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Cold settled in my gut. Garrick exiled to the edge of operations meant isolation—and a noose if Father uncovered his sympathy.

“A prudent choice,” I said flatly.

Father faced me once more. “Prudence is all that stands between this organization and ruin, August. Do you understand what a second failure will cost?”

I thought of Lily's laugh echoing in my kitchen, of the young girl's blood on the ballroom floor, of Mother's pendant pulsing warm against my breastbone.

“Yes, sir,” I said. And for the first time the words carried a warning, not obedience.

He did not hear it—or chose to ignore it. “Good. You will ride at dusk with a double column. Sweep the northern woods and the Old Bell Tower. Bring back the child—and whoever harbors her. Alive if possible; dust if not.”

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Are you even capable, or has your humanity gotten the better of you?”

“I am capable of doing what needs to be done,” I said. The truth of it—just not the truth he thought.

Father held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Dismissed. And August?” He picked up one of the black pins, rolling it between his fingers. “Don't make me question your loyalty again. The consequences would be. . . unfortunate.”

I left the war room with my spine straight and my expression blank. But my mind was already racing ahead to what needed to happen next.

Today I would ride with his hunters—straight toward the woods he feared most. And when the Weavers’ sanctuary rose beneath the sky, I would not bring them chains.

I would bring them a Hawthorne bearing his mother’s hourglass and the first true defection of the war. The game had begun. And for the first time in my life, I was playing against my father.

CHAPTER 39

LILY

The horse shifted beneath me, and I tightened my grip on the saddle. Garrick had insisted we share his mount—faster, he'd said, and less conspicuous than two riders. The real reason hung unspoken between us: I'd never learned to ride properly, and we didn't have time for me to figure it out now.

“Relax,” Garrick murmured from behind me, one arm steady around my waist to keep me balanced. “The horse can feel your panic. Makes her nervous.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, trying to loosen my death grip on the reins he was controlling. “I'm more of a car person.”

“A what?”

“Never mind.”

We'd left right after August, his orders still ringing in my ears: Go with Garrick. Now. He'd barely looked at me when he'd said it, already preparing for whatever confrontation awaited him at the Spire.

The goodbye had been too brief. Too final.

Oxford fell away behind us as we rode north, the city's spires giving way to rolling countryside and then forest. The morning was gray and cold, frost still clinging to the branches despite the weak sun struggling through the clouds.

Everything about the journey was different this time. Before, I always knew I'd be back at August's house by nightfall. But today there was no going back—not until we knew what Elias would do.

“You're quiet,” Garrick said.

“Just thinking.”

“He'll be fine, you know.”

“Will he?” I asked.

“August has survived twenty-seven years of that man's tender mercies. He won't break now.”

“That's not what I'm afraid of.”

“No?” He leaned forward, adjusting himself in the saddle. “Then what?”