Hazel’s hands twisted in her lap.
“Two days before the trial, they found us. I don’t know how: someone talked, or the wards failed, or they were just that good. But they came at dawn. Professional hit squad, just like the Blackwoods have now.” His grip tightened on the locket. “Eliza heard them first. Woke me up. We had maybe sixty seconds.”
“Marcus, you don’t have to…”
“I followed protocol.” The words came out flat. “I grabbed my briefcase. I recited the emergency extraction spell exactly as I’d been taught. I did everything by the book. And while I was being careful, methodical, and professional, they broke through the door. They grabbed her. She screamed my name.”
Hazel’s eyes burned.
“I hesitated. Half a second, maybe less. Enough time to think, ‘Should I break the spell to help her or finish the extraction?’ That’s all it took. By the time I broke protocol and went back for her…” He closed the locket with a snap. “They’d already slit her throat. Left her body on the farmhouse floor like garbage.”
“Oh god. Marcus…”
“The trial went forward without her. They were convicted based on circumstantial evidence, but the sentence was lighter. The murderer served twenty years instead of life.” He fell silent. “Twenty years for taking everything from me.”
Hazel crossed to the couch without thinking, sitting beside him. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I was supposed to protect her. That was my job. And I chose protocol over her life.” He wouldn’t look at Hazel, but she saw the moisture in his eyes. “I’ve carried this for a hundred and fiftyyears. Malphas knows; he’s the only one. It’s why he gave me your case. He thought… he thought I’d learned my lesson. That I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”
“And have you?”
Marcus looked at her, his gaze intense enough to make her forget to breathe. “Every time you do something reckless, every time you put yourself in danger, I see her. I see that farmhouse. And I swear to every god that exists that I won’t hesitate again. Protocol be damned. The rules be damned. If they come for you, I’m not reaching for my briefcase first.”
Hazel’s hand found his, squeezing gently. He turned his palm up, threading their fingers together.
“Is that why you’re so obsessive about safety? Why did you nearly have a meltdown when I went to the market alone?”
“I can’t lose you.” The admission came out rough. “I know I’m supposed to be professional. I know this is just a job. But Hazel, I can’t…” He stopped.
“You won’t lose me,” she said fiercely. “I’m not Eliza. And you’re not that young demon anymore. We’re going to make it to trial, we’re going to win, and we’re both going to walk out of that courthouse alive.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Watch me.” She squeezed his hand harder. “I’m a stubborn witch, remember? I don’t die easily.”
Despite everything, his lips quirked. “No, you don’t.”
They sat in silence, hands still joined. The fire crackled. Jazz played softly.
“Thank you,” Marcus said. “For listening. I haven’t… I haven’t talked about her since it happened.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Hazel studied their joined hands: his so much larger than hers, callused from centuries of work, warm and solid. “She’d want you to move on, you know. To be happy.”
“Would she?”
“Any woman who loved you would want that.” The words came out softer than she intended.
Marcus looked at her then, really looked at her, and the silence stretched. “Hazel…”
“I know this is complicated,” she said quickly. “I know we shouldn’t. But Marcus, you’re not just my bodyguard anymore. You’re…”
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He raised their joined hands, pressing his lips to her knuckles. Hazel’s breath caught.
“You’re important too.” He squeezed her hand, fingers tightening over hers.
