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LILY

Adeline retired for the evening, leaving only silence. I should have gone to my room. I should have put as much distance between myself and August as possible. Instead, I stood in his study, the quiet stretching long and taut between us. The fire crackled low in the hearth, its dim light flickering over the sharp planes of August’s face. He was sitting back in his chair, legs sprawled, fingers toying with the rim of his glass. He looked perfectly at ease, but I knew better.

I had seen him let Mira go. His muscles were coiled tight beneath my touch when I wrapped his hand. The way his fingers twitched as if itching to tear something apart.

He was unraveling.

He must have sensed my hesitation because he exhaled through his nose, lifting his drink to his lips. “Don’t hover, Lily.”

The cool indifference in his tone made my blood boil. But I'd learned to see past the mask. Beneath the cold, controlled hunter was someone else—someone who bled and broke and hated himself for the choices he had to make. Two souls trapped in one body, tearing each other apart with every breath. And I didn't know which one would survive.

“If you have something to say,” he murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Say it.”

I should have walked away. Instead, I spoke.

“You're at war with yourself,” I said quietly. “Duty against conscience. And every day you have to choose which one wins.” I stepped closer. “But today, for once, you chose right. You saved her. So why are you sitting here punishing yourself for it?”

August stilled. The only movement was the slow flick of his gaze as it slid to mine.

For a moment, something flickered in his expression. Recognition. Or even relief that someone had seen. That someone understood. Then it was gone, replaced by cold indifference.

“You think one moment of weakness makes me a good man? It doesn't. It makes me compromised. Distracted. Exactly what he warned against.”

“The Unraveler?”

“He is right. Sentiment is weakness. Mercy is failure. And what I did today?” His jaw clenched. “That was the last time I let either win.”

“You don't believe that.”

“I have to believe it. Because the alternative is admitting I've been wrong about everything. And I cannot—” He stopped himself, jaw working. His hand shook—just barely, just enough for the whiskey to tremble in the glass.

He set his glass down with enough force to make it crack against the table. The firelight cut sharp angles across his face, shadows pooling in the hollow of his throat, along the sharp lines of his jaw. Carving him into something both devastating and dangerous.

“You’re angry.” The words came out quieter than I meant them to.

August exhaled a slow, humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he stood. “And what exactly am I supposed to be angry about, Lily?”

I took another step forward. The heat between us coiled, tightened.

His hands flexed at his sides.

I should have been afraid. But I wasn’t. I was furious. Because I had seen the truth, and now, I needed him to feel the weight of it.

“You let her go,” I said again, each word sharper than the last. “You did it because you knew she didn’t deserve it. Because you know none of them do.”

August’s eyes flickered. Something cracked. I stepped back instinctively and hit the edge of his desk. His hands came down on either side of me, bracing against the wood, caging me in.

The shelves rattled with books—and in the unseen loom, threads whirred like struck harp strings, warning that neither of us could retreat unscathed.

I sucked in a breath, pulse pounding as his presence swallowed mine.

“You think you understand me?” His words pressed against me like the tip of a knife. “You think you know what I’ve done? What I’ve had to do?”

I swallowed hard, tilting my chin up. “I think you want to pretend you don’t care,” I whispered back. “But you do. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He said nothing. Did nothing. But I could feel the war behind his eyes. He hated that I saw right through him. Hated that I was right. His eyes traced over me. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was restraining himself.

My breath was uneven, chest rising and falling too quickly as I stood there, locked in this impossible standoff. August was close. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension in every line of his frame.