Page 168 of Fallacies

I’m only vaguely aware of his grip on my arm and waist, far too busy slipping into a state of unfeeling, and when my feet hit solid ground, I push off Salem's grip and stumble into his bedroom.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as I use the furniture for support in crossing the small seating area. By the time I make it to the window, I’m steady enough to stand on my own. “Lucina?”

“Nothing,” I bite out, staring out at the stars. “He…said I was the key to breaking the curse.” Anger swells in my chest and tears well in my eyes. “So, you were right. Everyone seems to know a lot more about me than I know about myself. It never does get easier.”

Salem appears beside me, and a star begins blinking a second later.

Safe, Callan says.

I huff out a broken laugh, feeling the weight of the Hound’s attention searing into my profile. “What did he say?”

“He asked if I was safe.”

Salem is quiet for a moment. “And that’s…funny?”

“No,” I exhale. “It’s not funny at all.” Magic floods my veins, enough to flash my reply—Safe.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe it before it reaches my chin, hoping the Hound didn’t notice.

Callan’s response comes a heartbeat later: Ready?

I wipe another tear. “He asked if we were ready,” I translate for Salem.

“I am,” he replies without hesitation. “Are you?”

Sniffling back another tear, I don’t reply, keeping my gaze straight ahead as I signal back to Callan: Yes.

I sever the connection with my magic and turn away from the window.

“We need to figure out a way to open the cages,” I announce, unclipping my vest and throwing it onto the couch. “I think they require some kind of magic, but I’m not⁠—”

“I’ll handle the cages.”

I fall onto the cushions, bracing my forearms to the tops of my thighs and stare into the dark fireplace. “And the sources, how are we going to⁠—”

“I have a plan.”

The Hound moves towards the sitting area, lowering himself into the chair across from me.

I look over at him, and instantly regret it.

There’s too much concern on his face. Too much of that calm curiosity. The blue in his eyes has dimmed, but I can sense in his stoic stare that he knows something is wrong.

Tearing my gaze from his, I reach over and help myself to a small pour of what I quickly learn is indeed whiskey. The sweet burn of it wafts up to my nose as soon as it splashes into the glass.

“Are you going to share that plan with me?” I ask finally.

“I’ll handle the killing, and you handle the burning.” The silence that settles after his words confirms that that’s the extent of his plan. “Are you going to tell me why you’re upset?”

“I’m not upset.”

“When you lie to me,” Salem starts, snatching my drink off the table, “do you do it thinking that I won’t figure it out?”

He raises my glass to his lips, and I glare back at him.

It wasn’t even a lie so much as it was denial. There was no thought to it other than upset feels too small a word for what I feel right now, and I don’t want him to know about any of it.

His brows are raised expectantly, but I don’t deign him a response, silently reaching for another glass instead.