Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy #3)

Untethered

UNTETHERED

Rose

I shower, scrubbing the makeup from my skin until it aches.

I throw on a robe and stare at myself in the mirror.

I wear a path across the floor of the apartment, to the end of the hallway and back again. The clock on the wall mocks me, time dragging on and on but never going anywhere.

It’s one in the morning when Fionn finally walks through the door, and the moment I see him, my heart hits every bone on its way to the floor.

“Hi,” I say.

The look he gives me is haunted.

I take a step closer, but he stiffens. The space between us is no more than ten feet, but it suddenly feels miles wide. “Are you okay?”

His voice is low and quiet when he says, “Everything is taken care of.”

I’ve never seen him like this. Shut down. Consumed by something I already know can’t be fixed. I can almost see the wall around him. An impenetrable blockade. And it’s meant for only one purpose—to keep me out.

I swallow. “Thank you. But that wasn’t my question.” My blood is surging so loudly I can hear it, a pulsating hum in my head. Dread is climbing though every cell in my body. “Are you okay?”

“I have to leave. Tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

Fionn doesn’t answer this time. He just shakes his head, his eyes still pinned on me, all the light within them gone. My throat threatens to close around a painful knot. My nose stings. But I will the sudden tears away. Maybe he can see the struggle in my face, because Fionn’s gaze finally shifts from mine and he heads toward the kitchen. I trail after him.

“What happened?” I ask, stopping on the other side of the island. Fionn takes a glass from one of the shelves and the bottle of Weller’s Special Reserve bourbon I got specifically for his visit because I know it’s his favorite. He cracks the lid and pours himself half a glass, knocking it back in a single hit. “Fionn? What happened?”

“I fixed it. Like I said I would.”

“I would have helped you. I still can, if you’ll let me.”

“Help?” he says, holding me in a stare I wish I could break away from. It slices through flesh and bone, not stopping until it hits my heart. “‘Help’ is what got us here in the first place.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

Fionn sighs, pouring another glass of bourbon, draining it as fast as it fills. “I took it too far.”

His gaze falls to my leg, where the scar cuts a jagged line down the side of my calf. A memory smacks me in the face. One of Fionn, a halo of light behind him. I was lying on the floor of his exam room. His beautiful eyes were full of concern. I recall the faint sound of his voice pulling me from darkness, imploring me to wake up. I remember now. Help , I’d said before I fell back into a dreamless sleep.

I started it. I started it all.

My hand raises to my heart as though it could ever stop it from incinerating. It aches beneath my bones. “What happened?” I whisper.

“I can’t tell you, Rose. Please stop asking.”

I refuse to balk at his sharp tone. Shoulders back. Spine straight. I deserve some answers. “Are the police involved?”

“No. They’re not.”

The relief I feel is fleeting, too brief to be captured for more than an unsteady heartbeat. “Then why do you have to go?”

“Because I have to. Because look at what we’ve done together.” Fionn gestures toward the windows behind me and the city beyond the panes of glass. “I killed someone. And there are consequences for that. We can’t avoid them this time. I can’t. We have to stop this.”

Everything he leaves unsaid hangs in the air.

The tears blur my vision. I try my hardest to blink them away. It’s so difficult under his cold, remote stare. “Is this the conversation you wanted to have with me earlier?”

“No. But it’s the one we should have had.”

We stand unmoving, watching each other. If there’s any pain or regret in Fionn, I don’t see it. It’s just a clinical detachment. A decision made, ready to be executed with the precision of a blade.

Don’t you fucking cry, Rose Evans. Not this time.

I force a weak smile that disappears as fast as it comes. “Yeah. You’re probably right. I, um …” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. Even the threat of an impending breakdown doesn’t sway Fionn. He just watches, that hard and unforgiving expression still etched on his face. “I should probably skip town too. Take the mayhem back to the circus, you know? I’ll catch up with Silveria. Time to get back on the road.”

I take a step backward. Then another. “For what it’s worth, Fionn,” I say, and I think I see the tiniest of cracks in his facade before his brow smooths, “I’m very sorry. I’ll miss you. So much. But I understand.”

I don’t wait to see what his reaction might be. I don’t think there’s anything I’d want to see in it anyway.

I stride away, my head lowered, the tears falling freely as soon as my back is turned. When I get to my bedroom, I lean against the door, sliding to the floor. My chest feels like it’s splitting open. Like I’m crumbling apart. Blowing away like ash in the wind.

And I cry.

