. “I just want to have a night that’s all mine, and when you’re here, I feel the world is meant for me again.”

That made Rahil so happy, he almost couldn’t focus on the why of it. To be the thing in all the world that made someone else feel like it belonged to them? It sounded too much like a second whale. Rahil tried to suppress the panicked joy. “What about Lydia?”

“She’s at a sleepover,” Mercer said, his inflection strangely lacking.

It wasn’t the best sign, Rahil figured, but he also didn’t know what to do about it, so he simply made a sound, hoping that spurred the conversation on. “Oh?”

Mercer grimaced. “We had another—” He breathed in, then out. “We had a discussion . And we decided that as long as Lydia keeps her phone with her at all times, doesn’t leave her friend’s house, and checks in with me when she goes to sleep and again when she wakes up, that she’s allowed this.”

“You felt bad because you yelled at her and tried to send her to LA, and this is your penance?” Rahil interpreted. By the second little grimace Mercer gave, he had to be right. He was right, too, about Mercer’s stony exterior hiding something. “But you’re still worried.”

“It should be safe.” Mercer said it like he was still convincing himself. “I don’t believe William will go after her while he still thinks I’m making his holy silver. It would be counterproductive to his goals, at this point.”

“That’s logical, and it is good for you and Lydia to both have time for yourselves, you know. If you asked me, I’d say this was the right thing. But I’m the very worst person to ask, so probably you’re actually making a huge mistake,” Rahil said.

That seemed, strangely, to comfort Mercer. His expression loosened, and he gave a soft chuckle. “You’re right—about the first bit. As a parent, I know that, it’s just… yeah.” Then his brow did the cutest crinkle Rahil swore he’d ever seen. “Well, how do you feel about making a huge mistake with me ?”

A huge mistake .

Rahil’s chest seized with the realization that if they did this, even just for the night, whether as friends or as something more, he couldn’t leave without telling Mercer the truth of how Leah died. But a night like this would give him time to find a good lead into such a horrific conversation. Once Mercer was away from the regular stress and settings of his life, hopefully the truth of Leah’s death wouldn’t throw him back into a new panic, this one aimed at Rahil. Maybe, if Rahil found the right moment, this could strengthen their relationship instead of ruining it.

He had to believe that.

Rahil smiled. “I’d be honored to make all the hugest of mistakes with you, bab—boss?”

Mercer’s lip quirked as he nodded and led the way toward the front of the house, only pausing for a moment as he passed Rahil to give a low, warm, “Good boy. Now put those back and come along.”

Chills ratchetted through Rahil’s entire body, and his stomach went so giddy that it took him a moment to contain himself. With the goal of breaching the worst conversation in the back of his mind, and the thought of breaching some very different topics he’d been flirting around for weeks in the front, he dropped everything into the shed, and followed.