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The man crashed into the wall with a sound that didn't belong on quiet streets—a wet crack of bone meeting stone. He tried to fight back, swinging wild. But August moved like he'd done this before, like he already memorized the ending.
He caught the man's coat, yanked him forward, and drove a knee into his stomach. The man folded, choking.
The second rushed him, shouting. August pivoted, caught his arm mid-swing, twisted until the joint popped, then struck him across the temple. The man dropped like stone.
Neither of them moved.
August stood over them, fists still clenched, blood dark on his knuckles. His chest heaved with quiet fury. When his gaze found me—dress torn, breath shaking—something lethal settled behind his eyes.
“Touch her again, and I will break you so thoroughly even the Spire won’t take what’s left.”
The street held its breath.
Then his gaze shifted back to me. His fists slowly unclenched, the soldier receding, leaving only the man—furious, protective, undone.
“Lily—” His voice caught.
I couldn’t meet his eyes. My hands clutched the torn fabric, trying to cover skin that refused to stay hidden.
He shrugged out of his coat, stepped toward me like I was glass already cracked. “May I?”
I nodded. Barely.
He draped it over my shoulders, careful not to touch more than he had to. Still, my skin flinched as the fabric settled against it. My hands clenched the lapels tight.
“I shouldn't have let you leave alone. I should have—Constance was—” He stopped, jaw working. “This is my fault.”
“It's not—”
“It is.” He looked at the men on the ground, something murderous flickering in his expression before he forced it down. “I was delayed. She wouldn’t—” Another pause. “It doesn't matter. This happened because I failed to protect you.”
Behind us, one of the men groaned. August's hand flexed, violence barely leashed.
“Let's get you home,” he said at last. “Can you walk?”
I nodded, though my legs threatened to buckle. The adrenaline drained away and left something hollow in its wake.
He offered his arm—not a cage this time, but a shield.
For the first time, I let myself lean.
CHAPTER 15
AUGUST
Ibolted the front door and set the cross-bar—an unnecessary precaution on most nights, but not tonight. Not after the alley.
Lily hadn’t moved from the foyer. My coat draped over her torn dress, her boots streaked with mud, her collarbone already purpling. The lamplight gilded her hair—fire and shadow—but her knuckles were bone-white on the lapels of my coat. She was trembling.
“Come,” I said softly. “The study room is warmer.”
I took a cautious step closer, palms open, as though approaching a cornered animal. “Lily.”
Her gaze snapped to mine, feral, suspicious—like she wasn’t certain whether I was here to save or to cage. God, she had no idea how close to the truth that cut. How I'd been trained my entire life to hunt people exactly like her—different. How every instinct my father had beaten into me screamed that she was dangerous, unnatural, a threat that needed to be eliminated.
And yet all I wanted to do was gather her close and promise she'd never be hurt again.
“A chair,” I said, quietly. “And tea. Nothing more.”