I don’t stop until long after Fionn goes to his own room. His footfalls slow as they pass my door. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t knock or say anything through the wood that separates us. He just continues walking and with a quiet tick , he closes his door. It seals us in silence. An apartment that suddenly feels like a tomb.

“I have to get out of here,” I whisper to myself, just to hear something other than the oppressive quiet that surrounds me.

When I rise, I pull my phone from the pocket of my robe and text José.

Hi José. Sorry to text so late. I changed my mind about staying in Boston. I’d like to come home. Can I meet up with you tomorrow and get Dorothy back?

I’m both surprised and relieved when the three dots immediately start flickering with his impending reply.

Of course. We’ll be arriving at Fan Pier about 1PM. See you tomorrow.

And then, a moment later,

Love you, pequeno gorrión.

A fresh wave of tears wells in my eyes. On one hand, I’m grateful for the love. I’m craving the comfort of familiar sights and sounds. I want to be wrapped in José’s hug. I miss Baz’s laugh. I need to fly through the cage with the twins. But on the other hand, I’m already mourning something I wanted but never had. I was just starting to take steps in a new direction. I don’t want to go backward now. But there’s no other choice.

I go through the motions of my nighttime routine and fall into an exhausted sleep that feels like a haze of static gray.

When I wake the next morning, it’s just after seven. My first thoughts are of the pain of the night before. Memories of the hard edge in Fionn’s eyes. I remember how high my heart had soared when he pressed his lips to mine, only to come crashing down a few short hours later.

Hand on my throbbing forehead, I trudge to the en suite and take a shower. I stand in the scalding spray, staring blankly at the white tiles. I’m not even sure how long I’m there before I tear myself away. I’m wrapped in my towel and still dripping wet when I check my phone on the bathroom counter. There’s a text from Lark, a reminder about our plans to meet for coffee later this morning. I groan and press the edge of the phone to my forehead. I’m not really in the mood to meet up with anyone right now, but I can’t just cut and run, not from one of the girls. I thought I’d have all this time to build the foundations of these new friendships into something solid. Something permanent with roots in the ground. I think Sloane and Lark expected it too. It wouldn’t be right to just leave without telling at least one of them why I’m cutting out.

I reply with my confirmation, pack up my toiletries, and head to the dresser. I’m just pulling on my hunting blade and clothes when I hear Fionn speaking to someone on the phone in his room across the hall. I can’t make out the words, only the low tones of his voice. My spine goes rigid. I didn’t think about what it would be like to actually have to face him this morning. I don’t think I can handle scratching at a wound that’s still so raw.

I make out the clipped sound of Fionn’s goodbye. And then, a moment later, I hear the shower turn on.

Five minutes. Ten tops.

I can make it out before he even realizes I’m gone.

I’m a tornado in the room, tossing open drawers to gather my clothes by the armful and shove them into my new backpack. My few framed photographs on the dresser are next. My washbag. Fuck the shampoo and conditioner and my worn-out razor. I’ll get new ones. Fuck the beer in the fridge too, dammit. Dirty clothes from the laundry basket in the closet go on top. A little ass-backward, but I’m running against time. In less than five minutes, I’m creeping out of my room, shutting the door behind me just as Fionn’s shower turns off. I throw on my jacket and boots and purse, set the apartment keys on the island, and, with a final glance around the place I’ve called home for the last month, I leave.

When I step outside, I tighten the straps on my backpack and start heading south, bringing up my map to guide the way to Lark’s favorite coffee shop, Trident Café, which will take me a solid thirty minutes on foot. But I keep a good pace. I fend off the chill of the October air through my damp hair. I try to think about all the things I want to say to Lark, and all the things I don’t.

I enter the shop not long before she’s set to arrive. I order a coffee and claim a round table where Lark will be able to spot me as soon as she walks in. I’m taking the first sip of the blessed black liquid when my phone buzzes with a text. Fionn’s contact photo appears on my screen.

Did you leave?

I press my eyes closed. A deep breath does nothing to calm the surge in my pulse. Normally, I’d make some quip about his credentials. I’d have a joke ready or a teasing jab. But today, my response is just a single word.

Yes.

The dots of Fionn’s reply are immediate.

Permanently?

I roll my eyes.

Yes. I left my keys on the island. I’ll make sure Lachlan knows he can grab them.

You also left your tarot deck.

