Memories of her blow through my mind, lifting and spinning like leaves in the breeze. I think of her confronting Audra about using bone readings for selfish reasons. Of the way she used to encourage me to remember those who had less than I did. Of how she chose a path that ended her life to spare mine. She would be so angry if I sacrificed all of Kastelia just to save her. And yet the temptation is there just the same.

A noise behind me makes me startle, and I whirl around. But it’s only Rasmus. I had forgotten about him, and I’m not sure if he’s been following me the whole time, or if he just arrived.

He’s unsteady on his feet, as if he’s had too much to drink, but the only acknowledgment he gives me is his usual curt nod. The potion is beginning to wear off then.

I keep walking, and Rasmus keeps a greater distance than normal, as if he senses my need for space.

I find a parapet overlooking the city and sit on top of the cool stone.

I watch the sun move lower and lower in the sky until finally it dips beneath the horizon, streaking the sky in hues of rose and gold. Kastelia City spills at my feet, golden and glittering. I think about the people below, and wonder how many of them are gathered around kitchen tables sharing a meal. How many children are hearing bedtime stories near the glowing fire of a hearth? How many lives would I destroy by letting Latham rob them of their freedom?

A familiar memory nudges at the back of my mind, and it takes me a moment to identify it. But then it clicks into place. I sat in this very spot with Bram on my other path. His cloak and hair were a smudge against the dark sky. My throat was thick with all the things I wanted to say to him but didn’t.

A throat clears behind me, and I turn.

Bram.

As if my thoughts summoned him.

I can’t read his expression—worried? Hesitant?

“I know you said you wanted to be alone.” He says it like an apology. Like a question.

I pat the wall beside me. “I don’t mind.”

He sits and we both stare out over the city. “Will you tell me what happened in the shop?” he asks, finally. “Something you saw obviously upset you.”

I listen to the rush of the Shard. When I was young, we had a flood in Midwood after a season of unusually high rainfall. I remember asking my father why it had happened.

“The river can only hold so much, bluebird,” he’d told me. “And then it spills over just like a bucket that’s too full.”