Page 195 of Harbinger

“Of course.” He brushes a kiss across my temple.

“Thank you.”

But he scoffs. “Don’t thank me.” He shifts his weight, rolling me onto my back. “You’ve carried this long enough. Let me carry some of it with you.”

The offer feels like shelter, and something even more dangerous.

His lips find my jaw as he settles between my legs, and then he works his way to my mouth.

The kiss is gentle.

Until it isn’t.

Warmth spreads through me, chasing the cold edge of grief away, as our bodies begin to move and we find life again together.

Afterward, I curl against him, listening as his breath slows to a steady, comforting rhythm.

But I can’t sleep.

Wriggling free of his arms, I dress quietly in the dark, grab the book from Kieren’s box of belongings, and go to the one place I know someone else is still up.

The library is lit by a single lamp when I slip inside, the fire little more than pulsing embers, allowing the dark to swallow most of the shelves.

But it’s not empty. It never is. There’s something comforting about that.

Hadrian sits at one of the long tables, the sleeves of his robe pushed back, a sheaf of papers spread before him in careful disarray. His pen moves steadily, as if the hour means nothing.

“Do you ever sleep?” I ask, yawning despite my own insomnia.

He keeps working. “Sleep is for people who’ve made peace with their questions.”

I haven’t made peace with mine. The biggest one is still under my collarbone, waiting to formally introduce itself. I shove the thought away and focus on why I came down here at this hour. I’m seeking a different kind of peace.

“He read this until it fell apart.” I set Kieren’s book on the library table. “I thought maybe there was a place for it here.”

There’s not much of him left, only a few things to give away before the equinox brings his final rest. The ones I’m struggling to part with.

Hadrian nods and picks it up gingerly, scanning the title. “We need more fiction in here.”

I drift closer, curiosity pulling me, despite the ache still lodged in my bones. “Still searching for the revello?”

His shoulders droop, but he nods. “I’ve been retranslating that passage, hoping I missed something.” He taps the sheet of paper to his left. “The ancient tongue is tricky. Words have multiple meanings.”

“Sounds lazy of them,” I say, trying not to yawn.

Hadrian almost smiles. “Indeed. I translated this word”—he points to his notes—“as liberate, but it could also mean to hold, seize, or possess.”

“That’s a lot of possibilities.” And probably why they’re having such a hard time tracking down said revello.

“Too many,” he says with a deep sigh.

I’m unlikely to be useful, but as I lean over his shoulder to get a better look at the research, my gaze catches on the page beneath his hand. At the top, an eye has been drawn into the center of a star, likely some archaic reminder that the Stars are always watching us, but my breath stalls when I see what’s sketched under it.

An ash-black diagram sprawls across the parchment, its lines elegant but somehow deliberate. They intersect and diverge, vanishing like the artist forgot to finish. It takes me a moment to realize where I’ve seen it.

“That illustration,” I say, pointing at the diagram. “I’ve seen it before. What is it?”

Hadrian’s pen stills. Slowly, he looks up at me. “Where?”