“What the fuck ,” I say out loud, the legs of my chair grating against the tile floor as I stand. I pat down my jacket pockets. I dig through my purse. I’m starting to tear through my backpack when I remember. It was in the leather pouch on my nightstand. I can picture it clearly. “Fuck. Fucking fuck .”

I’m dragging a hand through my hair when my phone buzzes with another text.

I can bring it to you.

I’m having coffee with Lark. Then I’m going to meet up with Silveria at 1PM at Fan Pier.

I have to be at the airport by then. But it’s on the way. I can give you your deck back and drop you off at Fan Pier if you’re okay to be there a little early.

I sigh, cursing myself. I’m not thrilled at the prospect of seeing Fionn after I made so much effort to get the fuck out of there. But I cannot and will not leave Gran’s deck behind.

I’m deliberating, still weighing my options when a flash of blond hair catches my attention out the window. Lark strides toward the entrance of the café, her eyes meeting mine through the glass. Her smile ignites and she waves.

Okay. Trident Café.

I’ll pick you up at 11:30.

Other than a thumbs-up to his message, I don’t reply, setting my phone down on the table to embrace Lark when she sweeps in like a storm of sunshine and glitter, her wide smile a balm to my busted-up soul. Even surrounded by her warmth, a cold chasm seems to take up space in my chest. I know deep down that she would never walk away from our friendship on purpose. But I also know how much harder it will be to see each other after today. Lachlan is Fionn’s brother . As much as I’ve come to love Lark and Sloane, I know it will be hard to stay close when doing so will only keep feeding the pain that’s already consuming me. My heart makes its bruises known with every beat. It begs me not to take another blow.

“You look stunning, as always,” I say as we part and take our seats across from each other.

“So do you,” she says, though I see a flicker of worry as her brows knit together. A server interrupts her thoughts and Lark orders a latte, and I use that brief moment to try to put on a more convincing mask. It doesn’t work, of course. Because Lark is like a fucking laser beam that cuts right through bullshit. “Everything okay? You don’t seem like yourself.”

I wave her off, but it only deepens the concern in her eyes. “I’m just …”

Lark’s head tilts.

“I’m not … things aren’t …”

Lark’s hand darts out and encircles my wrist. The sudden kindness has tears threatening to well in my eyes. “Rose …?”

“I’m going to join Silveria again.” I force a smile, trying my best to infuse it with brightness. “I just need to hit the road again, I think.”

Her head tilts in the opposite direction, just like her dog, Bentley, whenever I ask him if he wants bacon. “But I thought you were liking it here …? Did Rowan not talk to you about working at 3 in Coach? I know he was going to. If it’s work-related, I can just—”

“It’s not work-related,” I say. “I left the keys on the island in the apartment. Thank you so much for letting me use the place and I’m sorry for not clearing it out like I should’ve.”

“Is this about Fionn?” she asks. I bite down on my lip to keep it from quivering. Lark squeezes my wrist and I shrug, shifting my gaze to the far end of the café. She sighs a long, sympathetic breath of frustration. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “But thank you. Maybe another day.” I lay my hand over hers and this time, when I meet her eyes, my smile is a little less forced. “I want to hear all about you . I want to hear about married life to that adorable asshat Lachlan.”

For a long moment, Lark says nothing. I know what she’s thinking. She wants so badly to offer support, but she doesn’t want to force it on me. And I love her for that.

With a final squeeze of my wrist, Lark lets go and sits back to regard me as the server brings the latte to the table. When he leaves, she refocuses her attention on me.

“He’s good. Really good. Things are …”

“Good?”

She grins. “They’re great , actually. He’s kind of amazing. It might be a while before my parents and sister warm up to him completely, but my auntie Ethel adores him. Even Bentley seems to like him.”

“They do share a similar level of grump.”

Lark lets out a breath of a laugh. “They do. Bonded by asshattery.”

“You’re all crafty and stuff,” I say. “You should make an Etsy shop. Sell fancy handmade hats. Call it the Asshattery. ‘Hats for asses.’”

“Oh my God . That’s an amazing idea.” Lark’s eyes are so bright that sparks could tumble from them and I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s absolutely buzzing. “Lachlan might not love the idea,” she says, a sudden frown flashing across her face to be swept away again just a blink later, “but you’ve totally got my creative juices flowing.”

I snort. “I know about your juices.” I toast her with my coffee cup, waggling my brows as I lower my voice to a whisper and say, “Your murder juices.”

“ What? ” she hisses as she leans across the table, gripping its edge, her eyes darting around us before landing on me and narrowing. “How did you know about that? Did Lachlan tell you? I’m going to stab that Budget Batman in his neoprene balls.”

