Chapter 17
AUGUST
Dust hung heavy in the training yard behind the Spire, glowing bronze in the late-morning sun.
“Come on, Hawthorne,” Garrick taunted, his grin sharp, eyes gleaming. “That all you’ve got? I’ve seen stiffer hits from my grandmother—and she’s dead. Where’s your head at?”
I didn’t answer. I twisted sharply, breaking his grip and slamming my shoulder into his chest. He stumbled, boots skidding against the dirt, but recovered fast, lunging again.
We crashed into the ground hard, a cloud of dust kicking up around us. Garrick was stronger, but I was faster. I rolled us over, pinning him with a forearm across his throat.
“Focused,” I grunted.
His laughter was breathless. “Sure. Focused. Is that what we’re calling it now? Saw you leave the house before dawn. Trying to outrun red hair and conscience at the same time?”
I shoved off him and stood, brushing off my breeches. “I had things to attend to.”
“You needed distance. Trouble is, she’s living in your skull rent-free.” He rolled to his feet with the smugness of a man who knew.
“Focus, Wolfe.”
“Your father already suspects something's off.” Garrick blocked my next swing, shoving back hard. “After that lovely chat you two had, you think sparring with me is going to fix it?”
I parried his next strike, shoved him back, and stopped short of the sweep. He blinked, surprised.
“I handled my father.”
“You argued with your father. There's a difference.” He circled, watching me. “And now you're out here at dawn, beating the hell out of a training dummy before I showed up. You’re not handling anything. That's running.”
I didn’t answer. Because this wasn’t just about my father. This was about last night.
I hadn't expected any of it. Not the copper-sharp fury that carved through me when I heard her scream, nor the way my pulse refused to settle even after the men lay broken in the street.
I certainly hadn't anticipated kneeling beside her in my study—coat draped over her shoulders—while she shook apart and I found myself unable, unwilling, to look away. At dawn I slipped out of my house before she woke, needing distance. I made the rounds: stable, barracks, the southern watchtower. Letting duty settle over me like armor. It should have sealed over the hairline cracks she kept striking in me. It didn’t.
Every patrol report seemed distant. My mind circled back to the impossible equation: Protect her or destroy her, when both were equally wrong.
“I don’t know what she is,” I said finally.
Garrick clapped me on the shoulder. “Well, that’s the first honest thing you’ve said all morning.”
I pushed his arm off. “You’re unbearable.”
“And you're in denial.” He began to circle again. “The question is whether you'll figure it out before your father does.”
That was the question, wasn't it?
And I was running out of time to find the answer.