Page 73 of Cursebreaker

I refused Will. But even though we both know I could dismount Swiftwing on my own, I no longer hesitate to take Titus’s hand. Maybe it’s the danger that causes him to reach for me so recklessly—maybe it’s the looming threat of capture that causes me to reach back. Perhaps tomorrow, aboard the Starchaser, he’ll go back to avoiding me. But at some point this evening, it started to feel less like electricity when his fingers twined with mine and more like… grounding. Natural. Easy.

Real.

I land on my feet, but Titus’s hand lingers in mine, and he stares at the connection like he’s not sure how to break it.

“He burned her body,” he says finally. Quiet. Hollow.

“I know.” It’s all I can say. Because he’s right. Will threatened to feed her to the Deimos, but he didn’t.

And I hate that there’s a part of me that thinks it means something.

“I thought that if I could see him again…” He shakes his head. “I know it’s him, and I know what he’s done—what he’s doing—but it’s…” His voice cracks, and his blue eyes seize mine, glossy in the moonlight. “He’s the only brother I’ve ever had.”

My gut twists. Tears burn my cheeks.

And then he asks the question I haven’t allowed myself to consider.

“Do you think he’s still… in there? Somewhere?” His tender, reluctant hope is almost too much to bear.

“Titus, I—” My throat tightens. “I don’t know.”

It’s the truth, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Titus squeezes my hand before letting go. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Me either.”

He turns to whisper something to Swiftwing, too low for me to hear. She nuzzles her face to his one last time before spreading her wings.

I want to ask him what he said to her, but there’s something about the way he watches the Pegasus that feels like its own goodbye—not just to Swiftwing, I realize, but to Leo. To their shared childhoods. Words meant only for her ears. And as Swiftwing soars high, a shadow passing across the moon, I look up at the stars and wonder if somewhere in that glittering tapestry of stories, Leo has heard him.

“We’re closed—” The man nearly chokes when he turns to see the four of us standing in the doorway of the ramshackle bar Jol had called the Leaping Lizard. The mop he was holding clatters to the floor. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Neither do we,” Owen says smoothly, lips turned up in a pleasant, if slightly terrifying, smile. He hoists the shield in front of him, taps it delicately. “A friend of ours told us you might know something about this.”

The man’s throat works on a swallow, his eyes darting from Titus and me, still dressed in our bloodred armor, to Gabriel, leering at him like he’s trying to decide where to slice, and finally Owen, grinning like a sweet, innocent nightmare.

“It’s me, Darius,” Titus finally says. “It’s Malachi.”

The man’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “I don’t know any Malachi.”

“Yes, you do.” Titus takes a small step forward. “Malachi Shade.”

Darius’s breath leaves him in an exasperated snort. “Malachi Shade is dead.”

“No, he isn’t,” Titus says. “He’s standing in your very fine establishment, wondering if you’re still capable of pouring a drink stronger than your throwing arm.”

Darius stares at him for a long moment, wide-eyed, jaw slack. “You… you’re really… you?”

Titus does a sort of half bow, and I realize that his helmet obscures his face, no different than the mask he wears as Captain Shade. “In the flesh.”

Darius deflates, hand pressed to his chest as he looks Titus’s armor over incredulously. “Why—” He shakes his head. “No, don’t tell me. Just… follow me.”

He turns swiftly and disappears through a doorway behind the bar.

No one moves.

“You know him?” Owen asks, keen eyes scanning the empty tavern.

“Captain Shade once saved this place from a group of bandits holding him hostage,” he says, his jaw tight. “He joined the Order shortly after that.”