Page 102 of The Last Stitch

CHAPTER 29

AUGUST

Imade a mistake. A dangerous mistake. I let her go.

My hands were still clenched. The dull ache of impact settled into my knuckles where they had collided with the stone wall. The pain was grounding, something to hold onto in the storm brewing inside me. But it wasn’t enough to silence the voices in my head.

I had disobeyed.

For the first time in my life, I had gone against my father’s orders. I had let a Weaver go. I had let her live. And for what?

My jaw locked as I stalked through the dim corridors of the Spire, my footsteps heavy against the cold stone floor. My men would be returning soon, their search of the woods coming up empty. Another failure. Another reason for my father to question me.

I needed to pull myself together. This meant nothing. But my fingers still curled involuntarily, remembering the way the girl had trembled beneath my grip. How her breath had come in short, panicked gasps. How her eyes had looked so much like Lily’s.

My shoulders settled with a slow breath caught behind my teeth.

That was it, wasn’t it? That was the reason my resolve had cracked. Because when that girl had looked at me, it wasn’t her I saw—it was Lily. Challenging all I'd been taught with her sharp historian's logic. Defending Weavers like they were people—not monsters, not threats—just people. Looking at me like I was the one who needed to see clearly, like I was the one standing on the wrong side of history.

I had spent years perfecting the art of seeing nothing. Of looking into the eyes of those accused and feeling nothing. It had been necessary, because feeling meant weakness, and weakness was something my father never tolerated.

And yet, for the first time, I had faltered. I had seen something. And I had let it change me.

I had to fix this. I had to push her—Lily—out. Because whatever this was, whatever momentary lapse had taken hold of me today, it could never happen again.

It wasn't weakness. It was a mistake. And mistakes were something I never made twice.

The house was too quiet. I had returned home without a word, retreating into my study before anyone could ask questions. The weight of my coat pressed down on me, suffocating, but I hadn't moved to take it off. My knuckles throbbed, a sharp reminder of my lapse in control. With slow, deliberate movements, I pulled the bloodied cloth from my hand, reaching for the fresh bandages on my desk. The silence pressed in on me, thick and heavy, wrapping around my ribs like a vice.

It wasn’t often that I was alone in my thoughts. And I hated it.

I reached for the decanter on the small table, pouring a glass of whiskey with fingers that betrayed nothing of the chaos inside me. The amber liquid sloshed as I brought it to my lips, letting the burn settle deep in my chest.

The door swung open without warning. I barely had time to look up before Adeline strode in, followed closely by Lily.

My grip tightened around the bandage. Of course. Of course it had to be her.

Adeline’s gaze swept over me, sharp and knowing, before landing on my bruised, bloodied knuckles. She gave me a pointed look. “Rough day?”