Whatever Lowry wanted with her and Hal, whether he’d been behind the poisonings or not, he clearly wanted them both alive—and here in Colwick Hall. But for what? What did he want from her? While Hal’s theory was inconclusive about the abductions and Lowry’s motives, she couldn’t convince herself not to worry about what might happen to them if they stayed here.

Wren realized she must have gone quiet. Even recovering in what was nearly his deathbed, Hal cut an imposing figure. His gaze was unbroken and intense as he awaited her response. The early sunlight revealed the impossibly dark glimmer of blue in his eyes. How many people knew they weren’t really black?

Tentatively, she said, “And now that you’re well, you intend to go after him.”

“What I intend is to find proof.” He spoke with an eerie, cold composure. “Once I do, I intend to see him hang.”

She should have let it lie at that. With his disease cured, she’d fulfilled her obligation to him. She could finally fall into a dark and heavy slumber. She could finally dream of Danu, of Una, of reclaiming her old life.

But she stayed.

Maybe it was because of Hal’s cool, collected certainty—a magnetic steadiness when her life swirled in indistinct chaos. Or maybe it was because her conscience had always been stronger than her self-preservation.

“I saw Lowry coming from behind that tapestry last night.” It came out before she could stop it, like a spurt of arterial blood. “He was wounded and stitched up like he’d come prepared with medical supplies, but he fed me that nonsense excuse about structural damages. And then when I hinted the disease wasn’t exactly natural, he didn’t seem surprised at all. I keep … hearing things in the house. Sometimes I think it sounds like screaming.”

As the story poured out of her, a possibility she hadn’t considered—but one she’d desperately hoped for—leapt out. What if they were all still alive?

Hal’s lips parted. Then he arranged his face into a mask made of broken slate, imperfectly blank. She could see his incredulity peering out through the cracks. “Are you offering to help me?”

Was she? Could she? Her carriage would arrive in four days, but Wren wasn’t sure she had it in her to carry out her plan anymore. Capturing Hal would restore her reputation, but before desperation twisted her into the girl she was now, she’d wanted nothing more than answers. Justice for Byers and the other missing soldiers.

She’d called Hal a coward, but if she turned her back on a potential lead—if she gave up on a chance to save Byers—then what was she? She wouldn’t deserve to wear her uniform. She wouldn’t deserve Una’s forgiveness. Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t an option to ignore it anymore.