He adjusted the collar of his shirt, though it was already spotless. Every detail about him looked calculated, not needing fixing. “That… we were all friends.”
It wasn’t really the answer I was hoping for. Not in length at least.
“She never spoke of you,” I said, and his features tensed.
Emotions shimmered just beneath his skin, but like the melody in the kitchen, I couldn’t grasp them.
“She went away,” he said calmly. “When we were still young.”
His phone rang, and the spell broke when he answered it.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, Ransom. No—no.” He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Just pass the phone to Wisteria, will you?”
As he spoke, something shifted at the edge of my vision. I turned, but only the rows of books stared back.
I drifted deeper into the aisles, drawn like a thread through the shelves. Hudson’s voice slowly died behind me. The silence was sacred here. My fingers brushed over spines—leather, cloth, cracked paper. Each one hummed quietly beneath my skin.
I could lose years here.
My steps echoed against the stone walls in the silence of the room. Given the number of books that were stored here, it might not be as easy to find a dictionary as I thought it would be. And theTome of Fates? Even harder. I observed the silver labels, passing multiple history shelves divided by years, and books written in Latin, Hungarian, German, French…and so many more, when I heard a soft knock from a few rows down.
I followed the noise cautiously, stepping into the narrower part of the library. Tables were scattered here, like forgottenthoughts. Preston Davenport was sitting at one of them, his head bent over a chessboard, as if he’d been born in that exact position—arrogant and undisturbed. He knew Latin, he’d proven that more than once, smugly flaunting his knowledge whenever the opportunity arose.
He would be able to translate Lilian’s words faster than I could find a dictionary and do it myself. But then again, I would really hate to ask him for a favour. I stepped back into the shadow of the bookshelf, indecisive. Using him would be smart, but I’d have to endure that stupid smug look on his unfairly handsome face.
Let them think whatever they want. Let them celebrate their victory. The moment they believe they’re in control, striking will be effortless.
My mum’s words rang in my mind, firm and unyielding.
She was right. Why would I care what he thinks as long as I get what I want?
I hid the book behind my back, my fingers numbing as I drifted to where he was sitting.
I studied the pieces. “Move the white knight to E4.”
His fingers paused above the board. His eyes flicked up through a curtain of gold-touched hair, locking onto mine. I expected mockery. Instead, for a breath, there was something sharp and dangerous in his expression. But it vanished when he blinked.
“You play?” he asked, his voice low and lazy.
I tilted my head. “And you speak Latin.”
A slow smirk curled his lips. “Callidus es nonne?” His long fingers moved the white knight to the E4, before he leaned back in his seat. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On who’s asking.”
I sat without waiting for permission and moved a bishop forward without looking. “I’m asking. I need a translation.”
Preston leaned back further like a cat who’d just been tossed a mouse. “You do.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement said with too much amusement for my liking.
There was an edge in his voice that prickled my skin. I stared at him, and he did the same. His gaze burned into mine, surveying me with interest. I clenched my jaw, my teeth clacking together harshly.
“Can you help me or not?” I asked, and his smile sharpened.
“Let’s hear it.”
I tried to recall exactly how Lilian had spoken the words. “Tenebrae vorant tenebrae rapiunt et ex iis regnamus.”
