“But we found a way through it.”

“You’re mates. That’s different.”

I shake my head. “Even if we weren’t, I’m sure we would have ended up here.”

“Yeah. I don’t think that’s what fate has in store for us. That’s not what I want anyway.”

I nod and look across the horizon.

Gabriel scribbles a few more words onto the paper and then rolls it up. He opens a cage and retrieves a bird in one of his large hands.

“Would you mind?” he asks, holding out the roll. I tie it to the bird’s ankle, and then Gabriel faces the wall, pausing with the pigeon clutched in his hands.

“What did you write to them?”

“To hurry home. That soon they will finally be free.”

Then he lifts his arms and thrusts the bird into the sky, his wings ruffling softly. We both stand side by side, the breeze tossing our hair, watching until it disappears from view.

CHAPTER 35

RION

232 YEARS AGO

The letter dangled from Rion’s fingertips, a missive on parchment sent to tear out his heart.

Rachel was dead.

After so many years of wondering where she was, he’d finally found her. Only it was too late to do anything with the knowledge.

She’d thrown in her lot with the wrong sorts of people. Gangsters who prowled the underground lairs of Tor, dealing in illegal trades of arcturite while also indulging in gambling and the skin trade, all of it conducted outside the confines of the law.

Rachel had been used as bait against a gang leader and taken as a hostage. When her side failed to deliver on their rivals’ demands, they slit her throat. And that was it. She was gone.

Rion covered his eyes, his head hanging between his knees. His chest rattled with the uncomfortable weightiness of a heart that could never be put back together. His fingers were numb, and his stomach heaved like it was trying to turn itself out.

Rachel was dead.

He looked up, staring out the window, watching the lights ripple across the sky. Tonight, they brought him no comfort. Tonight, they left him feeling as empty as his soul.

He stood up and approached the window, pressing his forehead to the cool glass.

A tear, one long buried, slipped down his cheek. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wept. Probably when he’d been a child.

He turned away and walked to the bar cart, not bothering with a glass, as he picked up a full decanter and tipped the entire contents down his throat. He drank it too quickly to notice what it was. He didn’t care. All he wanted was to numb this knifing pain searing through his limbs.