Jack has been trying to show me exactly this from the beginning. Kindness without calculation, loyalty without conditions, support offered simply because someone you care about needs it.
“Right then,” Silas says, his voice taking on a more businesslike tone. “About MI5. I still think they’redangerous bastards who’ll sell us out the moment it’s convenient.”
“Probably,” I agree. “But they’re dangerous bastards with resources we need. And right now, our mutual hatred of the fey occupation outweighs their distrust of supernatural beings.”
“Temporarily.”
“Yes. But temporarily might be long enough.”
Silas studies me for a long moment, those dark eyes calculating. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“Limited cooperation. Controlled access. We give them enough to make them useful while keeping our most sensitive operations separate.” I lean forward. “And we make it clear that the protection they’re offering has to be real. Binding. With consequences if they betray that trust.”
“And if they refuse those terms?”
“Then we proceed without them and accept the increased risk of failure.” I meet his gaze steadily. “But I’d rather have them as reluctant allies than active enemies.”
Silas nods slowly. “Fair enough. But I want guarantees. And if they try to use this as an opportunity to catalog and control supernatural beings, they’ll find out exactly why crossing a necromancer is a poor life choice.”
I’m sure my answering smile is sharp and entirely predatory. “Exactly.”
As we begin discussing the specific terms and conditions that might make this partnership viable, I can’t help but steal glances at Jack. He’s listening intently, occasionally asking thoughtful questions, contributing insights that reveal a deep understanding of both human nature and political realities.
This man, who offered to have my back without expecting anything in return. Who’s standing with me through every impossible challenge this Resistance faces.
Perhaps Silas is right. Perhaps Jack is exactly the teacher I need to learn that not everyone operates on calculation and self-interest.
Perhaps it’s time I started believing that some things, some people, are worth trusting completely.
Chapter twenty-eight
Jack
As our flat materialises around us I let out a groan of relief. I stride over to the sofa and collapse onto it, every muscle in my body finally releasing the tension I didn’t even realise I’d been carrying.
“I have never been so bloody grateful to be home in all my life. That was bloody exhausting.”
“Exhausting?” Dyfri’s smile is a little wry as he follows me into the living room, moving with that fluid grace that somehow makes my clumsy collapse onto the furniture look even more undignified.
I lean my head back against the cushions and let out a long breath. “We portaled to an underground cathedral full of mythological beings. A necromancer nearly slit your throat. And then we were under a Welsh mountain and I met a dragon! And Cai’s two husbands! And if that wasn’t enough, we finished in a house in London with Jamie’s mother, who was bloody terrifying when she thought we might be putting Ninian at risk.”
The memory of our whirlwind tour through the supernatural Resistance makes my head spin all over again. Each location had been more overwhelming than the last, each conversation more fraught withpolitical complexity and barely contained tensions. The underground chambers with their impossible architecture and casual magic. The mountain stronghold where Cai had introduced us to his husbands with the sort of fierce pride that made it clear exactly how much they all meant to each other. And finally, the modest London house where a perfectly ordinary-looking woman had interrogated us with the intensity of a trained operative.
Dyfri laughs, the sound warm and genuinely amused. “She was just being protective of Ninian.”
“Protective is one word for it!” I say emphatically. “She looked like she wanted to feed me to something with very sharp teeth when I mentioned MI5.”
“Ninian’s safety is important to her. She’s dealt with the aftermath of what the court did to him.” Dyfri’s expression grows more serious. “And she rescued him from it. Of course she’s going to be suspicious of people wanting things from him.”
I think about the pale, nervous young man we spoke with briefly, the way he flinched whenever anyone moved too quickly, the protective way Jamie’s mother had positioned herself between him and potential threats. Another survivor of the fey court, like Dyfri. Another person whose trust needs to be earned rather than assumed.
“But she agreed to let him work with us in the end,” I point out.
“Only because we convinced her that MI5 could actually protect him rather than study him like a lab specimen.” Dyfri steps closer, settling onto the arm of the sofa beside me. “And because Ninian himself said he still wants to help.”
“He always looks so terrified.”
“He is. But he is also determined. There’s strength there, beneath the fear.” Dyfri’s voice carries a note of recognition, of an understanding that I wish he didn’t have. “Survivors often have more courage than people realise.”