“I … don’t know about the neoprene balls part,” I say, my face scrunching before I shake it off. “But it was a lucky guess. A stab in the dark, if you will.”

Lark’s mouth drops open, her cheeks flushed. “How? How the fuck did you know that?”

I hold up a hand and tick fingers off as I list my points. “Best friends with Sloane, who killed that jerkoff who kicked her in the face. You’re buddies with Rowan, her equally murdery husband. Lachlan gives off hot tatted assassin vibes. You like crafts, I assume that probably has something to do with it. Simple deduction.” Lark’s mouth is still hanging ajar when I reach across the table and pat her arm. “Don’t worry. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty cool with it. Which might be part of my … current problems.”

My gaze drops to my half-full cup, but I still feel the weight of Lark’s attention on my face. “Oh. Ohhh. ” Lark sits back in her chair, her body relaxing in my peripheral vision. “And Fionn is not so cool with it.”

“Yeah,” I say, turning my spoon over on the saucer, watching my warped reflection on the silver surface. “Being on the road … being the way I am … It’s hard to find someone. Even harder when you’re not afraid of the dark. I thought maybe I did find someone, this time.”

When I meet her eyes, the smile we share is bittersweet. “You did. You’ve got me, always. You’ve got Sloane. We’re not afraid of the dark. And we’re not going anywhere.”

This moment is the first one where I’ve felt any real relief since everything spiraled out of control last night. I know with the way Lark looks not just at me, but right into me, that she means it.

Conversation gets a little easier after that. The weight in my chest eases. We talk about Sloane and Rowan and their mini honeymoon to Martha’s Vineyard. We make plans to meet up at the circus while Silveria is in town for the next few days if we can get our schedules to line up. She texts Sloane to make sure she’ll be able to come to my show. One last chance to say goodbye. We order another couple coffees, a croissant each. We talk about her married life, how their stars are finally aligning. We laugh and smile. And time ticks down to the last moment. I feel its hammer in every heartbeat.

“I’m going to miss you,” Lark says, reaching across the table to take my hand.

“I’m going to miss you too,” I reply. I smile, but it’s fragile. Ready to break. “You know what they say about the circus.”

“What, that the show must go on?”

“No. That the show can’t begin until you jump.”

Lark’s expression seems to clear. She watches me, her eyes fixed to mine, a soft smile forming at the corners of her lips. My phone buzzes on the table and my heart skips over itself. A rush of nerves roils in my guts as I read the short message. Just two simple words. Parked outside.

“Doc’s here.” I pocket my phone. “Guess I’ll see you around. Don’t be a stranger.” With a few final goodbyes and a crushing hug, I pull away and place a kiss on Lark’s cheek and leave the coffee shop, swallowing down the tears that climb the back of my throat.

Fionn is parked at the curb, waiting in his rental vehicle. He pops the trunk as I draw close and I toss my backpack inside next to his. I remember the first time I rode anywhere with him. The way he slid his arm around my waist. The strength with which he lifted me inside his truck.

Anything I should know before we do this? he’d asked before we drove away.

Maybe if I’d just said something then, my chest wouldn’t ache so much now. I wouldn’t be hesitating as I shut the lid of the trunk, slowing my steps as I walk closer to the front of the car. Though I hate the thought of making life harder for Fionn, I think the pain I feel now was worth it. It hurts because it was real. It’s how I know the truth. The only one that matters.

I’m in love with Fionn Kane.

And it’s too late to ever tell him.

“Hey,” I say as I slide onto the passenger seat.

I can feel Fionn watching me as I pull the seat belt across my body and clip it in. When we still haven’t pulled away from the curb, I return his gaze.

“Hi,” he finally says.

He turns away to check for traffic, but I still catch a glimpse of his face. There are shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes. A hollowness to his features, one that might not be noticeable to most people, but I’ve seen him from every angle, in every light, from far away and so close his features become hazy. I can see the evidence of a sleepless night.

I look out at the coffee shop, taking one final glance at Lark before we pull into traffic and drive away.

“Thanks for taking me back to Silveria,” I say, checking my text messages. There’s one from José confirming that they’re nearing the city. It’ll be one of the last shows of the season before we make our way home.

“Here.” Fionn extends the leather pouch toward me and I blow out a long breath between pursed lips. I take the deck out just to feel the comforting finish of the worn cardstock between my fingertips.

