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My vision flashes with images of my beloved aunt, crucified and preserved to torment me by my father, and my knees buckle. Lucas flinches towards me, but I catch myself. My voice quavers, “I’m okay.”

“Tor.” His nickname for me drips heavily with concern, but I brush it off. “Who were they looking for?”

I swallow. I don’t think I can keep this from him. He already believes I killed the man in a surge of corruption. Concealing information further will only make me appear guilty. Besides, if the officers return, when the officers return, Lucas will find out.

My eyes burn and my throat tightens. Every instinct tells me to keep quiet, to let him believe what he wants as long as it serves my purposes. But what is the point anymore? So he doesn’t leave me? He’s seen what I’ve done to Alasdair and he didn’t abandon me to the Order.

I can trust him. I do trust him. It just hurts to speak the words. “They were looking for Vincentius.”

His brows shoot up and he turns sharply to look at me. “Vincentius? As in Valen’s dad? Or are we extremely lucky and there’s another Vincentius walking around the Astrum Forest?”

“There’s only one.” My voice cracks, and I press my hand to my trembling lips. My breathing threatens to turn into puffs of building terror. Four words echo in my mind, louder and louder. Did I do this?

Lucas’ hand slides along my lower back and I gasp, blinking rapidly. His brown eyes are so warm, so caring when he says, “It’s okay to have complex feelings, Tor.”

I cross my arms. “I don’t want to have complex feelings.”

A laugh bursts from Lucas, and he seals his lips when I shoot him a glare. His hand on my back slides to my hip and he draws me into his warmth. “Sorry. That was just the most typical response you could give.”

Despite my glare, some of the sharpness of the swirling emotions within me dulls. I lean into Lucas, and the illusion of Aster dispels in a soft ripple. The sound of his breath fills my ears, and slowly, the words mumble past my lips. “There’s something wrong with me, Lucas. I am an Archweaver Heir. My threads are woven to the Archweaver chain, but I’m woven… differently. I’ve got no one to train me and no clue where to start. I just don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

Antonia’s words while weaving my Dual Threads with her own haunt me. Magic doesn’t make mistakes.

I close my eyes and breathe slowly, forcing myself to relive the horrible moment of discovering the body, trying to feel certain that the gory crime wasn’t something I’d committed. Lucas’ orb is keeping the smell of dead flesh at bay, and I am grateful for that. I don’t think I could keep my bile down otherwise.

Lucas’ arms tighten around me, the only hint he gives that he’s bracing for impact when he says, “Okay, if you say you didn’t do this, then I believe you.”

My body stiffens. I know he’s not finished speaking.

“But…” He sighs, glancing at the body before saying gently, “But it means you’re being framed.”

I nod, grasping onto Lucas’ explanation like it’s a lifeline. “It has to be Dimitar. We need to figure out what he plans next before the Magistrate becomes too involved. I’d rather not be chased out of the city.”

Lucas frowns, his brows furrowed. “There’s no way it was just a coincidence that they think the body belongs to a weaver.”

I’m too lost in my own misery. My heart thuds, my vision blurring until the image of Lucas pinned to the estate’s main entry doors by Valen is all I can see. My father threatening his life echoes in my ears. Then there’s Vincentius’ betrayal. Again. He knew about Viola, didn’t save her when it was clear that my father was going to execute her. No wonder Rossana, Viola’s best friend, left Vincentius. I wish I could talk to Valen’s mother, maybe hold her delicate hands and grieve together. But she might blame me for everything. After all, Viola wouldn’t be dead if I didn’t curse Alasdair and flee to begin with.

Oh fuck, I can’t think of this. The guilt is too much. I rub my eyes. My head throbs, and this time, it’s from exhaustion.

Lucas is studying the body, his brows tight as he puzzles something. My heart pounds when he says, “How can we find out if it’s really Vincentius? I wouldn’t put it past Dimitar to lie about it as part of his trap.”

“It’s him.” My lips press together. Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. He’ll want to know what makes me so sure, and I’m not ready to face everything yet. The exhaustion and stress are getting to me. Sweat coats me after my mistake.

“Something you want to tell me, Tor?”

I flinch and knock out of his hold when my guilt surges. “Why do you always assume I’m lying?”

“Because you don’t view omitting details as lying.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me? What?” I scoff, arms crossing tightly over my chest. “I finally sleep with you and suddenly you’re accusing me of all sorts⁠—”

His huffed laugh interrupts me, and he hooks his arm around my middle. I’m dragged back into his hold and he rests his chin on my head. “If anything, I’m being incredibly lenient with you. Despite the skinned body, almost being spit roasted by you, and everything else that’s happened tonight, I’m still incredibly, insatiably, in love with you and don’t want to argue. I just can’t help you if I don’t know the truth.”

His hold is firm, but his body is relaxed. I swallow the tightness in my throat down and ask, “Even if I…” I can’t bring myself to say it.

“Even if you skinned this guy. Even if it is Vincentius. Besides, this wouldn’t be your most brutal killing. It’s in the top five, maybe even three, but definitely not the top spot.”

I snort, a smile tugging at my tight lips. “How can you love me so much?”