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He looked at her, hope sparking in his eyes, and she let it burn there for a second before she wiped at her cheeks and found the strength to meet him head-on.

"Thomas was the best friend I ever had," she said. "He made me feel like the most interesting person in the world. But he was not the person I wanted to marry. And he was not the person I thought of in the rain, or in the library, or on the night I nearly froze to death beside Solitude Lake."

She leaned forward, so close she could see the pale stubble on his jaw, the tiny scar above his eyebrow. "That person was you."

He did not move.

"You absolute dolt," she said. "You have been my world for years and did not even notice. I loved you when you were wrong, and when you were infuriating, and when you stood on a ballroom floor and made me believe that it was safe to want things again."

He sat, stunned, as if the words had knocked him backwards.

When he spoke, his voice broke. "Adelaide⁠—"

She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his, her palm cold and damp against his feverish heat. "If you ever say no to me again, I will set fire to your entire study."

He let out a strangled laugh, then in a single, desperate movement, he was on the bench beside her, both arms around her shoulders, clutching her as if the world would end if he let go.

She let herself collapse into him, burying her face in his neck, sobbing into his lapel. He pressed his lips to her temple, her hair, anywhere he could reach, whispering her name like a benediction.

After a long minute, she straightened enough to look him in the eye. "You are shivering," she said, though she knew she was shaking herself.

He cradled her cheek. "If you leave again, I will follow you to the ends of the earth, and even then I will not stop."

She smiled through the tears. "You do realize I have spent the entire journey rehearsing how I would slam the door in your face."

"I rather thought you might," he admitted, stroking her jaw with his thumb. "And I deserve it."

They were silent for a moment.

"Julian," she said, suddenly. "What of Xanthos? What of your expedition?"

He made a sound, not quite a laugh, but more alive than anything she had heard in weeks. "I do not care for Xanthos. I never did. I only cared for seeing something that had never been seen, so that I would have a reason to go on, to wake up every day, to prove to myself I was alive and not a shade. That is what my brother left me. But you⁠—"

He took her hand again. "You make me want to live. Not for the work, not for the dead, not for what I am expected to do. But for you."

She shivered. He wrapped her in both arms, awkward and perfect, and for the first time in her life, Adelaide thought maybe it would be enough.

"I want a home," she said. "A real home, not a mausoleum for dead brothers. I want a garden, and children, and mornings that are not haunted by what we failed to do."

He nodded, tears standing in his eyes. "We will have all of it."

She kissed him; it was sudden and unplanned, pressing her lips to his in a way that demanded a future.

He kissed her back, desperate and unskilled and entirely himself. The carriage rocked with the force of his movement.

Adelaide drew back, breathless. "That was very nearly improper."

"Let us be improper, for once," he said, and she laughed.

She rested her forehead against his, a shiver still running through her.

"Let us build a life together," she said, the words heavy and bright and terrifying as sunrise.

She knew, in that instant, that she would never run again.

EPILOGUE

"Ibelieve your brother would be extraordinarily proud, Julian," Adelaide whispered.