“I appreciate it. Thank you.” I imagine what he must have been thinking as he entered my room and realized I was already gone. Maybe it was a bit of relief, at first. He had the place to himself. Maybe dread sunk in as he spotted the deck on my nightstand. It’s impossible to divine his thoughts from his stoic expression. He just gives me a single nod.

The traffic is backed up. We inch our way along. A playlist drones through the speakers at a quiet volume. I’m not sure if it’s better to have music or silence between us. There’s a fresh wave of tension in the air as Fionn looks at his watch and taps the steering wheel with impatient fingers.

“I can take an Uber to the pier,” I say, looking out at the river of red brake lights in front of us. I don’t think we’ve made it more than a few blocks in the last forty minutes since we pulled away from the coffee shop. “Maybe you can find an alternative route.”

“It’s fine,” he says, glancing in his rearview mirror.

I open my mouth to argue when a call comes through on the car’s dashboard screen. Lachlan’s name appears and Fionn accepts the call.

“Hey, Lach—”

“Where’s Rose?” Lachlan barks, panic infusing every note. “Is she with Lark?”

Fionn and I exchange a confused glance. “I’m here,” I say. “Lark went back to your place a while ago.”

“Shit. Shit. ”

“What’s going on?”

“She’s missing. Something’s wrong. I can’t explain right now. I need to get home.”

“We’re not far,” Fionn says.

“I’ll meet you there.”

“ Fuck ,” Fionn hisses as Lachlan hangs up. His gaze darts around the wall of traffic that surrounds us. It feels like there’s not enough air in the car. Like we’re spinning through space, though we’re not moving at all. Panic curls around us and squeezes. If we don’t find her now , we won’t find her alive. I don’t know how I know it. But I do.

I lean closer to the passenger window. “There,” I say, pointing to a side street ahead and to the right. The turn is blocked by the cars ahead, all of us stuck. “The sidewalk,” I say, and Fionn is already moving, wrenching the steering wheel far to the right. He narrowly avoids the bumper of the car in front and jumps the curb to take the side road, cars around us honking.

“Was anything at all unusual? Did she say or do anything out of character?”

“No,” I say, swiping a tear from my lash line before it can fall. “She was happy.”

Fionn’s expression is grim as we speed down the block so we can backtrack. “Did you notice anyone out of place in the coffee shop?”

“No. There was nothing unusual at all.” Fionn glances in my direction as we near the next turn. “What if we can’t find her, Fionn? What if—”

“We’ll find her,” he says as we take the corner far too fast, nearly colliding head-on with a car taking up too much space on a narrow residential street. Fionn brakes so hard we both lurch forward. The tarot cards tumble across my lap and into the footwell. We’re going to collide. On instinct, Fionn’s arm flies out in front of me, bracing across my chest.

We screech to a stop inches from the other car’s bumper. A loud horn blares from the other vehicle, but it’s as though Fionn can’t hear it. All his attention is on me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his arm still resting across my body.

I nod, the motion shaky.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He tears his haunted eyes from mine, then brings his arm over my head to rest it on the back of my seat as he looks out the rear window and reverses, giving the other car enough room to pass. When he rights himself, he throws the rental into drive, stamps his foot onto the accelerator, and flies down the street. With one hand braced on the handle of the door, I take my phone from my pocket with the other, calling Sloane. She picks up on the second ring, her relaxed greeting destroyed by my tone as soon as I ask her where she is. It crushes me to tell her Lark is missing. She cries out on the other end of the phone. I hear the moment her heart splits in half. Rowan takes the phone from her.

“We’re on our way home. We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he says, his voice grave. Then the line goes dead.

It takes less than ten minutes for us to arrive at Lark and Lachlan’s building, a former textile factory in a quiet neighborhood. We’re just getting out of the car as another vehicle growls down the empty street. It’s Lachlan’s vintage Charger, racing toward us, squealing to a stop just behind us. We jog toward the car and he opens his door as he tries his phone, panic written across his face. The call rings unanswered on the other end before connecting to Lark’s voicemail.

“We called Rowan, but he and Sloane are in Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend. They’re on their way home but it’s gonna take a while,” I say as he pulls a gun from the glove box. “What’s going on? Where the fuck is Lark?”

“I don’t know,” he says as he leads the way toward the entrance of their building. “She called me to say her aunt died. She was supposed to meet me at the nursing home, but she never showed. Conor just found information about the man who’s been targeting her family. And now Lark won’t respond to any of my calls.”

