Without a sound, the men sprang forward.
Theo vaulted the last few feet of the slope, landing hard on the wet sand. Shouts erupted. Blades flashed. A shot cracked. Two of the smugglers fled but were tackled to the ground. One lunged at Theo with a knife. He parried it aside and struck the man with the butt of his pistol. The smuggler dropped without a sound.
“Dave!” someone cried. “Run!”
A large man—broad-shouldered, face dark with grit—turned and ran up the crag. Elderman fired a shot past his head. The man froze. He dropped his burden and raised his hands slowly.
Moments later, it was done.
Three men were bound, breathless and bruised. One cursed under his breath. The leader, Dave, glared with loathing at his captors.
“You’ve ruined it,” he spat.
“You ruined yourself,” Elderman replied. “Bring them.”
The Runners’ office cellar was as cold and damp as a crypt. The captives were forced into separate chairs, their hands bound tightly. A single lantern swung overhead, casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls like ghosts.
Elderman questioned the first two with efficient cruelty. Names, routes, schedules. The men, eager to avoid the noose, revealed everything: brandy smuggled through coastal farms, codes carved in fenceposts, coin exchanges in churchyards. Theo stood in the shadows, arms folded, silent as a sentry.
When Dave was shoved forward, Elderman paused.
“This one’s yours.”
Dave looked up with a twisted grin. “You’ve that look about you. Some high-bred officer, I’d wager.”
Theo stepped forward, expression unreadable. “You knew Michael Linwood.”
Dave’s grin faltered. “Who’s asking?”
“I buried my family days after he arrived in Gloucestershire.”
A beat passed.
Dave’s eyes sharpened. “That so?”
“My mother. My father. My siblings. Murdered in their own home.”
Dave let out a dry chuckle. “Wasn’t me who lit the fire.”
“But you were there.”
He shifted. Then gave a casual shrug. “Aye. I was there. Linwood hired us. Said the family deserved it. Said the Duke had debts to settle. He didn’t give names. Just said there’d be coin for those who helped.”
Theo’s jaw ached from how tightly he clenched it.
“You remember the children?”
Dave grew still. “I remember a little girl trying to run. That bit wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Theo closed his eyes. A thousand memories crashed against him—Rebecca’s laughter, her wild curls, the way she had begged to ride side-saddle like a proper lady. Gone.
“And now?” Theo said quietly.
“I’ll hang,” Dave said with a hollow shrug. “You’ve got what you want.”
But is it what I want?Theo studied him.Is death enough for this?He could feel the vengeance pressing against him, urging him to act, to demand retribution.
But something deeper pushed against it.
