He’s gone.
He’s left me to drown in this alone. The thought coils through me, cold and mean.
Bastard.
I sit up in bed and pick up Romeo and Juliet, flipping to the end.
Death for love.
Dying to be together.
Is that what this is? The secret he won’t tell me?
I can’t concentrate on my favourite story as all my thoughts now rush to one person and the threat he is to me.
I close the book slowly, my fingers trembling. The decision rises in me so quickly but certain.
And I know what I must do.
I need to go for Richard.
The moon hangs as I saddle Ada, pale and swollen on the horizon. She shifts beneath me, restless, her breath ghosting through the cold air. I stroke her mane, murmuring softly, then turn her towards Lambeth.
We ride beneath the watching light, each hoofbeat is too loud in the stillness. The night is young, the fields slightly misty and the roads slick. The cottage fades behind me, swallowed by fog and open ground.
As we ride, the moon climbs, slow and deliberate, dragging its light higher into the sky. By the time Lambeth’s dark fields stretch out before me, it hangs clean and full above the rooftops, casting the world in cold silver.
Richard’s mansion isn’t hard to find. A stone wall rings it, the grand house safe within. Three floors, perhaps four if there’san attic, with balconies jutting from the second and third on opposite sides like a beast poised to spring.
The garden trails behind the house, old trees standing scattered across the grounds, their branches twisting like ribs.
I guide Ada into the trees and tie her there. She snorts, uneasy, as if she senses what I’m about to do, and I hush her, resting my palm against her cheek. The air smells faintly of hearth smoke and old wood, but it’s quiet; the kind of quiet that only settles when a household sleeps.
Good.
I move forward, the grass whispering beneath my boots, breath steady, heart cold.
Time to see what Lambeth keeps hidden behind its fine walls.
My body feels honed, faster, built for the hunt. I’m stronger than I ever remember being. The bond from yesterday still burns in my veins, sharpening everything. Whatever Gray did to me—whateverwebecame—it’s changed me. I doubt Richard will be a challenge, but we’ll see.
The wall rises ahead, shining sickly under the moonlight as I move through the dark and leap, catching the edge with both hands. The stone bites into my palms as I pull myself up and over, landing in a crouch on the other side. I wait for a moment, listening. The world is silent but for the faint hiss of wind through grass.
The air is cool and heavy with dew. I check the blade at my hip, then the one tucked into my boot. Their weight steadies me as I start across the yard, slow and deliberate.
At the back of the house lies a small brick patio, empty chairs, a table, a folded umbrella, forgotten in the corner. The glass doors beyond are etched with curling patterns that catch the moonlight, and above, a balcony stretches into shadow.
No lamps. No sounds. The house sleeps.
I press close to the door, ear to the glass. Nothing. Just the creak of settling wood, the low groan of the wind.
Edging along the wall, my eyes trace the lines of ivy that climb towards the balcony; I’m almost certain it’ll hold me if I’m careful.
My boot catches on a stone and I stumble, twisting as I land—pain flares sharp through my ankle and a hiss slips out before I can stop it. I steady myself with a heavy step, a throb climbing my leg before settling deep, hot and pulsing.
A beat of silence. Then barking.
A dog.
