I squeeze once. “Good.”
Then she studies me. Too closely. “You’re quiet.”
“So are you.”
She huffs. “I’m allowed to be. You’re not.”
Rouge snorts. “She’s got you there, Captain.”
I roll my eyes, but the smile never fully comes. “Just… thinking.”
“About?” she asks, gaze cutting right through me.
I could lie. Should lie. But I won’t.
“My father.”
Her breath stutters—just slightly. “Cillian—”
“I’ll handle it.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.” My voice is firm before I can soften it. “Absolutely not.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but Rouge beats her to it. “He’s right, duchess. You stay out of sight until we know what we’re walking into. The man’s a snake, and snakes bite when cornered.”
Siobhán glares daggers at him. “And you think I don’t know that?”
“I think you want to punch the snake in the face,” Rouge says, “and that’s not the strategy today.”
She turns back to the window, but her pulse—visible at her throat—is quick, furious.
I trace my thumb across her knee. “You’ll hear everything. You’ll see everything. But only when I tell you.”
She hesitates. Then a small, reluctant nod. It kills me—but it’s enough. The snow’s heavier now, swirling between the iron gates as they open. The estate looms like a ghost—cold stone, dark windows, old secrets carved into every brick.
Siobhán’s breath fogs the glass. “I hate this place now,” she whispers.
“So do I,” I admit.
Rouge slows the car and pulls into the back courtyard, near an old servants’ entrance where the shadows hide us.
I turn to her. “You stay here until I call you. When I sayeitilt mo chol1you come.”
Her eyes widen—because she knows exactly what it means that I chosethatsaying.
“You promise?” she whispers.
“I promise.”
Rouge nods toward the manor. “Let’s end this,” he mutters.
I step out of the car. Cold air slashes my lungs. My father waits inside. My legacy. My war. My choice. I glance back through thewindow—Siobhán framed in falling snow, defiance etched into every line of her beautiful face.
“For her,” I say under my breath.
Then I walk toward the manor.
