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Go check on her. The thought arrived instantly.

I hated it.

“Fucking ridiculous.” The words echoed in the foyer.

She wasn’t hurt.

She wasn’t in danger.

She was fine.

I knew she was fine.

So why did I battle every fucking instinct I had to go to her? I glanced toward the east wing…my wing and turned around. I headed for the study. I needed to work. To hunt.

Reports.

Routes.

Work.

Something useful.

Anything but her.

The lie followed me all the way to the door.

I sat down, pulled open the first file I could and started scanning for threats and possible opportunities to break into the facilities the House of Ash located. My focus narrowed. Times. Dates. Men. I pulled my knife and stone from the drawer.

Drag.

Drag.

Drag.

I honed the edge and tested the bite, then rose.

Coffee.

Bitter.

Strong.

I glanced toward the door, remembering the way she sat in the chair opposite me. She⁠—

“Fuck.” I muttered.

I forced myself back. Stirring. Lifting the cup. Drank.

The house has rules.

I swallowed, placed the cup down.

She’d broken those rules, hadn’t she?

The study.

The Archive.