Darkness closes over us, quiet and alive.
Locke exhales sharply, too sharply, as his composure fractures for the first time since he dragged me in here. His frustration spills into the dim room with a heat that borders on anger, and when he speaks, his voice cuts with the precision of a blade.
“Do you really think you’re the first woman to catch Sebastian Harwood’s eye?” he snaps, each word flung like an accusation rather than a truth.
A humorless sound escapes me, a laugh that isn’t amusement, but disbelief wrapped in something bitter. My footsteps are deliberate as I close the distance between us, my every movement designed to provoke him, to test how far he’s willing to push.
“No,” I say quietly, lifting my chin. “I’m not delusional enough to think that.”
Liam shifts uneasily, sensing the dangerous current rising in my voice.
“But I do fear,” I continue, voice lowering into a whisper meant to wound, “that it won’t be the last time I let him close enough to try.”
The room goes so still Liam actually stops breathing.
Even Locke stiffens.
“My father always believed in indulging desire,” I say, tone turning poisonous with every syllable. “And maybe I’m not as different from him as you keep pretending. Maybe-”
The crack of skin hitting skin echoes like a curse.
Locke’s hand connects with my cheek before the last word leaves my mouth.
The force of it snaps my head sideways, a white-hot bloom of heat spreading beneath my skin. My breath catches, not from pain, but from the shock of it. A silence descends so absolute it rings in my ears. I lift my hand slowly to my cheek, fingers brushing the tender sting blooming there.
Liam is motionless, eyes wide, mouth parted, his expression torn between outrage and disbelief. Locke looks horrified by his own action before his hand has even fully lowered. His face pales, grief and regret collapsing into his features so quickly I might have pitied him if I wasn’t already crumbling inside.
But I don’t give him the satisfaction of flinching.
I stand perfectly still.
Perfectly quiet.
Perfectly in control of the moment he meant to take from me.
When I finally speak, my voice is soft, far too soft for the damage it inflicts.
“You’re afraid of me,” I whisper, dropping my hand from my cheek. “Just like everyone else.”
Locke’s breath shudders. Liam’s eyes dart between us, horrified.
I tilt my head, and with the faintest pulse of magic, uncontrolled, unrefined, but utterly mine, the lanterns around the study flare back to life all at once, bathing Locke in harsh light he can’t hide from.
Then I turn on my heel.
And without waiting for either of them to speak, I walk out of the study, leaving the door open behind me, letting the echo of my footsteps answer every question they didn’t dare ask.
16
LIAM
Locke’s study feels too small the moment Harper walks out of it, the walls pressing in around us like the air has been sucked out. Her back disappears through the doorway before I can move, before I can even process the sting blooming across her cheek, Locke’s handprint marking her skin like something sacred has been violated. My voice doesn’t rise, but the words that spill out of me are sharper than anything I’ve ever said to the man who saved our lives.
“How dare you.”
I don’t wait for his answer. I don’t want to hear his apology or his excuses. Harper is gone, alone, wounded, furious, and that is all that matters. I step out into the corridor, shutting the study door behind me without bothering to look back. My stride is long, tight, driven by a fear I refuse to name. I can still see her trembling when she shouted,You are not my father.Still see the lanterns die. Still see the look on Locke’s face when darkness swallowed the room whole.
The corridors blur as I walk. I weave through the castle’s twists and arches on instinct alone. I know Harper, when she’s hurt, she seeks silence, not comfort. She hides where she thinks no one will bother to look. And she moves quickly when she spirals. Terrifyingly quickly.
