She pinched the skin of his upper arm and injected him. “Don’t talk.”

Given time, her cure would do its work. In the meantime, she had to repair the worst of his organ damage to ensure he would survive the night. Her fola wouldn’t hold up long enough to mend him entirely, so she’d have to triage carefully. She called on her magic, and her veins ran silver. Although her hands tingled as if she’d plunged them into ice, she was too frantic to care right now.

Every button popped as she pulled apart his nightshirt. Placing her hands on his bare skin, she poured magic into him. How could he have taken a turn for the worse so quickly? Admittedly, ever since she’d begun research on the poison, she’d been distracted, but …

Her single-mindedness had almost killed him.

Be sorry later. Dead men can’t forgive.

Time ceased to have meaning as she worked. Throughout the night, they spoke little, and by sunrise, Hal had fallen asleep. Wren, meanwhile, was ready to lay her head on his chest and succumb to exhaustion. Even after so many hours together, it still felt like a strange, unearned privilege to gaze upon Hal Cavendish without fearing for her life. In the hazy lavender dawn, he looked entirely untroubled.

I deserve your hatred, he’d said.

No you don’t, she wanted to tell him.

His confession unsettled her more than she cared to admit. He had shown her patience, sometimes even kindness. And genuine remorse. Was he really so self-loathing as to overlook that? Could he truly not forgive himself?

Deep down, she knew Hal Cavendish was not what the world thought him to be. He had done horrible, unforgivable things. But so had her friends. Maybe the only difference between a monster and a hero was the color of a soldier’s uniform.

As she smoothed the hair back from his face, Hal opened his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. “Hi,” she whispered. “The worst of it is over. You’re going to live.”

“Over?” he asked hesitantly.

“I found an antidote. You should be on the mend in a few days.”

“Thank you.” The space between them grew softer as relief swept over him. Gratitude still made her feel a little off-kilter. Especially when he was looking at her like that. Warm and golden, like sunlight on her face and honey in her tea.

“It’s nothing.” She stood abruptly, cursing the rising blush on her face. “Healing is my duty.”

Unwelcome memories of a boy with a broken arm flickered behind her eyelids. Of Una, holding her wrists painfully tight as she growled, Your compassion is sorely misplaced. It will get you killed someday.