“The punching nearly destroyed my hands. I broke my knuckles more times than I can count. Then just over two months ago, I got the news my mother had died. When Malkin told me—” He paused. “He told me my father had paid off his debt months ago, but Malkin said I still owed him. That I had my own debts now, and my father hadn’t used a bit of the money he’d made to help.” His fisted hands tightened. “It finally sunk in that no one was coming for me, and Malkin was never going to let me go.

“I’d been saving portions of my winnings without him knowing for some time. I had enough to convince a smuggler to get me out of the city to Sordell.”

My lips parted, and I stared at him, the words biting like acid eating through my skin. No wonder he jumped at every sound and flinched at every touch. Caylus had left the Drexels’ service without paying his debt; they’d be looking for him. It certainly explained the locks on his doors, not that they would do him any good against the Drexels.

I’m tired of fighting, he’d said the day I asked why he hadn’t joined the rebels. Tired, because he’d done so much of it. And yet when I’d asked for his help, he’d given it willingly, knowing each moment he spent with me embroiled him deeper and deeper in this conflict.

“Yet you’re still helping me,” I whispered.

He bowed his head. “A few weeks ago, a contact of mine said Malkin killed my younger sister. Because I left.” His breath came out in a shudder. “She was the only one who ever visited me. The only one who tried to help. And now—” His voice died.

My throat tightened. I didn’t know what to say.

“Malkin’s only in power because of what Illucia’s done to the Ambriels,” he said, voice low. “If they were free from Illucia, free from him…”

Then maybe no one else would have to go through what he did. Was that why he aided the rebels despite his hatred of fighting? To stop Malkin?

He lifted his gaze to mine, and I drew a sharp breath. That was it. The look I’d seen in Caylus’s eyes from the beginning. The look of someone who’d had a pit gouged so deep inside them, filling it again seemed impossible. Someone like me.

He wasn’t looking at me, but I could still see the pain in his eyes. I wanted to take it away.