The truth of it weighed between them. Science knew it, but Vienna’s laws did not. Faivish pressed his lips flat, catching Maisie’s mirrored gesture at the edge of his sight—an unspoken pact sparkinglike a wire touched by flame.
“I have to go to India,” he said at last. “If I’m to be known, let it be for the work of my hands, not for the syllables of my name.”
Alfie’s mouth twitched. “I’ll stand by you.” He winced when his cheek strained under the attempted smile, then forced a grin softened with sincerity. His glance shifted to Maisie. “You were right to trust him with your heart. I trust him with my life.”
Color rose to her cheeks, though she held his look without blinking.
Alfie nodded toward the curtained window, where a draft stirred the velvet folds. “And now, I’ll slip out the back. Fewer eyes.”
Faivish followed him into the vestibule. His steps were quiet but heavy, carrying more than his friend’s coat. The lamplight caught Alfie’s bruise, gilding the damage into something almost noble. Faivish clasped his hand and wrinkled the coat but he was instantly sorry when he gave it to Alfie.
Finally, at the threshold, Alfie paused, his eyes catching the light. “You’re both good—good enough to believe you can mend the world, one tooth at a time. I hope you’ll always be happy together, no matter what.”
The night took him, bruise and all.
Faivish lingered. The streetlamp’s glow cut a line across his brow, picking out the sheen of sweat and strain. “That could have gone terribly wrong.”
From behind him, Maisie’s voice was quiet, steady. “But it didn’t. Because you were brilliant.”
His mouth tilted in a small, private smile. “You held the lamp steady.”
“You held justice in your hands.”
Something passed between them, unspoken, fragile as spun glass. When her fingertips brushed his sleeve, her voice was almost a plea: “Don’t go yet.”
He couldn’t have left, even if he’d wanted to.
He stepped closer, drawn by a pull as certain as a tide to the moon. A wild curl brushed her cheek; the lamplight burnished her hair into bronze. He lifted his hand, feeling the air shift, as if her soft and supple skin had been waiting all this time.
“I haven’t told you in words,” he said quietly, “what you’ve become to me. You’ve stood with me when it would have been easier to turn away. You’ve given me more than I thought I could hold. If your father would only allow it… I’d spend my life proving myself worthy of you. Every part of me already belongs to you.”
Her lashes dipped; her lips softened, not with surprise but with a quiet, aching acceptance. He turned her hand palm-up, pressed his mouth to it gently, as though afraid the dream might vanish. Her fingers trembled, then closed around his, sure as a vow.
The kiss that followed was quieter than breath, warmer than flame. The last days—the secrecy, the fear—dissolved in that hush. She leaned into him, her body fitting his as though it had always known the way. His hand slid to her nape, holding her as if the world might tear them apart if he loosened his grip.
He drew back just enough for their foreheads to rest together, breath mingling.
“You hold my heart,” he whispered.
“And you mine,” she sighed against him, her fingers fisting gently in his coat. In that small hold, he felt something greater than longing: a bone-deep rightness.
“Thank you,” he said roughly. “For trusting me with your father’s instruments. For standing with me.”
“You’ve been his hands longer than he admits,” she murmured.
He looked toward the treatment room. “Let me clear everything—no trace left.”
She shook her head. “You’ve done enough. Rest. And if we are healers, then let us heal. Care should never be hidden behind rules thatwound more than they mend.”
Her words sank deep. But before he could answer, the patter of bare feet overhead made them both still.
“Maisie?”
Deena stood on the landing, hair rumpled, nightgown slipped at one shoulder.
Maisie went to her, smoothing the child’s hair, whispering words Faivish couldn’t hear. The girl lingered, then disappeared into her room, the door clicking shut, leaving behind a silence too delicate to break.
Faivish let out the breath he’d been holding. “That was close,” he murmured, the words more relief than sound.
