He grabbed Reid’s papers, then darted into the alley.
I fell to my knees in front of Reid. Blood gushed from his wound, even as I pressed hard on his stomach. Bowen crouched next to me, ripping fabric from his shirt to stem the flow of blood.
But it was too much.
Reid’s eyes turned glassy, his gaze unfixed. A jagged breath sawed from his chest.
“No, no, no,” I murmured, pressing harder, knowing there was nothing I could do.
His lips moved, and I bent my head to capture his words.
“Tell Marin, I’m sorry,” he rasped, blood gurgling from his mouth. “And…” he whispered the rest in my ear. I nodded, eyes wet, throat too tight to answer.
Reid went still, his blood pooling onto the dirty stone. I hung my head.
“We need to get him off the street,” Bowen said, his voice thick. “We’ll get him into a cart and take him back to my place. Bury him there.”
Bowen let out a string of oaths and slammed his fist against the stone. I could only watch as my friend lay motionless. Gone before he’d had a chance to make things right. And now the version of us that had once laughed and traveled side by side was lost too.
***
Night had fallen by the time I climbed the creaking steps to Reid’s rented room. His dying words still clung to me like a weight around my neck.
The door groaned open, revealing cluttered boxes, his unmade bed, and the maps he’d tacked to the wall. Maps with pins pushed into place, marking the places we’d been. My head still throbbed, the pain matching the bitter ache lodged in my throat.
It shouldn’t have ended this way, and a surge of anger washed over me. I wanted to rail at the unfairness. To tear his room apart for what he’d done to Marin, and at the same time, I wanted to preserve it. His notes. His work. The legacy of a man who’d just wanted to be great. A man who wanted to be remembered. And most importantly, my friend.
We’d lost too much, and we were still losing. I was terrified our actions wouldn’t be enough. What if it all ended in an instant? I already knew how fast life could slip through your fingers, and tonight had only cemented it further.
Nothing had gone right since that last hunt. And now I knew how twisted those final days were. It shifted everything. No wonder Marin believed I’d betrayed her. Reid had conspired with the witch, but I’d handed them the perfect opportunity to set the trap.
Stepping over empty bottles, I knelt in front of the bed and pulled a metal box from underneath. The box was right where Reid said it would be. With a hesitant breath, I flipped open the clasp and lifted the lid.
Sitting on top of Reid’s journal wasmy compass. I wrapped my finger around the cool metal chain and removed it from the box.
It looked the same as it had three years ago when I’d tucked it inside a wooden chest and left it with a note on Marin’s pillow. I hadn’t known Reid had switched it out with the comb until tonight. I’d assumed the compass had gotten lost in the chaos. Sometimes, I’d even convinced myself Marin had been wearing it when she fell. I’d let myself believe she’d worn it in those final moments.
I scraped a hand through my hair as the night before we’d boarded the ship flooded my mind. Marin had humbled me in the night market when I found out she’d been secretly searching for the clues to my past. Then, when she'd said those words, the ones that hinted we could be something more, I'd foolishly told her to stop searching.
I’d taken it back a million times in my head, knowing exactly how it sounded. In all my years, I'd never had anyone I cared about, never had to tell anyone how I felt, and I cursed myself for ruining the most important moment of my life.
Stop searching,should have been,stay with me.
But I never got the chance to say it. And she never saw the compass, never knew she meant more to me than any crest ever could. That the family I’d lost was nothing compared to the family I’d found. And that I’d wanted her more than I’d ever wanted answers.
With a weary sigh, I slipped the compass into my pocket and collected Reid’s journal from the box. I was back to square one with no proof. My word against Marin’s beliefs.
But I wasn’t done yet. Cass was wrong about the marauders, but she was right about one thing.
The witch doesn’t get to win.
Chapter 25
Marin
No lights flickered insidethe manor as I dragged our gear up the front steps.
“Figures he makes me do the shoppingandcarry the bags,” I muttered, brushing the hair off my damp neck and peering into the darkened window. No sign of life. The metal timepiece I dug out of my bag said it was a little after nine o’clock. That was early by revelry standards, but seeing how we planned to climb a massive vine into the sky in a few hours, I thought he might at least try to get some sleep.
