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Garrick cleared his throat. “Right. Well. This is⁠—”

“Fascinating,” Adeline finished dryly. “Truly.”

But neither Lily nor I looked away.

“You don’t need another drink,” I said quietly.

“I’ve not had nearly enough.” But she set the glass down, fingers tracing its rim. “Though I suppose that's the point of taverns, isn't it? To forget. To numb. To pretend everything's fine when it's really⁠—”

She stopped herself, jaw clenching.

“When it's really what?” I asked, leaning closer despite myself.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Her eyes flashed. “Takes one to know one.”

She took another drink, and when she set the glass down, something had shifted in her expression. Something harder. More defiant.

“Tell me something,” she said. “When you hunt people, do you ever wonder if they deserve it?”

The question landed like a slap.

Garrick went very still. Adeline's eyes widened in warning.

“What?” I said carefully.

“The people you hunt.” She gestured vaguely with her glass. “The Weavers. Do you ever wonder if they’re not the monsters you've been told they are?”

My jaw clenched.

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't I?” She leaned forward, and there was something fierce in her eyes now. “I'm a historian, remember? I research the disappeared. And you know what I've found? Most of them were just people trying to live their lives.”

“They manipulate fate⁠—”

“So you've been told. But have you ever actually verified that? Or do you just follow orders without questioning?”

“They're dangerous,” I said, but even to my own ears, it sounded hollow.

“Are they?” She tilted her head. “Or is that just easier to believe than the alternative?”

“What alternative?”

“That you're the dangerous one.” Her eyes searched mine. “That you’ve been hunting innocent people your entire life and never once stopped to ask if you were on the right side.”

My jaw clenched. My hand fisted on the table. Because she was right. God help me, she was making me doubt everything.

“You need to stop talking,” I said quietly, dangerously.

“Why?” She didn't back down. Didn't look away. “Because I'm making you uncomfortable? Making you doubt?”

“Because you're treading on dangerous ground.”

“Good.” She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Maybe someone should. Maybe someone should make you question everything you think you know. Make you wonder if the monsters you're hunting are actually just⁠—”