Was he himself?
The backs of my eyes stung, and my throat burned. Jagger’s will hammered at the onslaught of joy and hope, but it flared so brightly nothing could dampen it. My blood burned, and I gasped, running faster.
Creatures threw themselves out of my way, but not before I heard more whispers.
“—came back depraved?—"
“—killed fifteen growlings before Jagger settled him?—”
“—no conjurer’ll be able to stop him now?—”
“—not the Knife anymore. You seen him? A nightmare?—”
“—He’s a mine. You know what a mine is? You’d better pray you never see one. No! There she— Look out!”
I dragged in a shaking breath and slowed as I rounded the final corner. I smoothed my hair, shoving down the flyaways and tucking the loose strands behind my ears. It’d fallen out of its braids sometime between the wedding and now. I smeared my sweaty palms against my dress and steadied my shaking hands.
He was back.
If I could weep, I would. Instead, I blew out a slow breath and curled my fingers into my palms. I smoothed my expression and let Jagger’s blood devour the wellspring of joy and the shoots of hope. I tamed my throbbing heart and the pulse of happiness.
I hadn’t known what Winnie would do when I told her I’d left Justice in the Den of Depravity because he wasn’t worth saving. I hadn’t dared to hope.
She’d touched the back of my hand and asked, “Do you think he’s thrown himself in the lake yet?”
And I’d said, thinking of Winnie’s passenger pigeons, “I don’t know.”
She’d smiled and left. And I still hadn’t hoped.
But she’d found him. She’d saved him. She’d brought him back.
I lifted my fist, about to knock on Jagger’s door.
Then I tamped down all my joy. Justice wouldn’t thank me for feeling anything for him in front of Jagger. In fact, if Jagger tasted the sweet unknotting of relief, the stark happiness, and my desire to spin in circles, shout to the sky, and yank Justice into my arms and hold him tight, he might just make me shove Justice back into the den so he could feel my mountaintop happiness tumble from its high place and dash against his rocky pit.
So I extinguished all the good and left only the bitter and the bad.
My knuckles were about to connect with the wooden door when Griff darted around the corner and grabbed my wrist. His grip was firm as he tugged my hand away from the door.
“What?” I whispered.
Slowly, he shook his head and then nodded to the closed door.
I frowned, trying to read his expression. Yesterday, Jagger had sent him on a mission to kill conjurers. He’d lived. Thank goodness. But with every passing day, he was losing bits and pieces of himself. His hair was still floppy, his eyes still puppy-innocent and limpid, but there was a cynical hardness in his expression that had never been there before. He’d always looked for the best in everyone—even in Hell Gate. He’d always searched for the kindness and the good, even while living in an earthly hell. My breath caught, and I winced as I realized Griff was being chipped away. Jagger was eroding him, little by little.
It was hard to notice, because Griff was so good. But the wear and tear were written in the new lines on his face. He shook his head again, and then, holding his pointer finger to his lips, he gestured for me to be quiet.
I nodded, and then Griff pulled me to the side. He leaned against the stone wall, crossing his arms over his chest. I stood next to him, biting my bottom lip.
I tapped my foot.
Griff stared pointedly as the sound echoed through the hall.
I let out a long sigh.
Griff lifted his eyebrows.
I clutched my dirty, torn, bloodstained tulle dress and stood on my tiptoes to whisper in Griff’s ear, “Justice is back. Haven’t you heard?”
