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I looked away first. My jaw twitched, and I drew a sharp breath⁠—

“Stop.”

We both turned to her.

“You're tearing each other apart over things that are already done,” she said, standing. “Garrick, you're angry at August for choices he made when he didn't know better. August, you're angry at Garrick for not stopping you from making them. But neither of you can change what's already happened.”

She moved between us, and the weight of her stare settled on me.

“The question isn't who's been loyal to whom. It's whether you're going to keep being loyal to the same things that put you on opposite sides.”

The truth in her words burned through the rot between us, exposing something raw and real.

Garrick exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. When he spoke again, the anger had drained from his words.

“I've been trying to save you both for years,” he said. “You and Adeline. From him. From what he was turning you into.”

My throat tightened. “You should have told me.”

“When?” His laugh was bitter. “When you came home proud of your first execution? When you defended the unravelings to my face? When you called the resistance traitors?”

“I was sixteen⁠—”

“Look, August.” He stepped closer, stripped of his usual smirk. “You're my best friend. You have been since we were boys, sneaking into the stables and blaming each other for whatever trouble we caused. Do you think it was easy watching you become someone I didn't recognize?”

I couldn't answer. Couldn't look at him.

“I wanted to tell you,” Garrick's words came out unsteady, catching on something sharp. “God, August, I wanted to tell you so many times. But every time I started, your father's words would come out of your mouth. His certainty would shine in your eyes. And I'd lose my nerve.”

I stared at the table, jaw working.

“I thought if I could just. . .” He stopped, throat working as he swallowed hard. “Keep you from becoming him completely.”

“I'm not him,” I said quietly.

“No,” Garrick agreed. “But you were becoming him. And I was watching it happen.”

The pendant pulsed faintly against my chest, a reminder of what I'd been, what I'd almost become.

“Even when I didn't agree. Even when your father's orders made me sick. But if you're standing here, in this kitchen, protecting her—” He nodded toward Lily. “Then you're just as much a sympathizer as I am.”

I met his eyes.

“That's not a threat,” he added quickly. “It's the truth. You've already crossed the line, Hawthorne. The only question left is whether you'll keep pretending you haven't.”

For a moment, the only sound was the frost settling against the windows. Then my shoulders dropped, like I'd been holding my breath for years.

“I'm not pretending anymore.”

Garrick set down his mug and clapped me on the back—firm, final. “Good,” he said. “I'll post myself by the drive. In case your father's hounds come sniffing.”

His tone was lighter again, but his eyes lingered a second too long on my face—as if marking the moment, the shift, the choice.

CHAPTER 37

LILY

Garrick winked at me, a familiar grin slipping back into place.