Page 187 of Fallacies

“What I had to do,” I reply, confused as to why he’d ask. “D, I couldn’t let her⁠—”

My explanation dies on my tongue when I turn to her body and finally see what he sees.

The Rogue’s been completely mutilated. There isn’t a square inch of her skin not covered in blood. I hadn’t just stabbed her once in the chest. I stabbed her all over…repeatedly.

It had only been a couple seconds in my mind, but this kind of damage took at least a few minutes.

Tightening my grip on the knife, I tear my gaze away. “She was a threat,” I mutter, but I’m unable to meet Devon’s eyes as I say it. I know exactly the kind of concern I’d see there. “We can’t get caught,” I double down, but it’s not just him I’m trying to justify my actions to.

The crumbled building suddenly feels too small, and Devon doesn’t stop me as I push past him, stepping outside just as another crack splinters through the sky above us. He stays close behind as I hurry to retrace the path I’d run, not stopping until we’re back by the gates.

We settle in our spots, continuing our wait, and neither of us speaks.

She was a threat, I repeat to myself. I did what I had to do.

But between each affirmation, I can’t deny the deeply buried part of my soul that hums with satisfaction, and by the time the sky lightens, shifting from black to a very dark grey, my own psyche is damn close to eating me alive.

Pax and Phoenix are still lighting up the sky, thunderous explosions shaking the ground beneath us, but the servant door remains closed. The Estate and the courtyard out front remain undisturbed and eerily quiet.

Deciding I’m out of patience, I shift to the right, moving towards the part of the gate that I’d been trying to avoid.

The bodies of our high-ranked Sol have decomposed, and only their skeletons remain. Their bodies dangle from the highest point on the gate, draped in the now tarnished fabric that they’d been wearing when they died.

I keep my head down as I inch closer to the entrance, eyes locked on the servant door.

“What are you doing?” Devon appears at my side. It’s the first thing he’s said to me since I chased a Rogue into the city.

“I’m going to see if the ward is down. There’s no point in waiting for the servant door to open if they can’t pass the threshold.”

I can sense him side-eyeing me without taking my attention off the door. “Cal, if the ward is still up, there’s nothing we can do.”

“We’ll have to come up with something,” I snip back. “I can’t just sit here.” Checking both ways before crossing the open courtyard, I take long strides to the small door beside the main entrance.

Devon gives up his protest and follows.

My heart rate increases as we approach the exterior wall of the Estate, and the servant’s door is only a few feet ahead when an achingly familiar knot tightens in my chest, urging me forward. I wonder if it’s because this is the closest I’ve come to home—the place I was born in and should have been raised in.

Squinting up the pale stone surface, I search for any evidence of the ward shimmering against the building.

When we went through the mines this summer, we almost didn’t see it in front of us. It wasn’t until we were actually looking for it that we could see the iridescent ripple. It was a sheen similar to heat rising from scorching pavement, and I can’t see it now.

I glance back at Devon, finding that his eyes are narrowed on where mine had been, searching for the same evidence. He tilts his head back, taking his gaze all the way up to the eaves on the roof.

“Can you see anything?” I ask.

He shakes his head, and the knot in my chest tightens. I look down at the brass knob on the small door, gathering the courage to grab onto it. If the ward is still up, touching it would hurt like hell—on top of our entire plan being screwed.

I take one steadying breath.

Then another.

And just when I’ve psyched myself up to do it, the knob turns.

From the inside.

I jump back, giving space for the door to open, then I pause mid-step, every muscle in my body locking in place as I freeze.

My father leans against the doorframe. His dark hair is long, peppered grey, and his eyes are older—wrinkled at the edges and heavy with the kind of exhaustion that’s reached your bones. The kind that settles when too much time has passed without any relief. There are cuts on his face and a bruise beneath one of his eyes.