A few seabirds were drifting and turning on the wind blowing up from the harbor in the distance and I sighed as I watched them, feeling heavy there in the alley. It was as if every inch of sky were pressing down on top of me, driving me into the earth.

It was still morning, but by the time the sun went down I’d be signing Holland’s contract.

A twist of brilliant blue flared in the shadow darkening the corner of the building, and I studied the street around me. The people walked leisurely from shop to shop, but I could feel the shift in the air. The trailing scent of spiced mullein smoke.

I watched the corner, where the alley narrowed into a small lane that disappeared between the buildings. Over my shoulder, I could see Willa through the window, waiting at the counter.

My mouth twisted, my hands curling into fists inside my pockets as I stepped toward the alley and took the turn. The flash of blue disappeared around the next corner, leaving the alley empty. Silent.

I walked with heavy, echoing steps, glancing back to the street to be sure no one was following me. When I made the next turn, I stopped short, my chest caving in with the weight of lost breath. There, leaning against the soot-stained brick, my father stood with his pipe clenched in his teeth, his cap pulled low over his eyes.

“Saint.” My lips moved around the word, but I couldn’t hear it.

The sting behind my eyes instantly betrayed me, treacherous tears gathering so quickly that I had to blink them away. It took every ounce of my will to keep from throwing my arms around him, and I didn’t know what to do with that feeling. I wanted to press my face into his coat and cry. I wanted to let the weight of my legs give out and let him hold me.

I’d thought over and over that maybe I’d never see him again. That maybe I didn’t want to. And here I was, swallowing down the cry trapped in my throat.

He was beautiful and terrifying and stoically cold. He was Saint.

A puff of smoke trailed up from his lips before he looked at me, and I thought I might have seen something there in his steely blue eyes that mirrored the roaring feeling inside of me. But when his eyes shifted, it was gone.

He took hold of the opening of his coat with both hands and sauntered toward me. “Got your message.”

“Didn’t think you’d come yourself,” I said. It was true. I’d been expecting Clove. But I was so happy to see my father that I was almost ashamed of myself. I stared at the toes of his shined black boots in front of mine. “Do you have it?” I asked.