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Gwen didn’t reply right away. She glanced at the window and smiled when Soot chirruped at her, searching the spray of stars for a long moment before she turned back to Orpheus. “Somehow, it doesn’t sound as bad with you here. It’s kind of pretty.”

“I hate it, it’s annoying,” Orpheus quickly snapped, avoiding her eyes.

“Thanks, Fifi.” She spoke wistfully. “You’re a good friend.”

He exhaled, too quiet for her to hear his voice shake. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Friend or Fifi?”

Both, Orpheus thought, digging into his wrists.

“You must really miss him,” Gwen said, as if filling the silence with despair was better than this cursed song. “Don’t give up on rescue just yet, Fifi.”

It should have sent him into a spiral. It should have at least sent him into a rage. But the way Gwen said it made something warm blossom deep within him, the unlikely comfort he read in her voice tempering the suspicion he’d been sharpening for the past several weeks.

“You really think he’s alive?” He took up his pen and scribbled a fresh sigil, an obvious excuse to not look at Gwen.

“He’s your hero, right? That’s how the stories always go.”

Orpheus' heart pounded. “But what if I’m the villain of this one?”

Gwen didn’t say anything right away. She took the pen from his hand and put her tongue between her teeth, drawing three interlocking triangles in a mirror of his. “Do you think you’re the villain?”

The world grew light while the question settled heavy. He had once thought he was, but Fenrir had shown him a different way. One not made of lies and manipulation. But knowing what he did, understanding what he’d done and the consequences his actions carried, he still wasn’t sure he’d have done anything in his life differently.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “I’d do just about anything to be free.”

“Like trick me into helping you?” It came out like a tease, but Orpheus read the dare in her voice, the raw fire in her eyes.

From the silence, shadows crept, the sound of Soot’s grooming filling the emptiness.

Yes, Orpheus acknowledged. More.

You could stop me, though.

You should.

Maybe she already had.

Chapter XXVIII

The Architects

Orpheus knew something was wrong the afternoon Atticus collected him from his cell with Duluth and Serval at his side.

“We have a slight change of plans today, my unfortunate mage.” The way Atticus said it brokered no argument. He met Orpheus’ eyes for a brief moment before the hood came down over his head and hid the grim pull of his mouth.

He’d grown familiar with the path through Sanctuary he took each day to meet Gwen. This day was different. Where he typically ascended stairs that deposited him in the study room with a view of the canal, this time they descended deeper. Into the bowels of Sanctuary he was led, down steep inclines without stairs and through doors that clanged like locks behind them.

By the time Atticus brought him to a stop, Orpheus was panting. He’d forgotten how hard it was to breathe through the hood, and the long walk with his crutch had shaken loose the ache in his leg. How long had it been since he’d been treated this way? It couldn’t have been longer than a week at most—maybe ten days. Not long enough for him to forget, certainly.

“I’m genuinely sorry for this,” was Orpheus’ only warning before Atticus took his hands and closed them into the encasements. He jerked back, encountering Duluth before Serval sniffed harshly from somewhere at his side.

“You’re goin’ soft on him, boss.”

“You didn’t complain much when I treated you the same, Serval.”

The sound of Serval’s breathing was a harsh thing. Sharp enough to cut as well as any blade.