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His nostrils flared, the only sign of his temper. “And yet you're standing here, whole, while the traitor escapes.”
Because I let her. Because for the first time in my life I chose mercy over doctrine.
“I failed to anticipate a coordinated rescue. It won't happen again.”
“No. It won't.” He turned away, hands clasped behind his back.
“You're disappointed in me,” I said quietly.
“Disappointed?” Father's laugh was hollow. “August, I'm devastated. You were to be my legacy. My proof that the Hawthorne line would continue to protect Oxford from chaos. Instead, you've chosen to embrace it.”
He moved to the window overlooking the city. “Your mother had the same weakness, you know. The same misguided compassion. I'd hoped you'd inherited my strength instead.”
“Maybe I inherited the right things from her.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Father went rigid.
“What did you say?”
My throat tightened, but I forced myself to continue. “Compassion isn't weakness. It's the only thing that makes us human.”
“Human.” Father turned from the window, his expression colder than I'd ever seen it. “Is that what you think this is about? Humanity?” He gestured toward the city beyond the glass. “There are thousands of people in Oxford who sleep safely because of what we do. Because we stand between them and the chaos that magic brings. But you. . . you'd sacrifice all of them for the sake of one bleeding girl's tears.”
“I'd sacrifice a system built on fear for the chance at something better.”
“Something better?” Father stepped forward, control splintering. “You think there's something better than order? Then peace?”
“I've seen what happens when we're left unchecked,” I shot back. “Children condemned without trial. Families torn apart by suspicion. A city that lives in terror of its own guardians.”
“And yet you stand here, in this building, wearing the uniform of those same guardians.” Father's smile was vicious. “What are you now, August? A bleeding-heart martyr in your mother's name?”
The pendant pulsed against my chest, and for a moment I swore I could feel my mother's presence—approving, but warning me all the same.
“The moment I realized that loyalty to you meant betraying everything she stood for,” I said.
Father went still. “She?”
“My mother. The woman you've spent all my life pretending was something she wasn't.”
The silence stretched between us like a blade. Then Father moved—faster than I'd expected, his hand closing around my throat and slamming me back against the stone wall.
“You know nothing about your mother,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “Nothing about who she was or what she chose.”
“I know enough.” The words came out strangled, but I met his eyes even as his grip tightened. “I know what she was. What you've been hunting all these years.”
His grip loosened slightly, surprise flickering across his features. “What have you become?”
“A traitor,” I said. “A sympathizer. The thing you raised me to hate.”
“No.” Father released me, stepping back. “No, you're confused. Misguided. That woman—the Wolfe cousin—has poisoned your mind against your own family.”
“No one poisoned me. I learned the truth. That you're so devoid of human empathy that you would lie to justify hunting innocent people.”
“Innocent?” Father went still, the air between us turning cold. “The Weavers stole the one thing I loved more than anything. They are vile creatures, but who will use your feelings against you, just as they used your mother's against her.”
He turned away, hands clenching. “I will not speak of your mother's executioner with you any further. All Weavers have your mother's blood on their hands, August. You did not watch her die like I did. Perhaps you should have. Then you would understand.”
Father moved to the map table, bracing both hands against it as he stared down at the black pins. “I have reassigned Garrick to perimeter patrol. Fresh eyes will be on your detail, untainted by. . . friendship.”
