Page 62

62

Will

I woke to silence. It wasn’t the uneasy kind that hums beneath every mission, where the quiet is filled with things you can’t hear yet. It was true silence—the sterile, padded hush of a place untouched by violence.

My body ached in a dozen places, dull thuds and needle pricks that told me I was alive. The sheets beneath me were clean, starchy, and unfamiliar.

I blinked at the ceiling, disoriented by the lack of urgency.

Where were the gunshots?

Where was the river?

Where were the others?

I turned my head—pain flaring in my neck—and saw him in the bed beside mine.

Thomas.

He was asleep. His face was pale. His arm lay wrapped tight across his chest with bandages I hadn’t applied.

The breath I’d been holding for days escaped in a single, shuddering exhale.

He was still here.

Thank God, he was still here.

My chest hurt—not from injury, but from the sheer force of relief. I reached for the side rail of my cot, pushed the blanket off with stiff fingers, and swung my legs over the edge. My knees didn’t buckle, but they threatened to. I shuffled to his bedside and dropped into the chair like it might vanish beneath me if I didn’t sit fast enough.

He looked younger asleep, less burdened. His lashes lay dark against his cheekbones, and for the first time in weeks, there was color in his lips. I reached out and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

He didn’t stir.

I sat with him for a while. Just sat.

Outside the window, I heard the wind and a bird. From somewhere distant came the thud of many boots on gravel.

But nothing close. No danger.

Memory flooded back.

We were in Austria. We’d made it.

All of us—except Shadowfox, Dr. Farkas.

And without his machine.

I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned back in the chair, guilt rising like smoke from a long-smothered fire.

We’d had one job.

Save the man, save the invention, not in that order.

And we’d done neither.

Except Eszter.

We’d saved her.

But even that felt like a fragile victory, one that might crack if I looked too closely. She hadn’t even been part of the mission brief.

“You’re frowning.”

My eyes snapped open.

Thomas hadn’t moved much, and his eyes were still half lidded, his voice quiet—but he was watching me.

I smiled and leaned forward. “How long have you been awake?”

“A while.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“I liked the way you were looking at me, thought I’d let you have the moment.”

I huffed a laugh, dry and broken. “You ass.”

He grinned, then winced. “Everything hurts.”

I reached for the pitcher on the table between our beds, poured a cup of water, and held it to his lips. He sipped, and I set the cup down.

His hand found mine, and our fingers entwined.

We sat in silence.

After an eternity of peace, I finally asked it, the question that had been crawling through my mind since the river.

“Did it matter?”

His brow furrowed.

“Any of it?” I asked. “Farkas is gone. The machine’s at the bottom of a river. We almost died trying to save something that didn’t make it out. So I just . . . I need to know. Did it matter?”

He looked down to where our hands were joined, then at the ceiling, then at me.

“She’s alive,” he said. “Eszter is alive.”

I nodded.

“He gave his life to protect her. We gave everything to pull her out. You kept me alive. Egret got through his own hell. Sparrow never stopped fighting.”

He paused and swallowed. “We mattered.”

“But the machine—”

“Isn’t worth more than a girl,” he said, gently but firmly. “Besides, we kept it out of . . . our uncle’s hands.”

After another long moment, I said through grinning lips, “You fucking got shot again.”

His smile was immediate—and beautiful—and everything.

“Sorry about that. I’ll try harder next time. Maybe you can take the bullet for me?”

My eyes bugged. “How about neither of us gets shot? Doesn’t that sound better? Why would you even suggest—”

He leaned up and pressed his lips to mine, cutting off whatever smart-ass comment I was about to make.

When our lips parted, and I longed for his taste again, he dropped his voice into a whisper and said, “I’d do it again, Will, every single part, even knowing how it ends.”

My throat tightened. I bent until our foreheads touched.

“Me, too,” I said. “Always.”