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“But your hands—“
“Are my hands.” Her voice was firm. “I chose to go backstage. I chose to try to save those women. And when the fire became an inferno, I chose to keep trying instead of running.” She paused. “Those were my choices.”
“You shouldn't have had to make them.”
“No. But I did. And now I have to live with the consequences.” She held up her bandaged hands. “These will heal. They'll be scarred and limited. But I'll learn to use them differently.”
She looked at me directly. “What I need from you isn't apologies or guilt. I need you to finish what we started. Save August. Make sure those five Weavers and Syra didn't die for nothing.”
The words hit hard.
“I don't know if I can,” I whispered.
“Then figure it out.” Her voice softened. “Because I didn't go through this so you could give up. I went through this trying to do something that mattered. Don't make it meaningless by stopping now.”
I stared at her—this woman who'd lost so much and hadn’t flinched.
“How are you so calm?”
“I'm not.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I'm terrified. I'm devastated. But I'm also alive. And I'm going to stay alive long enough to see this through.” She paused. “So are you. Understand?”
I nodded.
“Good. Now let me sleep.”
I left the room quietly.
Garrick stood in the hallway. “She's something else,” he said.
“She is.”
“She's also right.” He met my eyes. “None of us made the wrong choice last night. We just made choices that cost more than we expected.”
He clapped me on the shoulder and went back to his sister.
I stood there, Adeline's words settling over me. A simple truth from a woman who'd earned the right to give it.
I made my way back down the stairs. August sat where I'd left him, motionless. The pendant's glow caught the weak morning light—cold, steady, patient. Three months of corruption holding him under. And every hour I hesitated, it burrowed deeper.
I sank into the chair across from Beatrice.
“Can we just take it off him?”
“No.” Beatrice's voice was flat. “The pendant is woven into his life force. Removing it by force would stop his heart before it hit the floor.”
The ghost-thread clenched in my chest.
“That's why we need the bond,” Beatrice said, easing herself upright on the settee. “Once you and August are properly connected, I can remove the corrupted magic from it safely. But not before.”
“And Elias?” I asked. “He'll never stop hunting us.”
“No.” Beatrice's expression darkened. “In his mind, he's not destroying his son. He's saving him—keeping him controlled, contained. Preventing him from using magic freely and dying the way his mother did.” She paused. “It's a father's love twisted by grief into something monstrous. Which means he'll never see what he's doing as wrong.”
We couldn't reason with him. Couldn't appeal to his better nature. We could only break his hold on August and run.
“Shall we try to get him back?” Beatrice asked.
I looked at August. At the pendant, glowing cold at his chest. At the emptiness where the man I loved should be.
