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“It could be,” he says, his gaze locking onto mine with a steadiness that makes it hard to breathe. “If you let it be.”

I shake my head slowly, the weight of everything we have lived through settling in my chest. “That’s not how it works, Arlo,” I say, my voice quieter now. “If we leave, we don’t just disappear into some quiet life. So many people already know what I am, and Kylian has reason to believe that word has traveled outside of his kingdom. You know the kings in our world don’t forget about lost mages, they come for them with torches. And they will never stop coming for me.”

He frowns, like the thought has never once crossed his mind. To him, freedom has always been a destination, not something that could belong to him and be taken away at any time. He thought that if he and I just reached freedom, we’d always have it. But that isn’t the world we live in.

“And what about Sable?” I ask. “She’s out there somewhere, and she’s in danger too. I can’t just go hide and hope for the best.”

I watch his expression shift, like nothing I’m saying makes any sense to him.

“Your debts are clear. Your family is waiting for you on Purgatory. You can still have a good life, Arlo. No one will hunt you down when you leave here to start over. But me? My mother belonged to Sangremere once, and I—”

“Don’t say it, Ali. Don’t.” His gaze flicks around the room at that, and I follow the shift in his attention before I even realize I am doing it.

Kylian has entered.

His presence pulls attention, even from those trying not to look, and he heads straight toward Garret and the guards a few tables down without so much as a glance in our direction.

Eagan follows a moment later with a goblet of blood balanced in his hand. His eyes scan the room until they land on me, his brows lifting slightly as he gestures with one hand like he has been searching for me, and I feel the faintest flicker of guilt before he shakes his head and moves on. He sets the glass down before leaning in to speak quietly with Kylian.

Arlo’s voice is a whisper now as he leans toward me. “He told me he would let you leave, Ali. If you chose to go with me, he said he wouldn’t stop you. We could look for Sable together.” He grabs my hand from the table, pressing it between both of his. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Ali. Haven’t I always kept you safe?”

The question settles between us, heavier than anything he has said so far. Tears sting the backs of my eyes as I take in the desperation on his face. I know he means every word from the bottom of his heart, but this is so much bigger than a depraved man looking for a wife or an angry farmer with a belt.

“Please, Ali, I’ve got you. I always will. You just have to trust me.”

Something deep in my chest tightens at the thought of it, at the image of turning my back on Kylian and following Arlo into the unknown, the way I’ve always followed Arlo without fear.

My tear-blurred eyes drift again.

Back to him.

Back to the man who refuses to even look at me.

Kylian sits at the far end of the hall, surrounded by his guards, his posture relaxed in a way that doesn’t match the tension I can feel humming through the bond. His attention is fixed on the men around him as they speak, and one of his guards leans in slightly. Kylian nods once, and even from across the room, I can feel the weight of him, the gravity of his presence pulling at something deep inside me that I can’t explain and can’t fight.

“We’ll need more supplies if this stretches out longer than expected,” one of the guards says, his voice carrying just enough for me to catch fragments.

Kylian shakes his head. “Not from Purgatory, at least not until I know what Draven is planning. I’m not sending men out blind.”

“You think he’ll move this quickly?”

“I think he already has,” Kylian replies, and something in the way he says it sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the bond.

He doesn’t look at me. Not once. Not even when I know he can feel me watching him, the same way I can feel the steady, burning pulse of his awareness pressed against the edges of mine.

Arlo’s voice pulls my attention back. “You’re doing it again.”

My gaze snaps to his, and the look on his face makes something inside me crack, because it isn’t anger, it isn’t accusation, it’s just this quiet, devastating knowing.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at him.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “I wasn’t—”

“You don’t even realize you’re doing it,” he adds, his jaw tightening slightly, and the hurt he is trying so hard to hold down bleeds through just enough for me to feel it lodge inside my throat.

“You’re sitting here with me, but you want to be over there with him,” he murmurs.