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Everything stopped. The library. The world. My heart.

“I can't,” I managed.

“Can’t?” He lifted a hand, hesitated, then gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered against my cheek. “Or won't?”

“Both.” The word trembled between us. “August, I⁠—”

“Don't lie to me.” He leaned closer, steady and unyielding. “Not here. Not now. Tell me you don't feel this.”

“I can't.”

“Can’t tell me? Or can’t feel it?”

“I don't know.” The truth, raw and desperate. “I don't know anything anymore except that this—” I gestured helplessly between us. “This is impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because—” Because you hunt people like me. Because everything you believe about Weavers is wrong and I can't tell you without signing my own death warrant.

“Because it is,” I said instead, weakly.

He cupped my face in his palm, and I should have pulled away. Should have stepped back, erected every wall I had.

But I leaned in. Starved for the feel of him.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “Tell me this is wrong and you don't want it, and I'll walk away. I'll never push again.”

I opened my mouth. The words should have been easy. Stop. This is wrong. I don't want this.

But they wouldn't come.

Because they'd be lies. And I was so tired of lying.

“I can't,” I whispered instead.

He moved closer, and I could feel the warmth of him, could see the way his eyes had gone dark with want. His other hand found my waist, settled there with a certainty that made my knees weak.

“Lily,” he said, and my name on his lips sounded like a prayer and a curse and a question all at once.

I rose on my toes, closing the last inch between us, my hands finding his chest⁠—

Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Sharp, approaching fast.

We sprang apart like we'd been burned. August turned away, ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense. I pressed my palms to my flaming cheeks, tried to steady my breathing.

The librarian appeared in the doorway, mercifully oblivious. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but we're closing this section for lunch. You're welcome to return this afternoon if you'd like?”

“That won't be necessary,” August said. “We should be going anyway. Thank you for your assistance.”

We left in silence that felt like a held breath. Through the library, down the stairs, out into the street where the afternoon sun felt too bright, too real.

The carriage ride home was excruciating. We sat on opposite seats, not looking at each other, the space between us charged with everything we hadn't said, hadn't done.

When we finally pulled up in front of the house, I practically threw myself out of the carriage before it had fully stopped.

“Lily,” August called, following me up the steps.

I paused at the door, my hand on the handle. Didn't turn around.