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The Weaver’s words rang in my ears. Calm. Certain. Like they had known something I didn’t.

I exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away. The Weavers had brought this upon themselves. They had tampered with forces beyond their control, rewriting the fabric of fate for their own desires.

I turned back toward the others just as my father emerged from the clearing, adjusting the cuffs of his coat with slow, measured precision. The men around him stood at attention, waiting for his next order, but his gaze found mine first.

It was sharp. Assessing.

“You walked away.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A judgment.

“It was finished. I saw no need to linger.”

Elias’s expression didn’t shift, but something in the air around him did. Subtle. Dangerous.

“The work of an unraveling is not just in its act,” he said, firmly. “It is a lesson.”

A flicker of something cold slithered through me. My father never raised his voice. He never had to. His disappointment was a weapon sharper than any blade.

I met his gaze, refusing to waver. “The others witnessed the lesson well enough.”

Silence stretched between us. The other hunters stood still, awaiting either punishment or dismissal. My father studied me, long enough that my pulse ticked just slightly faster.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

“There will be more,” he said. “This was only the beginning.”

He mounted his horse, and the other men followed suit. I hesitated a second longer, staring at the empty clearing.

It didn’t matter.

I told myself that again and again, until I almost believed it.

Then I turned my horse and followed.

At the Spire I swung down from my horse, handing the reins to a stable hand with a curt nod before making my way toward the barracks. My father had already disappeared inside the Spire, no doubt preparing for whatever came next.

The others dispersed, but I sensed eyes on me before I heard the footsteps.

“Your going soft on me, Hawthorne?”

Garrick was teasing, but there was an edge beneath it.

I exhaled, running a hand down my face before turning to him. He leaned casually against a gate, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with the same sharpness he always did when something didn’t sit right.

“You walked away,” he said.

I gave him a flat look. “And?”

His smirk deepened. “And that’s not like you.”

I kept my gaze on the ground. I just started walking, heading for the training yard, but Garrick pushed off the wall and fell into step beside me, unbothered by my silence.

“Come on,” he pressed, bumping my shoulder with his. “Tell me. What’s got your head all twisted?”

“Nothing,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

Garrick hummed, unconvinced. “Right. Nothing. Just the usual clarity that comes from watching someone vanish before your eyes.”