“And she agreed?”

“Not at first. Initially, she laughed. She said you didn’t need protection, that you were deadlier than I was. So instead I promised her that I would do what I could to stop the Lions. While Dr. Conner’s alive, they’ll never give up trying to hurt you.”

My head is whirling. “Blackwood said I was deadlier than you? That’s not even possible. And don’t you dare try to say that this is to help me.” I almost choke on the word.

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” he says, and looks like he needs for me to understand. “You see things as good and bad, right and wrong. And being a Strategia means living in a world made entirely of shades of gray, where everything is a trade-off.”

I shake my head, my anger high in my throat.

“And of course this is to help you,” he says, and his voice is insistent. “I wish I didn’t care. I wish I could hand you over to the Lions and be done with it all. But I can’t. I won’t. When I told you how I felt about you, I was minimizing it. I’m not good at caring about other people. I wasn’t encouraged to have best friends like you were—none of us were. Mine was burned alive in her bed. So, yes, I’m bad at this. Yes, I made a mess of things. But I’ve also been doing everything in my power to keep you and Layla safe. And I don’t know how to make sense of it, or how to explain it all to you, or how to tell you that after I’ve only known you for a short time I’m completely—” He stops himself.

He takes a breath. “If I could take back what I did, I would. I’ve made a mess of things. But I swear I will make it up to you, November. Just give me a chance.”

I stare at him for a long time, trying to hold back the flood of tangled emotion that threatens to let loose.

“Okay,” I say, my voice as restrained as I can manage. “You’ve said your piece. I’m leaving.”

His eyes are so sad that I can barely look at him. He bends down and pulls a dagger out of his boot. He offers it to me hilt-first.

I stubbornly shake my head, but he grabs my palm and places the dagger in it. I yank my hand away from him and shove the dagger into my boot, not because I want to take it but because I can’t stay here with him a second longer and argue about it.

“Please just—” he says, but I raise my hand and stop him.

“Don’t,” I say, and grab a vine. I begin to lower myself with shaky hands. It takes everything in my power not to cry.

I move through the trees slowly, and the farther I get from him, the more it feels like someone is strangling my heart. I also can’t help but wonder how much of this Layla knew.