She aggressively tugged the sheet over the mattress as Hal made his way to the armchair by the window. He sat silhouetted by the pale sun, struggling to close the buttons on his sleeves. She considered letting him suffer, if only to maintain a healthy distance between them. But if she were completely honest with herself, she didn’t exactly want to keep away from him anymore—emotionally or physically. Approaching him now felt like toeing the edge of a cliffside. How close could she get before she fell?

With an exaggeratedly exasperated sigh, she dragged another chair next to his and sat. Her knees nearly brushed his, the flutter of her gown’s lace hem bridging the gap between them. “Allow me.”

Hal looked as if he were about to brush her off but then extended his arm to her wordlessly. His concession surprised her, but she said nothing as she threaded each button through its hole, as deliberate as suturing a wound. Heat began to spread through her cheeks at their warm, almost familiar proximity and the sensation of his eyes intently on her hands.

The last button went through the eyelet a little too forcibly, leaving an aching indent in the pad of her thumb. “There.”

They both sighed, relieved, when she straightened up. But the discomfort lingered, as unwieldy as the weight of their truce. It settled lopsided over her shoulders. Hal was still something of a mystery. If she was going to trust him, she had to know something about him—something true. If they were going to work together—if she could truly move past everything he’d done—she needed to know more about him.

“Last night, you said I could ask you anything I wanted.”

“I did,” he said warily.

“First of all, I haven’t meant to be so…” She cut herself off with a frustrated sigh. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she tried again. “I’ve said things that were perhaps unfair to you. I’m sorry.”

Clearly sensing the hesitation in her voice, he remained silent.

“But I still can’t forget who you are. If we’re going to work together, I need to understand you. You told me you don’t believe in God. So why? Why did you…?”

Mercifully, he spared her from having to finish that sentence. “I don’t believe in God, no. But God is many things to many people. All of us have something we believe in enough to kill for.”

“What’s it for you?”

Hal drew a deep breath, and for a moment, Wren feared he’d refuse to answer. “My family. My country. I was the first to manifest my bloodline’s magic in two generations. I believed I had a gift—a duty. Not only to make my father proud, but to protect the defenseless. To be useful.”

To be useful. Wren shivered at the familiarity of that sentiment. “And is that still what you believe in?”