Chapter Thirty-Three
December 1st
December settled itself over York like a heavy quilt. The winds carried a biting edge, rattling the college windows and sweeping flurries of snow across the quadrangles. Sudden bursts of whiteness softened the spires and cobbles in a hush of frost.
The world seemed caught between stillness and storm—cold air so sharp it stole Isla’s breath when she walked between the campus and her apartment. Isla found herself living the steady rhythm of lectures and marking, the ordinary duties of academia.
But Isla’s mind was never far from the storm she knew was coming. Edmund and Juliette had confirmed days ago, after questioning the prisoners, that the Ossa Arcana operated through a strict bottleneck system. The captured men admitted that the so-called Council—those at the top—knew everything. The middle ranks, men like themselves, understood only fragments of the plan through access to the book. Those at the bottom knew nothing at all; they simply followed orders and took their pay, unaware of the larger design. That was all Edmund and Juliette had managed to glean. Even under pressure, the prisoners refused to give up names. Whoever commanded them inspired a fear far greater than anything the constabulary could offer. They knew Ray’s killer, yet they would not confess.
So here she was, going about her days, caught between the comfort of routine and the quiet pulse of fear. Yet the ordinary moments were not without their magic. Juliette, Edmund, George, and Andrew rotated guard duty, and instead of feeling stifled as she once had, Isla enjoyed their company. Cozy nights with Juliette were spent by the fire, her friend absently stoking the flames with a flick of her palm between turning pages, the room glowing warm with their shared laughter. Edmund, quiet and steadfast, spoke little, but his presence carried the weight of reassurance; when he was near, she felt as though the very air stood guard with him, calm and watchful. George continued to teach her, and she was becoming quite proficient.
Andrew left her feeling seen and excited. He had taken to leaving her small surprises. A perfect snowflake glimmering on her nightstand—its crystalline arms perfectly intricate. An ice-woven bowl on her table to keep fruit chilled, its rim catching the light like glass spun from stars. He’d even snuck a miniature snowman into her office, where it perched smugly on her desk. She had laughed out loud at the smirk he had managed to create on the face of the snowman with pebbles. They didn’t melt ... reminding her how far they’d come; he had a knack for thawing her defenses.
With Christmas on the horizon, the thought of visiting the orphanage weighed on her heart, especially after the chaos of Guy Fawkes Night. She had managed to see the children once she was well enough, determined to offer comfort to the little boy who still blamed himself and his sparkler. She’d managed to soothe him somewhat, but she wanted to do more.
She wondered, hopefully, if Andrew might come with her. They had grown so close, yet she still hadn’t taken him to theorphanage. It was as if, by bringing him along, she would be opening the last door of her heart—allowing herself to care so deeply that the risk of losing would hurt all the more.
The notion of sharing that small tender world with him made her stomach flutter with nerves. She knew it wasn’t her orphanage, but still it was a reminder of being left alone without knowing why. She didn’t know the whole story of her birth—perhaps there was a good reason her parents had left her—but it had made her feel as if she wasn’t enough.
Knocking on the office door, Isla waited for Andrew to grant them access. Edmund stood quietly beside her, ready to hand her over to Andrew’s care for the afternoon.
The door opened, stopping her spiraling thoughts. Andrew appeared, his eyes settling on her.
“Thank you, Edmund. I’ll take it from here.”
Edmund nodded, gave a brief farewell, and strode off.
“So,” Andrew said, rubbing his hands together to ward off the drafty chill of the hall, “from what I can see, we’re both free this afternoon. Any ideas on how you’d like to spend it?”
Isla hesitated a moment, then said, “I was planning to visit the orphanage and deliver a few packages. Harold’s offered me the use of his car, and I wondered if you’d like to come along. I mean, you don’t have to; Harold offered one of his men to come as protection, but ...?”
Andrew’s gaze held hers, his eyes reflecting an understanding of the cost it had taken her to ask him to join her on an outing that held very personal meaning.
“It would be my pleasure. Let me grab my coat.”
He reemerged bundled up in preparation for the chill and extended his arm. Sliding hers into his, she allowed him to escorther toward the building’s exit. Olivia-May passed them, giving Isla a bright smile.
“Are we still on for tomorrow, Professor? This will be our last session before the Christmas holidays.”
“Absolutely! Tomorrow will be a fun session.”
The girl nodded in thanks and moved on.
“You’re a real role model for her, you know,” Andrew said. “As I’m sure you are for the children we’re about to visit.”
“It’s kind of you to say, but I don’t see myself as anyone special,” Isla murmured, feeling shy all of a sudden. A gust of wind blew as they exited the building to the car parked in front of the building, waiting.
Andrew placed his gloved hand over hers. “That’s what makes you even more remarkable, Isla—you don’t realize just how incredible you are.”
Before she could respond, they were climbing into the car, Harold’s driver holding the door open. It was a sleek cream-and-black Rolls Royce, its polished exterior gleaming even in the gray winter light. The chrome detailing caught the last glimmers of the afternoon sun, and the headlights threw a soft glow across the cobbles.
Climbing inside, Isla caught the smell of leather and polished wood, the bench seats upholstered in beige. The small gifts for the orphanage lay in the boot, neatly wrapped, waiting for their delivery. Andrew slid across the seat beside her, the warmth from the heater cutting through the cold, and Isla let herself sink slightly into the comfort of the car—and into the moment.
The driver opened his own door, letting in a sharp gust of cold air, then closed it again, shutting out the wind. As the Rolls Royce glided out of the university grounds, Isla’s gaze drifted tothe streets of York. The city wore its winter coat: smoke curling from chimneys, shop signs frosted over, and pedestrians hurrying with scarves wrapped tight against the biting wind. The cobbled streets gleamed faintly under the low December sun, and the distant spire of the Minster pierced the soft gray sky.
Isla became acutely aware of her inner surroundings, however, when she felt Andrew’s hands on hers. She turned her head slowly, meeting his gaze, and the outside world seemed to fade. Without breaking eye contact, he gently removed her gloves one at a time, his fingers brushing against hers. Her cheeks warmed at the touch and the look in his eyes.
Lifting her hand, he placed a gentle kiss on her wrist, over the burned leather skin that peeked through.