Fionn and I exchange a weighted glance as we follow Lachlan into the building and up the metal staircase, Lachlan spitting venom about someone being in his shop as we take the stairs by twos. When we get to the door of their apartment above the textile floor, Lachlan hesitates, one hand paused around the handle, the gun clutched in the other. His eyes are every shade of desperation as he nods to us in a wordless request to stay back. And then he twists the handle and opens the door.

His knees buckle and Fionn catches his older brother. My hand is shaking when I cover my mouth.

The floor is coated in blood.

Lachlan stumbles into the room. He calls out for Lark, a heartbreaking, hopeless plea. But instead of her voice, there’s a desolate whine. We rush after Lachlan to find Bentley lying on the floor, the dog panting heavily, blood staining the patches of white fur on his side. His dark eyes are pleading as he looks up at us.

“Save that fucking dog,” Lachlan says to Fionn as he strides to the kitchen to gather tea towels from a drawer.

“I’m not a vet—”

“ I don’t fucking care, save that goddamn dog. ”

Lachlan rushes in the direction of the hallway, calling out to Lark without receiving an answer. “I’ll help you,” I say, heading to the side table where I know Lark keeps some of her sewing supplies. I gather a needle and thread and scissors and bring them to Fionn. My hands tremble as I take over the job of holding towels to the deep puncture wound on Bentley’s side so Fionn can prepare for sutures. “Good boy,” I whisper, stroking his bearlike head as he gives me a mournful whine. For what feels like the countless time today, I swallow a swell of tears. “What did he mean, someone ‘targeting her family’?” I ask as I lock eyes with Fionn.

“I don’t know. It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” he replies. “She never said anything to you?”

“Nothing at all.” I search his eyes, but Fionn’s expression is grim. There’s so much blood on the floor. A streak of it leads to the door, as though someone was dragged. I keep asking myself the same question, over and over. What if we don’t find her in time?

Lachlan enters the room and we break our silent exchange. “I’ll do what I can to stop the bleeding now and get him to the vet,” Fionn says as Lachlan passes him a set of clippers. Fionn doesn’t delay, turning them on to shave Bentley’s thick fur and reveal the extent of the damage. “Do you have any idea where Lark could be?”

“No,” Lachlan says as his gaze pans around the room. It seems to snag on something lying next to a broken lamp on the floor. When he strides away, I follow, watching as he picks up a phone from the floor. He looks at the screen. And a heartbeat later, a bereft, soul-shattering scream fills the room. Lachlan breaks apart right before my eyes. He tosses the phone on the couch and buries his head in his hands as though he could crush the anguish right out of his skull.

We’re losing time.

Bentley whines behind me as I wrap a hand around Lachlan’s arm and squeeze. He looks down, tears shining at his lash line. “Think. There’s got to be something . Something weird. Something out of place.”

Lachlan takes a deep breath. Presses his eyes closed. The crease between his brows deepens before it suddenly smooths. His gaze snaps to mine. “Across the street. He was across the fucking street .”

Lachlan pivots on his heel and strides toward the door. I don’t even think about it. I’m not yet sure what conclusions Lachlan has drawn. Or who we’re after. Or how dangerous they might be. But I know Lark is out there somewhere. And Lachlan is on to something, a trail that starts across the street. So I just follow. I make my declaration. I’m going to go too.

“Rose, don’t,” Fionn says. His voice breaks on those two words and it stops me as though I’ve hit a wall. “ Please. ”

Time grinds to a halt. I turn. The sight of him grips what’s left of my heart. He’s so beautiful. So broken, kneeling on the floor with his palm on Bentley’s side, his hands covered in blood. My pulse surges. Any doubt that’s left behind is washed away by the current humming in my veins. “Lark is my girl,” I say. “I’m going to get her back.”

“But—”

“I love you, Fionn Kane.”

The panic on his face is wiped clean, replaced with shock. It’s as though he can’t make my words fit into any reality that lies before us. His lips part, but nothing comes out. And I realize, I don’t need him to say anything at all. I know how I feel. And it’s still enough magic to be real, even on its own.

I take a step backward, and I give him a smile that fades as quickly as it appears. “Save the dog or this asshat will kill you,” I say.

And then I turn away.

I don’t look at Lachlan as I pass him, reaching behind my back to pull the hunting blade from its sheath.

I don’t know what trials I’m about to face. But I do know one thing as I feel the weight of this last secret lift from my soul.

The show can’t start until you jump.