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“We'll see.” She turned back toward the room she'd emerged from. “Just don't do anything that'll get him killed trying to save you. He's insufferable enough without adding martyrdom to his repertoire.”

A beat of silence. I waited for the catch—the condition, the “but first you need to tell me where you're going.”

It didn't come. Adeline disappeared back into the room, and I heard the rustle of fabric, the scrape of a chair. Like she was actually letting me go.

Too easy. This was too easy.

I pulled the door open and stepped out into the crisp morning air, every nerve screaming that this was a trap. That Adeline would follow me the moment I was out of sight, report back to August, even lead him straight to wherever I was going.

But what choice did I have? Stay locked in August's house like a good prisoner, or take the risk?

I chose risk.

I pulled my cloak tighter and headed toward the old bell tower, which I conveniently asked Mrs. Hartley about this morning. I kept my pace measured despite the urge to run. Normal. I needed to look normal. Just a woman taking a morning walk, nothing suspicious about it.

I turned the first corner and immediately glanced back.

No Adeline.

The street behind me was empty except for a baker's boy hauling a cart of bread.

I walked another block. Checked again.

Still nothing.

The alleys I passed seemed closer than they should have, every shadow a reminder of where hands had found me last night. My ribs ached with each step, the bruises beneath August's careful bandaging blooming hotter with movement. But I forced myself to keep checking over my shoulder—not just for attackers, but for a blonde woman in a green dress following at a careful distance.

I told myself the streets were safe in daylight. That what happened last night was an anomaly, that I'd been unlucky, that Oxford in 1892 was civilized and orderly and⁠—

My body didn't believe it. The echo of boots on stone, the sudden drag into darkness, the tearing of fabric—it all clung to my skin like a stain I couldn't wash away.

But I kept walking. Kept checking behind me. Kept waiting for Adeline to appear or August to materialize from an alley, furious that I'd left. Neither happened.

The buildings thinned and the air grew quieter. At the edge of town, the old bell tower came into view—its dark silhouette cutting starkly against the brightening sky. Nine bells rang out across Oxford as I approached the tower, and somewhere behind me, I knew August would find me gone.

I hoped Adeline was right about him not adding martyrdom to his repertoire. Because I had a feeling I was about to make his life a lot more complicated.

It took a moment for me to see her. A small figure stepped out from behind a crumbling section of the bell tower wall, her cloak too large for her slight frame, blonde curls wild in the morning breeze. The child from the woods. The one who'd saved me.

She watched me with cautious eyes, her hands hidden in the folds of her cloak, poised to run.

“You came,” she said quietly.

I took a careful step closer, keeping my movements slow and unthreatening. “I said I would.”

She didn't relax. Just studied me with those too-old eyes, the kind that had seen more than any child should.

“I'm Lily,” I offered, since we'd never actually done introductions while fleeing witch hunters. “Lily Whitmore. You saved me in the woods. I never got to thank you properly.”

“Marigold.” She didn't move closer. “You shouldn't thank me. You should've run faster.”

A startled laugh escaped me. “Fair point.”

Marigold tilted her head, studying me like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “There are others you need to meet.”

I stiffened. “Others?”

“Not here.” Her eyes darted to the open street behind me. “Too exposed.”