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Adeline stared at me. Then, slowly, the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Twenty paces?” she said. “I could do it from across a ballroom.”

“I know. I've seen you.”

She smiled, a real smile I hadn't seen in some time.

“When you face Elias,” she said, her voice quieter now, “make him pay for what he's taken from all of us.”

I took her bandaged hand as gently as I could.

“I will.”

In the hallway outside the kitchen, I nearly walked into an argument.

Garrick was on his feet, leaning against the wall with the studied ease of a man pretending he wasn't still sore. Mira's healing had closed the wound and knit the worst of the damage, but the deep tissue was tender, and he moved like someone whose body kept reminding him it had recently been punctured.

Instead, he was arguing with Mira.

“You are not coming,” Mira said, her voice low and furious. “You're still in pain.”

“I can stand it well enough.”

“You're sweating just from walking down a hallway.”

“It's warm in here.”

“It's February.”

Garrick's jaw tightened. “I am not staying behind while August walks into a fight with his father. I have stood beside him since we were children. I will not abandon him now.”

“And if the healing hasn't settled? If you take a blow to that side and the tissue tears open again?” Mira stepped closer, her composure cracking. “What good will your loyalty do him then?”

“Mira.”

“You are not invincible,” she snapped. “You are a man whose insides I stitched back together seven days ago. The healing is fresh. You are mortal. You can die. And I⁠—“

Her voice broke.

The crack was so unexpected, so unlike the woman who had sewn wounds with steady hands and barked orders at dying men, that Garrick went completely still.

“If you die—“ She stopped and pressed a hand to her mouth. Her eyes were bright with something she clearly hated herself for showing.

“Mira.” His voice was different now. Soft. Almost wondering.

“Don't.” She shook her head, backing away. “Forget I⁠—“

He caught her arm.

She froze, then turned. Her face was a war between fury and something far more fragile.

Garrick stepped closer. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he lifted his free hand to her jaw. Tilted her face up until she had nowhere to look but at him.

“If I die,” he said quietly, “I need you to know⁠—“

“Don't you dare.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Don't you dare make me a deathbed confession. That's not fair.”

“Then I won't die.”