Jude flicked his gaze to the arched threshold of the sitting room, where Illya stood.

Anton stiffened. “Actually, we were.”

“Come on, I’m part of the team now, right?” Illya said. “I helped you cross the valley. And I can help you get into the Temple of Pallas. Or … whatever the plan is now.”

Anton narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Which would give you the perfect opportunity to turn us over to the Witnesses the second we set foot in Pallas Athos.”

“You really think I’d do that, after everything?”

Anton gave him a challenging look. “Do I think you’d turn on us, the second it becomes convenient? Yes.”

“Well, once again, Anton, you seem to be in a position where you can either trust me or you can go it alone,” Illya replied. “Need I remind you that you were the one who came to me to help save your beloved swordsman?”

Jude stared at Anton, whose thunderous gaze was fixed on his brother. Illya had once before referenced the fact that he’d helped Anton rescue Jude from the citadel in Pallas Athos, but Jude hadn’t realized that Anton had sought him out. How desperate must he have been to have willingly gone to Illya for help? What else would he be willing to do, Jude wondered, his chest tight, to keep Jude safe?

“Whether you believe me or not, brother, I have changed,” Illya said quietly. “I want to help.”

“Fine,” Anton snapped. “You can come. But you’re at Jude’s command. If he tells you to do something, you do it, no questions asked.”

Illya glanced at Jude, the flash of fear in his eyes quickly buried beneath cool disaffect. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Fine.”

They resumed their planning, talking through each contingency, now with Illya’s admittedly helpful inside information on the city. By the late hours of the night, Anton was nodding off against Jude’s shoulder, each of his comments punctuated by a yawn until finally Jude had to shuffle him off to bed.

By the time he was tucked in, he was already asleep, warm and relaxed, his hair a tousled mess against the pillows. Everything in Jude wanted to curl up beside him in the soft blankets. He allowed himself one moment to perch at the edge of the bed, taking in Anton’s peaceful face, listening to his soft breath, before he forced himself to his feet. His heart felt like it would tear in two as he pushed through the door and back down the hall.

When he reached the sitting room, it appeared Illya had also retired, leaving Jude and the Wanderer alone for the first time since she’d arrived.

She looked up at him, almost expectant.

“Whatever it is,” she said after a long silence, “just say it.”