Page 91 of The Shadow Sanctum

I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. And I’m relieved. “Will you respect my decision if I say no?”

“No,” he says, voice flat. Honest.

Funny, I prefer the version of him that lies.

He squeezes my hands while I scoff. “Honesty at last…”

The sharp edge between us dulls into silence, the kind that hums and swells until it’s all I can hear. His thumb drags across my knuckles, rough and steady, grounding me in a way no words ever could.

When his mouth finds mine, it isn’t hard or claiming. There’s no heat or demand. It’s slow. Patient. A kiss heavy with everything he just confessed, with everything I didn’t say back.

My walls quake, then crumble. My chest aches, but not from fear. From the terrifying relief of being wanted—being loved—by a man who doesn’t shiver in the presence of my icy cold soul.

I melt into him. My fingers curl into his shirt; my forehead brushes his as our breaths mingle in the cave’s shadow. For one suspended moment, there’s no sickness, no panic, no Sanctum. Just us.

And even if I can’t say it yet, my body answers for me, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing left in a collapsing world.

When the kiss finally breaks, our foreheads rest together. A moment stolen between us. A moment that only flickers. Because we have too much to do. Too much to manage.

Too many people to save. Or not.

By the time he leads me from the cave, en route to the Hearth, my spine has steeled. My face has hardened.

It’d be a mistake to allow the drones to catch my worry. It’s the last thing my people need.

The Shadow Sanctum may not want me, but their Head Keeper is still here.

CHAPTER 26

LUNA

The Hearth has never felt this quiet.

The moment Sawyer and I step inside, the hush slams into me harder than the cold ever could. This place should thrum with the sound of children—giggling, shrieking, singing off-key songs until the Nurturers clap for quiet. Now, only faint voices drift through the halls.

My hand slips from Sawyer’s as we walk through the foyer. He doesn’t protest and doesn’t look hurt when I toss him a glance. He knows. Love is vulnerability. Love is weakness.

I slow outside the playroom and peer in.

Two girls sit on the rug, but the dolls in their hands hang limp. One stares through the frosted window, eyes glassy, while the other drags a brush halfheartedly through tangled synthetic hair. There’s no laughter, no imagination. Just silence thick enough to suffocate.

“Where are the sick?” My voice is low when I turn to the Nurturer shadowing us.

She wrings her hands as her eyes dart everywhere except the space I occupy. “The basement.”

Sawyer tenses beside me. “The basement?”

The Nurturer flicks her eyes at Sawyer before facing me with a fearful expression. Cheeks dropped, lips parted, hand picking at the beaded necklace resting on her shirt. “They’re being quarantined, Your Grace. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

What I wanted…

None of this is what I wanted.

“We’d like to see them, please,” I say instead of answering.

The Nurturer dips her head quickly, eyes lowering. “Of course, Your Grace.”

She turns on her heel without another word and leads us across the tiled floor toward the stairwell door. The iron hinges moan as she pulls it open, stale air breathing up from the depths below.