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She had been smelling iron on him every day since the basement.

She had never smelled where it lived.

Chapter 36

Idonea stirred beneath the blankets. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest. She lay listening to the steady breath behind her, the second heartbeat against her back. Lysander's arm draped over her waist, loose but possessive even in sleep.

When she shifted, his hold tightened, not enough to trap, only enough to remind her he was there.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice low and rough from sleep.

“So are you.”

He huffed a quiet laugh against her hair, the warmth of it stirring something deep in her chest. "Don't tell me you were planning to leave without me."

Idonea's lips pressed into a thin line. I was, actually. But she couldn't say it, not when his arm tightened a fraction more, as though he'd heard the thought.

She turned towards him at last, meeting the storm in his eyes. There was no yielding there, no chance of convincing him otherwise. He had made his choice as surely as she'd made hers.

Idonea knew it was smart to bring him—a Severant, a Daemonbreaker—when she knew she’d have to face Vinea. But the thought of him walking into that chamber, of him bleeding for her again, made something inside her crack and ache.

“You’re a fool,” she said, pressing her forehead against his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat grounded her in a way nothing else could.

He tilted her face up, his mouth curving in the barest ghost of a smile. “I'm staying.”

She sighed. “Then let us go. Time is not our friend. " She paused, swallowing. "But first, I need to check on Alcaeus."

They dressed in silence, and outside her sight hovered on the terraced house where the Templars remained trapped. There were no visible signs of them breaking out, yet.

Lance flew down from the roof, spiralling around them both before flying up and near them as they walked towards the hospice.

Alcaeus lay on a simple cot in the corner, blankets pulled up to his chest. His face was pale, taut, but the steady rise and fall of his chest told her more than any words could.

“Father?” Her voice cracked, and she stepped closer.

Alcaeus’s eyes fluttered open, recognising her instantly. A weak smile touched his lips, even in exhaustion. “Idonea,” he rasped.

Her fingers brushed the back of his hand, warm against the coolness of the blankets. “You need to rest. I will save you.”

His gaze sharpened. “But?”

Idonea drew a slow breath, unsure how to put the storm in her chest into words. “I must see this through. But I wanted to know you’re safe.”

Alcaeus’s hand rose, weak but insistent, and brushed her cheek. “You carry more than anyone should. Remember … to breathe.”

“I will,” she said, pressing her forehead against his hand. “And I’ll return. I promise.”

His eyes closed briefly, exhaustion overtaking him.

Idonea’s throat tightened. She forced herself to turn away before she could think too hard about whether promises counted if the person making them never returned.

Balmo shifted impatiently on the path ahead, the imp's leathery skin shifting in the half-light, its crooked tusks catching the gleam of the morning sun. Lance hovered near her shoulder, wings twitching in readiness.

Lysander tensed beside her, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword.

"We need its help," Idonea whispered, laying her fingers briefly against his wrist.

The doors of the chapel groaned as they swung inward, dust falling from their hinges. The familiar musty scent of incense and damp stone wrapped around them.