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My heart leaped at the sight. “I can’t believe it!” I ran over and took it from his hands, opening it the best I could with my hands still cuffed together. I saw the four knives with their sheaths, plus the two books I’d last seen in Cael’s hands. “You’ve broken so many laws for me today. I can’t thank you enough.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t break as many laws as you think.”
I studied his face, trying to figure out what was different about him. I thought maybe his eyes looked bolder, his jaw sharper. Or maybe it was just my perception that had changed. All I knew was that weak and lonely didn’t describe him anymore.
I pulled my gaze away. “How’d you get my bag?”
“As strange as it sounds, a Law Enforcer brought it to the gates yesterday and asked the guards to give it to me. I don’t know why. It should have gone to the Academy, but through some mistake, it ended up here, along with the prison report.”
“Thank you,” I said, still wondering why Graham had decided to help a lying criminal. I knew I also owed Cael my gratitude, but it was much easier to direct it at Graham. Still, Cael had proven he was a good man for the job. I just wasn’t convinced he was a good man. And I wondered why he’d chosen to give my belongings to Graham instead of keeping them safe for me. I could never understand that man.
“You can imagine my shock when I realized this was you.” He picked up a newspaper from the desk. “I should’ve been paying attention to the news, but after my mother’s speech—well, you understand. I wish you’d told me the truth, not only about the break-in, but”—he gestured toward me—“who you are.”
“How could I? ‘Hello, my name is Bryn Yarrow and I’m an outlaw.’ Is that what I should’ve said?”
He stepped back. “So it’s true,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
“Yes.” I bit my lip and nodded. “But I’m not an assassin! They were wrong about that.”
He dropped into an armchair. “I never thought you were, or Idefinitelywouldn’t have released you from prison. But . . . how’d you get past the wall?”
“Can we do something about these before we continue our conversation?” I held up my bound wrists to remind him I still wore handcuffs. “And I’m getting a little tired of smelling like flowery vomit.”
He jumped to his feet. “Oh! Yes. Forgive my manners! I suppose I’ll have to learn how to pick a lock.”
“Uh oh,” I said. “How long will that take?”
“Why? Do you have somewhere to be?”
I looked around his room and shrugged. “I guess not.”
* * *
Over an hour later,Graham was still digging at the handcuffs with a wire. We sat across from each other with our hands on the table between us.
“These . . . ridiculous . . . things . . . .” He pushed out his anger between breaths.
I tapped my fingers on the table. “You just need to—”
“This is harder than it looks,” he said.
“I don’t know. You’re making it look pretty hard.”
He took a break from the wire to stretch his fingers.
“You didn’t learn to pick locks on your island, did you?” he asked. “Which one are you from anyway?”
“Tramore. The farthest one from here.”
“And you came all this way to speak with me?” he asked. “To get me to stop the war?”
I nodded. “We need you.“
“If you’re one of them, why won’t they listen to you?”
“Why would they? I can’t change their lives.”
“What exactly do you need me to do?” asked Graham. “I don’t have much to offer.”
