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“And you should not be alone.”

She straightened herself. “That isn’t your concern anymore.”

He stared back at her, unmoved. “If that is what you’d prefer.”

A patrol light flickered at the far end of the corridor. Maia rolled her eyes, reached for the cuff of Caelith’s cloak and dragged him inside her room.

The door shut and the lock slid into place with a thud. The sound was small, but it made her heart pound harder, stronger. Outside, thunder had been rolling in off the sea since dusk, and rain needled the narrow window.

There he stood. Too large for the room, and too close to her. Hours ago, she would given anything to have him here. Now she couldn’t bear to be near him. She didn’t want him here, his faint scent of cold stone filling the room.

She folded her arms, nails digging into her sleeves. “How long?”

He frowned slightly and tilted his head. “How long what?”

“How long were you standing there,” she said, pulse unsteady, “watching me decide whether I was imagining you?”

His jaw flexed, a hint of a smile forming. “I said I would come back for you. I wanted to make sure you were unharmed.”

Her laugh came brittle. “Again. Not your concern.”

He did not step back, nor apologise as she had expected him to. He simply remained, a strange kind of anger pooling in him, even though it should have only been in her. The discipline in him was almost violent in its intensity.

Somewhere deep in the city, a bell rang, marking the final turn of curfew.

Caelith exhaled slowly. “I needed to speak with you, Maia. Before they notice I’m not where I’m meant to be.”

“And where are you meant to be?”

“Anywhere but here.” His mouth curved, without humour. “Unchained doesn’t mean trusted, Maia. It means they took the silver off my wrists and replaced it with eyes. Every minute I’m not accounted for is a minute someone is wondering why.”

“Well then maybe you can account for something else.” Her voice lowered, dangerous now. “Account for why a wraith was sent into the Archive. Why it was hunting fragments. Why it nearly killed me.”

Something sharpened in him instantly. “You heard them,” he said. “I told you not to go looking again. Why would you put yourself in so much danger after everything?”

“I saw them.” Her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. “The other Umbralyn. Their planning. Their lying.” She swallowed. “They said it wasn’t meant to strike us. They said it turned on me.”

His control wavered for the first time; a curse slipping under his breath. He stepped toward her.

“You heard correctly.”

She clenched her fists. “So, it’s true. You knew, and you didn’t think to tell me what would happen?” she demanded, her voice growing louder. “You let me walk into that room knowing something had been sent there!”

“I had no time,” he snapped back. “And I did not know how much they already suspected, and—”

She cut him off. “You knew it was coming and you still told me to trust you. It could have killed me. It almost did kill Julen!”

Caelith met her fury without flinching. “You were never meant to be there, Maia. Neither was Julen.” His voice sharpened. “If I had warned you about it, you would have confronted someone. You would have reported it. And then they would have known I interfered. And then… oh, Maia. You have no idea. It could have been so much worse.”

“Worse?” she shouted. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“I know,” he said. There was no defence in his tone, only regret.

The room felt charged now. She could feel him even though they weren’t touching, something in him held at the exact tension of a bowstring waiting to be released.

“So they’re watching me now, too,” she said.

“Yes.”