Page 140 of Fallacies

“Yes,” he says again, adding nothing else to his response.

I eye him as if he’s lost his mind. And perhaps I have too, because a part of me is…considering it.

For valid reasons.

If he really does know how to save the Disciples, that could change everything. The Sol would be stronger and less vulnerable. They’d not only get their people back, but they might even stand a chance at getting their home back too.

Glancing around the room, I note the dreary wallpaper, the shattered chandelier that at one point probably glittered. Drapes with frayed edges that used to be pristine, and an estate that held more light. More joy. More life.

Freeing the Captures is only one battle, but retaking Streatham would mean winning the war.

But my dilemma lies in all the things he isn’t saying. I believe he’s knowledgeable, and I believe he does want to help—not because of what he’s said but because of what he’s already done to assist me in this first step. In taking down the ward.

Etis once made a deal with the Hound—her soul for his help. Could I do that? If it really came down to those terms, could I make that sacrifice? For the Sol? Would he keep his word?

This is bigger than me, and if I have a chance to save an entire people….There are few lines I won’t cross. But I certainly won’t cross them blindly.

“This…theory that you have…” I start, and his attention sharpens. “How exactly does it involve me?”

He exhales a full breath, breaking my stare to mull over the question. The Hound watches the liquid he swirls in his glass, and more logs crackle in the fire behind him.

“Well, Lucina,” he says finally, knocking back the rest of his drink. He holds my attention as he swallows. “I believe that you’re the cure.”

Silence stretches between us.

My laughter breaks it, bursting out of me without warning. He’s instantly puzzled by the sound. “And I believe that you’re drunk.”

The Hound becomes visibly frustrated, a line forming between his dark brows. “I’ve answered every. Single. Question—honestly. And that’s the one you don’t believe?”

“Yes?” I throw my hands out. “It’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all night!”

“Lucina.”

“No.” I shake my head, backing up towards the door. “No, that’s insane⁠—”

“Lucina.” There’s panic in his voice now.

Before I can surge towards the exit, he snatches my wrist and pulls me away from the door. I slam into his chest, and I’m about to start kicking and screaming when he holds a finger up to his lips.

It isn’t the order to be silent that stills me. It’s the plea in his stare.

Not even a heartbeat later, there are footsteps in the hall. Sharp heels. Whoever it is, they’re walking with a purpose.

“Fuck,” he mutters, searching the room for a good place to put me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him frantic.

His attention lands on a set of double doors by the bed. “Here.” He pulls me towards them, pushing them open and urging me inside. “Stay here.”

As soon as I’m over the threshold, he closes the doors behind me.

Stunned, I face the closed entrance for a few long seconds before turning in the dark room. My eyes adjust quickly. Enough that I can tell it’s a closet. A big one.

Hesitantly making my way through it, I’m careful not to trip over anything, my knuckles brushing embroidered fabric as I search for a corner to hide in.

The sound of a woman's voice spills from beneath the closet door, and I freeze.

“I know why you are here,” she accuses the Hound. The Countess.

“You do?” I hear his reply. His voice is perfectly calm. Meanwhile, I feel my heartbeat in my throat.