“I started worrying about danger when I started having feelings for the person involved,” he says, and his answer catches me off guard.

For a moment we’re both silent, sitting only a couple of inches apart, the air between us thick and warm in the firelight. I struggle to come up with a reply; sincerity from Ash is always unexpected.

“Brendan,” Ash starts when I don’t respond, yanking me out of the moment.

“Huh?” I say, trying to catch up.

“Keep an eye on Brendan tomorrow,” he says, his voice low and reasoning. “With Nyx temporarily out of commission and Charles and Dr. Conner dead, I’m not certain what the Lions’ next move will be, but Brendan is one of their last weapons here. There’s no sense in speeding up his timeline by letting him suspect we’re leaving.”

I sigh, my head swimming as I recall the incidents of the last week: Charles dead after trying to kill me, Nyx banished to the dungeon for trying to skewer me with her sword. And now Ash is telling me Brendan might try to pick up where they left off. “Isn’t there a universal rule somewhere that says it’s bad manners to attack people right after they’ve outmaneuvered you?”

Ash leans back into the pillows. “Not when you’re Strategia. In fact, it only makes you a more interesting target.”

His answer reminds me of a twisted version of that old saying: If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. I grab a gray velvet throw pillow, hugging it to my chest. As I look at Ash, images from my nightmare fill my head once more. I frown. He survived Conner’s poisoning, but only barely. What about the next time? How would I live with myself knowing I got Ash hurt, or even killed? What sounded daring, even romantic, when Ash offered to drop everything to help me find my dad is now tying up my stomach in knots.

I stare at the flames as they get lower in the fireplace. “That’s the thing, I’m the target. But you don’t have to be.”

“What are you suggesting?” Ash asks, unsure.

He waits a moment for my response, but I’m too lost in my tangled worries. He looks me up and down. “You’re leaning away from me, November, which means you’re trying to protect yourself. And you’re rubbing your palm with your thumb—a self-soothing gesture,” he says. “I can keep reading your body language, but it would be easier if you talked to me.”