Barrington didn’t look up. “Good.” He made another mark on the map, drawing a faint line along a series of port towns. “There are still two men we haven’t accounted for. Everly’s closest allies. I expect they’ll go to ground. Or worse.”
“They’ll run,” Alex said.
Barrington nodded. “And that’s fine. Let them run. It gives us time to force the rest of the Order into the light.”
He picked up the letter, then let it fall back to the desk. “Edward will push for inquiry. Disbandment. Names named.”
“Will it be enough?”
Barrington met his eyes then, serious and tired. “It will be loud. And sometimes that’s all you need to rattle what’s left standing.”
Alex crossed to the window. Outside, the gardens lay in gentle quiet, touched by the gold of early afternoon. “I keep thinking about that mine,” he said. “How fast it all turned. If she hadn’t fired—”
“She did,” Barrington said.
“She did,” Alex agreed, quieter. “But I don’t think this is finished.”
“It’s not.”
They stood in silence for a moment longer.
Then Barrington added, almost as an afterthought, “There was a message this morning. From Carver.”
Alex turned. “And?”
“He’s in Devon. But he’s been warned that something’s wrong. He’s heading back north.”
Alex’s jaw set. “They’ll go after him.”
Barrington nodded once. “We’ll be ready.”
*
Georgina was inthe morning room, a cup of tea cooling between her hands. The lace curtains stirred gently with the sea breeze, and the light that spilled across the floor was soft, almost forgiving. Somewhere beyond the cliffs, the tide turned, steady, certain, a rhythm that had outlasted fear and fire alike. But her posture was stiff, like she hadn’t yet remembered how to relax.
Alex paused in the doorway.
She didn’t look up. “You came anyway.”
“I always will.”
That brought her eyes to his. The smallest wry, reluctant smile touched her lips. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
“Too late.”
He crossed to the chair opposite hers and sat without permission. She studied him and his bruised knuckles, the tear in his coat, the weariness in his eyes.
“You didn’t have to go back for him,” she said quietly.
“No,” Alex agreed. “But I did.”
“You nearly died.”
“But I didn’t.” He looked at her, then added, more gently, “You saved my life.”
It still felt like a memory borrowed from someone braver. She looked down into her teacup. “I fired a pistol. I didn’t—”
“You did,” he said, his voice low. “You didn’t wait for rescue. You didn’t flinch. You fought.”
