He thought of April, of her voice in the dark, her warmth in his arms. He thought of Eugenia, reminding him that to love again was not a betrayal but a triumph. He thought of the letter tucked away in his desk—his mother’s final note, ink faded but full of grace.
They would not want this. They would not want me to become this.
He stepped back.
“I’m done here,” he said.
Elderman looked up. “What of them?”
Theo turned toward the door. “There is a bounty. Let the Crown decide. Smuggling alone will hang them, I should think.”
Elderman gave a nod. “We’ll see it done.”
Theo didn’t look back. He climbed the steps from the cellar into the cool, still air of the London street. Brutus waited patiently, pawing at the stone.
He mounted and turned toward the road, toward home.
It is finished. Let it be finished. Let the ghosts rest. Let this life begin.
He spurred the horse forward.
I will tell April words I’ve carried too long. I will tell her that I love her—and I will mean it, with every part of me that remains.
Theo stepped into the market square just as the vendors began laying out their wares. The sky was soft with morning mist, streaks of amber and grey peeking through the horizon. He’drisen early, slipped from the manor while April still slept, and ridden into town with the thought of surprising her.
A bouquet of lilies—she had remarked once in passing that they reminded her of summers in Sussex—and a slim volume of poetry he’d discovered in a shop off Bond Street. Something about the act steadied him, reminded him that the world could still hold beauty, still offer something gentle amidst the wreckage. He took his time choosing the most vibrant stems, brushing away flecks of dew from the petals. His mind lingered on April’s laugh the evening before, the way her eyes had softened as she leaned into him, sleepy but content.I will spend my whole life earning that smile,he thought.
He was just reaching to inspect another bundle when he heard the beat of hooves. Quick, deliberate. Urgent.
He turned.
A Bow Street Runner dismounted swiftly, the horse breathing hard. “Your Grace. I was sent by Mr. Elderman. You’re needed.”
Theo stiffened. “What is it?”
The man hesitated, then stepped closer. “It’s about the prisoner. Dave. He spoke again. Gave a name.”
Theo’s stomach clenched. “What name?”
“Gregory Roth.”
Time slowed.
For a moment, Theo couldn’t breathe. The bouquet slipped from his hand, the petals tumbling onto the cobblestones.
“I need my horse,” he said. The words came from some place beneath thought.
He rode hard. The wind tore at his coat, the stallion’s muscles straining beneath him as they galloped the path toward the Runners’ outpost. Panic pulsed behind his ribs.
Gregory.
The name echoed over and over. His cousin. The man who had stood beside his father’s coffin. The man who had toasted his majority. The man who had kissed April’s hand.
He was at the christening. He was at the wake. He was there for all of it.
He saw the wreckage he created and never blinked.
By the time Theo arrived, his hands ached from the reins, his throat dry, his thoughts a tangled snarl.
