“He killed a Scholar,” Dario said. It was almost a whisper, and his voice shook and nearly broke again. “Me cago en todos los santos, he killed one of the best of us, and for what? To hide his dirty secrets? No. Khalila’s right. This has to stop.”

“I never said to give up.” Khalila’s voice came from behind Jess in the open doorway. “I never will. Dario, I’m so sorry.” The gentle sadness in her voice made Jess take in a breath, and as he turned his head, she moved past him, around the desk to open her arms. Dario lunged up and into them, and put his head on her shoulder to cry in quiet, wrenching sobs. It lasted only a moment, and he murmured a quiet apology as he pulled back.

She kissed him. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, and Jess found himself looking away to give them some privacy. She stepped away first and took in a slow breath as Dario sank down again in the chair. “What have you been drinking? I think I might be intoxicated on the fumes.”

“It’s not haram for me,” Dario said, and reached for the bottle. She moved it out of his reach. “Khalila. Please.”

“You’re beyond drunk enough,” she said. “And this is the end of your mourning. If they’ve killed a Scholar, we are all in danger, and you need to be alert. I need you at your best. We all do.”

He leaned back in his chair, staring at her, and then nodded. “You’re right. From now on, we stay together.”

Khalila turned to Jess. “The same for you. Stay with Glain. Watch your backs.”

“Thomas—”

“There’s nothing we can do for Thomas if we’re dead,” she said. “Stop asking about him, about secret prisons, about the Black Archives, about all of it. In a month, we may be able to start again, but they are watching. It will take only a stroke of the Archivist’s pen to kill us all. You know that.”

He did. He hated it with a cold, aching fury, but Khalila’s words were wise. Any sane person would pull in their head and proceed with caution.

Jess stood up. The Pacharán had worked all too well, and he felt his head spin a little. The Archivist won’t have to push me in front of a carriage, he thought. I’m liable to stumble in front of one all on my own.

“Stay safe,” he told them, and embraced Khalila first, then Dario.

Then he left the Lighthouse.

He’d lied. He didn’t intend to proceed with caution. It was far too late for that.

He intended to make sure Scholar Prakesh hadn’t died in vain. If that meant selling his soul to his brother, then he’d pay the price. However high it was.

When he knocked on Brendan’s door, it was late for most in the area, but hardly too late for a Brightwell. Still, he got no answer. Jess stepped back and studied the high windows. All dark. He didn’t believe that his twin, of all people, would be so early to bed, whether Neksa was in it or not.