“Take him inside,” Ares murmurs, voice low but firm. “Straight to the medical wing. Now.”
He doesn’t wait for debate. Sebastian falls in beside Poppy, guiding Liam’s other side; Theo is already sprinting across the viaduct, using his wand to brace the heavy doors wide open.
I move to follow, but something in the corner of my vision tugs me back. Ares hasn’t stepped forward, not even an inch. He stands at the threshold of the viaduct, staring ahead as if the air itself is threaded with wires only he can see.
“Ares.” I hesitate, then approach. “Come on...we could use your help.”
His jaw works once, a muscle flexing against exhaustion, and he drags a hand up through his hair, scattering dried blood along the strands. “Someone has to manage the fallout with your father before he decides to bring the fight here.”
He says it as if discussing an errand, not a man capable of razing entire villages. My stomach knots. “If you face him after what you did today… he’ll kill you.”
Ares breathes in sharply, the cold air filling his lungs as his head tilts skyward. Grey clouds swirl like smoke above us. “He made a deal with me,” he says quietly. “It protects the people I need protected...including myself. He’ll take his pound of flesh, because he always does, but he won’t end me. He still needs what I can do.”
A sickening truth curls beneath his words. My father keeps what he finds useful. Nothing more.
I swallow hard. “Then tell me what you meant. When Liam woke up. You said-”
His gaze drops, meeting mine with a finality that unsettles me. “Talk to Liam when he’s strong enough. It’s his truth to give you, not mine.” Then, after a beat: “And don’t waste time on me. There are people behind you who can’t breathe until they know you’re with them.”
I turn. He’s right. Dozens of wide-eyed students and faculty crowd the viaduct’s entryway, watching us with fear, confusion, hope, disbelief, all of it swirling into a single silent question.
But before I move, something inside me rebels at letting him walk away like this.
My hand reaches of its own accord. Fingers close around the rough fabric of his sleeve, catching the warmth beneath. He stops. Slowly, he lowers his head, looking at me through hair that now hangs in disordered strands around his eyes.
“Stay alive,” I whisper.
A hint, just a flicker, of a smirk breaks across his exhausted face. A ghost of amusement. Or gratitude. Or something he’d never admit to.
“Always do, Whitlock.”
He steps back. Three paces. Five. And then, like a ripple pressed into the fabric of the air, he simply disappears, swallowed by the grey light, leaving nothing but the faint scent of iron and pine in his wake.
We burstthrough the castle doors with Liam slumped between us, his boots dragging along the floor as Sebastian and I shoulder his weight. Every corridor we pass through fills with startled faces, students pausing mid-conversation, professors lifting their heads with suspicion or alarm. Theo moves ahead at a near run, wand tapping with sharp, urgentclicks as he navigates, breath hitching each time Liam’s voice slips past him in a pained whisper.
Poppy peels away at the entrance. She mutters something about researching the strange metals and runes used in the traps, how nothing resembled traditional poacher magic, and then disappears into the shadows of the lower level. Her absence leaves a sudden hollow behind us, as if the three of us are now dragging our grief alone.
We push deeper into the school. A few professors attempt to stop us, demanding explanations we don’t have the luxury of giving. Theo ignores them entirely. Sebastian mutters something unrepeatable under his breath. I don’t bother to look at anyone’s face; my eyes stay locked on Liam’s, on the pale sheen of sweat, the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the way every breath sounds like a stone rolling uphill.
The medical wing finally comes into view, the antiseptic bite of latex and the soft warmth of freshly laundered linens wrapping the air in a strange, almost cruel familiarity. The last time I was here with Sebastian, there was silence. Teasing. The kind of lightness that feels impossible now.
Professor Anwen intercepts us near the first empty cot. “Here, lay him down.”
We ease Liam onto the bed, careful yet panicked, all three of us reluctant to relinquish our hold until his weight is fully supported by the mattress. He groans, and Theo is on him instantly, hands fumbling for Liam’s, his head lowered, breath shaking. Anyone else might question it, but none of us have the energy for pretenses anymore.
“What happened?” Anwen asks. A question we can’t answer. None of us even attempt to.
“It was your father’s men… wasn’t it?” comes a voice behind me.
Locke.
Relief nearly buckles my knees. Liam manages a faintsmile when he hears the familiar voice, an expression so painfully hopeful it nearly guts me. I release my grip on Liam and Sebastian at the same time and turn toward Locke. Without hesitation, I fold myself against him, my arms going around his middle as if clinging to a truth I desperately want to believe.
He stiffens for a heartbeat, surprised, probably, but then his arms circle me, heavy and grounding.
“You’re covered in blood,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to see my face. His eyes scan the torn skin, the raw edges of fresh wounds, the shaking I can’t seem to control. “Are you hurt? Harper, look at me, are you alright?”
Everything inside me breaks.
