“Shhh.” Dancer put a finger to his lips, looking up and down the pathway. “I knew she was up to something, so I followed her,” Dancer said. “I wouldn’t have let her cut your throat or anything.”

“That’s reassuring.” Han stood and scooped up his ruined cloak. “When did you plan to step in?”

“Let’s get her inside before the provost guard shows,” Dancer said.

“Why should we? Let them take her to gaol,” Han said. “I’m done.” Han had been blindsided by someone he’d considered to be a friend. He’d never have expected her to try a stab and grab on him. After all that had happened, he was at his limit.

Dancer didn’t honor that with an answer. “Come on,” he said. “We can’t drag her over the roof and through the window. I’ll carry her; you go in front and distract Blevins if he’s awake.” Dancer stowed Cat’s blade away and slid his hands under her, lifting her. She groaned but did not open her eyes.

Han walked into the dormitory ahead of them, scouting the common room for Blevins. The dorm master was sound asleep in his chair next to the fire. Waiting up for them. He’d be peeved not to catch them sneaking in after curfew.

Han motioned Dancer forward, and they soft-footed past Blevins and climbed the stairs, keeping to the outsides of the treads so they didn’t squeak.

Fortunately, they reached the fourth floor without meeting anyone. Han pushed his door open, and Dancer followed him in, depositing Cat on Han’s bed.

“I’ll get some cold water for her head,” Dancer said. He picked up the basin and left, heading for the third-floor washroom.

He’s awfully considerate of someone who cut up my good cloak and threatened me with a knife a few minutes ago, Han thought.

Han lit two candles to drive off the shadows. The dawn was still hours away.

Cat groaned, pressing her hands to her forehead. Han patted her down thoroughly, removing three more knives. Dancer returned with the basin, wet a rag, and laid it over the lump on Cat’s head. She reached up and yanked it off, and he replaced it again. She batted his hand away and opened her eyes.

“Get away from me, you dung-eating copp…” She stopped abruptly, as memory seemed to flood back in. “Blood and bones,” she whispered. Focusing on Han’s face, she flinched and closed her eyes again.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispered, licking her lips.

“I might still,” Han said. “But Dancer thought you’d have something to say first.”

“I got nothing to say,” Cat whispered. “Just cut my throat and be done with it.” She tilted her head back, exposing her throat, a wolf submitting to the alpha of the pack.