Page 202 of Fallacies

At his silence, I look at Pax, hoping for some kind of confirmation or denial that my decision has upset him in any way. Pax shakes his head once, and I can see the plea in his stare, urging me not to involve him.

My attention shifts back to Callan. “It doesn’t bother my coven. It bothers you.”

“And it shouldn’t?” he fires back at full volume.

The last time I saw him this angry was when he stumbled out of the Infirmary the night Iris died. His skin had heated with the fury, turning his cheeks and neck red, and his eyes were alive with charged power.

I shake my head, struggling to stay level-headed. “I’m not saying it shouldn’t, I’m⁠—”

“Do you hear yourself, Lucina?” There’s deep concern mixed with the anger in his voice now, and I can’t decide which is worse. “You’re telling me that you’re going to leave here with him, the Hound, and chase after a cure?”

I press my lips together, planting my feet in the ground as he steps closer.

“Do you know what he’s capable of?” he asks, dropping his voice to a low rumble. “Have you not heard Etis’s story?”

“No one has heard her story,” Salem interjects, throwing the statement at full force into the space between us.

Callan whips his head up, jaw clenched tight as he gestures to the four of us. “We have. Everyone has.”

“That’s impossible,” the Hound bites out, a slip in his perfect facade. He bares his teeth, the same way he had that first dinner, when the Countess demanded to know why he was in Streatham. As quickly as he snapped, he straightens, rolling his shoulders back and declaring with brutal certainty, “I haven’t told it yet.”

Hairs rise on the back of my neck in the wake of his response.

There’s something so unsettling about it, and it’s heavy in the early morning air. A dense weight over the top of everything else, coiling around us.

I turn back to Callan, facing him fully. “I don’t care how I sound,” I admit with confidence. “I weighed my options, and I made my choice. I’d make it again for you to be standing here with your father.” When I glance in Grey’s direction, he’s looking down at his boots. “For Gemma to see her parents again. For Pirn to have their people back.” I gesture to Streatham. “For the Sol to eventually have their home back. I’d do it again, Callan. I’d do it a thousand times over.”

I can see it then, a flicker of understanding dimming the burn in his eyes. Settling a fraction of the tension in his shoulders, and for a brief moment, I think I’ve finally gotten to him.

But the softening of his expression lasts all of two seconds before hardening back to anger.

Callan shakes his head, rejecting all progress of compromise. “What if he kills you?”

“He won’t.”

“What if you don’t come back?”

“I will.”

He laughs, and I feel like a child again, being reprimanded for concerning myself with ‘adult’ affairs. Being scolded for playing make-believe—like I’m not qualified to make these kinds of decisions on my own. It boils my blood.

“This is ridiculous, Lucina.”

My hands fist at my sides.

“You can’t do this.” He shakes his head again. “I won’t let you do this. There is no way you’re going to⁠—”

“Callan,” I snap, unable to take it anymore. My heart is a thunderous thing in my chest, growing louder the longer he stares back at me, and when I gather the nerve to speak again, my voice comes out cold and final, “It’s done.”

He blinks, lips pressed tightly together as if he’s trying to hold back words.

A few brutal and silent seconds pass, and Callan holds my gaze through every single one. His attention shifts over my face, checking for any cracks in my armor, any room to argue, but he finds none.

“I’m sorry,” I start.

“Where’s your necklace?”

His eyes have fallen to the collar of my shirt, and my blood runs cold.