“They’re trying. In their own ways. But they’re not sure where they stand anymore.”
“Because of me?” I asked.
“Because they care,” he corrected. “And they don’t want to push you. But they’re scared. You disappearing, nearly dying, coming back changed... it scared all of us.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know. They do too.”
His hand found mine where it rested against his ribs. He didn’t lace our fingers—he just covered mine with his, warm and still. Grounding.
I hesitated. “Is it because of Thorne?”
Slade didn’t answer right away.
“Maybe a little,” he said finally. “We don’t know what he’ll be like when we find him.”
My stomach twisted. My other hand shifted—slowly, instinctively—up his chest.
I felt the curve of his collarbone, the quiet strength beneath it. The faint flutter of his pulse.
He watched me. Didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
“What did Lacey say about it?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
“No one’s seen him. But…”
He exhaled, jaw tight. “The Sentinels and the Shades—they’re not who they were. They’re a militia now. Organized. Ruthless. They’ve been systematically ransacking Varrowmere. Clearing out strongholds. Cracking down on anyone with magic.”
“Looking for us,” I said.
He nodded.
“When we get to the garrison and face Vael’s forces… then what?”
“Hopefully we knock them back,” Slade said. “But…”
I sat up straighter.
“But what?”
“There’s a rumour. That Vael and Ashton have been meeting. That they’ve called a ceasefire.”
My mouth went dry. “What? Why?”
“Because…” Slade exhaled. “They might be building an alliance.”
“Fuck.”
“Fuck indeed.”
“Do we have enough soldiers?”
“That’s the question.” He paused. “I hope so.”
“Does Phoenix know?”
Slade nodded. “Why do you think he’s been up every night? Strategizing. Running numbers. Mapping scenarios.”
